The Dark Frontier (16 page)

“Now, my friends,” he said, “you know what I want and how I want you to get it. There must be no mistakes. You know where the safe is. Prantza has provided Nikolai with the details. I want all the papers in it, that is all. If there is money or jewellery there, take it and divide it amongst yourselves. I am not concerned with money.” I detected a note of contempt for the men to whom he spoke in his voice. “In fact,” he went on, “the more like an ordinary burglary it looks, the better I shall be pleased. As to the main purpose of your visit here, I shall give you half your pay this afternoon and the remaining half when Nikolai delivers the papers.”

There was a murmur of protest from his audience as this was translated to them. One man spoke up.

“We must be paid now, Monsieur.”

“I am not a fool, Nikolai.” Groom’s voice was cold. “I have already given you money for Prantza from which you doubtless extracted a generous commission for yourselves.”

There was another murmur—not quite so expressive.

“I may add,” continued Groom silkily, “that it will be quite useless for you to attempt to satisfy me with any worthless documents or to extract more money from me by keeping back any essential part of the papers you find in that safe. Before the second half of the money is paid, my expert who is here in Zovgorod will examine the papers and see that they are what I require.”

There was silence. He went on:

“The moment the papers have been secured, Nikolai will bring them straight to me here. The others will scatter to other parts of the city. That should be soon after two
A.M
. tomorrow morning providing that the safe gives no trouble. Nikolai can then remain here with me to safeguard your interests until later in the day when the papers will have been approved and
your money paid. I have only one thing to recommend to you; that is, that you endeavour not to kill any of the guards unless it is absolutely necessary. That will be all. I will give the money here to …”

I heard no more. Carruthers had twitched the wire away and was hauling it into the room.

“Quick,” he said, “we’ll go to a café before they come out. I don’t want to risk Groom coming in with you here.”

He rolled up the wire and, thrusting it into his pocket, opened the door. There were sounds of movement from the room opposite. I dropped the receivers back into my coat pockets and we left the hotel. A taxi took us to the Kudbek where Carruthers insisted on leaving the receivers in a telephone booth before we went to a café.

He ordered strong black coffee and produced his pipe. I had beer and lit a cigarette.

“Well,” said I, “what’s the next item on the programme?”

He gave me an amused look.

“Confess, Mr. Casey,” he said, “that you came in a mood of complete scepticism.”

“OK, I’ll admit it. But I’m convinced now.” I did not tell him that it was as much as a result of my conversation with Andrassin as through our eavesdropping expedition.

He looked pleased.

“Good, now we can go ahead.”

“How?”

“There can be no doubt, I think, that they propose to go after the copy of the conditioning process in the possession of the Countess. She evidently overlooked the fact that Prantza knew where her safe was. They may have got the combination from him, too. At all events, we must not spoil their game. Our primary object is to prevent manufacture of the explosive. Every copy of that process must be destroyed, and while those copies remain in Ixania we’ve got a chance of destroying them.”

“But what about Kassen? Short of bumping him off, I don’t see how you can do anything about it.”

“You can leave Kassen to me,” he said with a faraway look.

“If that means that you’re going to kill him yourself,” I said warmly, “you can count me out.”

He shook his head. “I’m not going to kill him,” he said slowly, “I have a better idea.”

Whatever his idea was I did not like it and said so. He clapped me on the back, a thing I detest, and told me heartily not to worry. I stuck to my guns.

“Look here, Carruthers,” I said, “it seems to me that you’ve bitten off a good deal more than you can chew. I’m for informing the American Legation of the situation and leaving them to act as they think fit. This is an international matter. When I came here, I was prepared for revolution and God knows what, but I wasn’t prepared for this sort of a mess. I tell you, if we fall down on this and it gets known that I had anything to do with it, it’s me for the high jump. Mind you, I’d risk that if I thought we had the smallest chance of success, but frankly, I don’t think we’ve got an earthly. Why, take this business of the robbery; how do you suppose we’re going to stop a mob of eight dagger-packing Greeks?”

“Eight? I should say that there will be at least ten.”

“Eight or ten, what difference does it make? We haven’t an earthly. I suggest, and I guess you’ll realise the sense in what I’m saying, that we both get in touch with our respective Embassies or Legations now and let it go at that. If they don’t care to do anything about it, then no one can blame us. We’ll have done our best. You can square it with this guy Groom, stall him, say that the dope is incomplete, anything you like to give our people a chance to take diplomatic action. Tell the League of Nations maybe.”

I sat back and finished my beer. I had got what I wanted to say off my chest and felt better. I glanced at Carruthers; he
was lighting his pipe. He blew out a cloud of smoke and his eye caught mine. For some inexplicable reason I found myself regretting my outburst, feeling that I had in some way uttered a heresy. I tried to clear my mind of prejudice, told myself that I was right, that my proposal was sane and sensible and that I ought to have been ashamed of myself for even considering Carruthers’ crazy plans. His pained silence became oppressive. “Well,” I said at last.

“There are just two drawbacks to your suggestion,” he answered. “In the first place, do you imagine that the American Minister would believe you?”

“Why not?”

“Think.”

I thought; and the more I thought, the more I knew that he was right. I pictured myself trying desperately to convince a hard-headed State Department careerist that I had discovered in a laboratory in the Kuder Valley a serious menace to world peace in the shape of an atomic explosive. I imagined his weary demand for confirmation, the righteous indignation of the Ixanian Government at his apologetic requests for explanations of the existence of the Kassen laboratory, the curious army manoeuvres and the electricity failures. Worst of all, I anticipated the angry notes from my editor that would surely follow the inevitable complaints from Washington. The Bucharest correspondent had provided me with certain information, my job was to report, not to manufacture mare’s nests; thus they would run. “What’s the second drawback?” I asked.

He did not answer me for a moment. When he did, he had dropped his professorial air, and seemed to exude an enormous self-confidence. The change impressed me. I found myself hanging on his words.

“Supposing you persuade your Minister that you are not a lunatic and that he reports the whole business to Washington and supposing they accept the facts at your valuation? What
are they going to do? Send Ixania a note? The only result of that would be to put these people on their guard. Besides, I don’t suppose the Government here knows what the Countess is planning. The President is probably in the know, up to a point at any rate, but he will do what Prince Ladislaus tells him. Can you imagine the United States dispatching an expedition to Ixania on the strength of your story? Even if the League of Nations was brought into the picture nothing could come of it but disaster. There is no precedent, no international machinery which can serve as a basis for action. How could you expect a lot of statesmen sitting round a table to legislate for criminal tomfoolery like Kassen’s? What’s more, if the affair did become a matter for League inquiry and the nations heard about it, every one of them would be tumbling over itself trying to get the secret in the sacred name of its own security. The only body that could deal with this affair would be an international police force, and, unfortunately, there isn’t such a thing.”

I was beaten and knew it. I temporised. We were, I reminded him, hopelessly outnumbered. He admitted it with relish. We ought, I maintained, to enlist help if we were to have even the faintest hope of success.

He considered this proposal for a moment, then shook his head.

“Numbers,” he said, as though he were addressing a military academy, “will destroy our essential mobility. In principle, however, I agree with you. We need allies, or rather an ally. I have been thinking of your man Andrassin.”

I had been waiting for this and told him of Andrassin’s refusal, holding my peace, however, concerning the remainder of Andrassin’s conversation. Carruthers took the news calmly.

“For the moment,” he said, “it does not matter. When the time comes I shall know how to persuade him.”

I doubted it but did not argue the point.

“Meanwhile,” I said provocatively, “there is the difficulty
of finding a way in which two men can stop ten men without making a noise about it.”

“I have a plan,” he replied simply. “After I left you this morning I had a look at the house of the Countess. It is absurdly vulnerable. The appearance of the place from the square in front is deceptive. The grounds stretch back a considerable distance to the river. There is an old stone quay there, and I should imagine that it used to be used as a way to and from the Palace, which has a similar quay. The river is the obvious way of approach.”

“Sure. If you have a boat.”

“There is a way to the quay from the land; a passage from the square. Once on the quay, the rest is plain sailing.”

“What about the guards?”

“I saw two men in the grounds at the back and there’s certain to be another in front of the house, but the place is so overgrown with shrubs that it should be easy to avoid them. The only snag will be the man posted on the quay.”

“How did you get a look at the grounds, then, with a man on the quay?”

“There was no man on the quay when I went. But I guessed that there must be one at night time. There’s a brazier there and a shelter arrangement.”

“That’s fine, but I still don’t see how we’re going to hijack Groom’s men.”

“We know the approximate time of their arrival. Does that suggest nothing to you?”

“Nothing at all.”

“I’ll explain.”

He leant forward and talked rapidly for about ten minutes. When he had finished I think I felt more miserable than ever in my life before. My opinion of Carruthers sank to zero.

“And do you believe,” I said bitterly, “that we’re going to get away with a crazy scheme like that?”

“Why not?” He seemed genuinely surprised.

The man was fantastic. I made up my mind once and for all.

“I’m sorry, Carruthers, but I guess you’ll have to count me out. I don’t mind taking risks, but there isn’t any risk about your scheme, it’s a surefire ticket to the Zovgorod penitentiary and they don’t treat their prisoners any too well, I’m told.”

He smiled. “All right, I’ll go by myself.”

I felt a sudden wave of irritation with him. He must see that his plan was utterly and absolutely crazy. I raised every possible objection to it, and there were many; I argued and reasoned with him for nearly an hour. It made no impression on him. I sank back in my chair and ordered another beer. He grinned at me. I gave up.

“All right,” I said desperately, “when do we start?”

The words were out of my mouth before I knew that I had uttered them. It was the involuntary acquiescence of exasperation. I let it go. I believe Theodore Roosevelt himself would have done the same. Carruthers had a way of making you behave and think like a dime novel.

The next few hours were, I think, among the most unpleasant I have ever spent. The nearest parallel to them that I can remember is the hours before the Yale-Harvard game in ’22 when I was wondering if my ankle would hold out.

We were to set out at twelve o’clock. The fact that Nikolai was expected by Groom at the Europa soon after two
A.M
. meant that the operations of the gang would commence soon after one. According to Carruthers we had to be there when they arrived.

First, however, we had to lose Carruthers’ “bodyguard.” We had dinner and sat at a café until eleven-thirty. Then we rose and walked about until we found a lonely side street.
We strolled down it and had the satisfaction of observing the Schverzinski agent turn the corner and proceed in a leisurely manner in our wake. We stopped at the corner.

“I think it’s a different man,” said Carruthers. “If so, I’ll work the taxi dodge again.”

Telling me to meet him outside the post office in twenty minutes’ time, he seized my hand, wrung it heartily and in a loud voice bade me good-night. I responded and he departed to hail a passing taxi. I saw the agent scuttling after him and made my way back to the post office. Within a quarter of an hour he had joined me with the comforting news that the agent was speeding after an empty taxi on its way to the red-light district.

Another taxi took us to the Palace. From there we walked to the square in which our objective lay. It was a fine night, but cold, and we walked briskly. The moon had yet to rise and there were few street lamps. The almost imperceptible light of the stars was our sole illumination. We soon came to the square. It was deserted. We could see the black bulk of the Schverzinski house. It was in darkness except for a faint chink of light coming from a heavily curtained room on the first floor. Carruthers led the way along that side of the square which ran to the left of and at right angles to the house, until we came to a narrow passage-way between the boundary of the Schverzinski grounds and a walled garden. A wrought-iron lintel carrying an unlit lamp bridged the space between the two walls. Below it was a wrought-iron gate. It was locked.

Carruthers fumbled in his overcoat pocket, produced something that gleamed faintly in his hand and attacked the lock. A few minutes later I saw him twist his hands. There was a grating noise and the gate swung open with a slight squeak. Carruthers cursed under his breath and motioned me to keep still. My heart in my boots, I waited for the alarm. To my taut nerves the noise had seemed ear splitting, but it passed unnoticed by
the front guard. We remained still for about five minutes; then Carruthers led the way down the passage.