The Dark Frontier (20 page)

Toumachin stroked his chin and looked from me to the man in the corner. There was silence in the room. I could hear the faint sound of a woman singing in another part of the house.

“You are right, Professor,” said Toumachin at last. “My reason tells me so: but that part of me which is a politician tells me that all would be well if the Kassen discovery were entrusted to Toumachin. You will answer, and rightly, that other men have had similar thoughts and that while an ordinary man may be true unto himself, a leader of the people is motivated by the fears and hopes of the masses that stand behind him. It is true. The conclusions of reason indicate the only true practicable
decision. The united mind of a people is the mind of a child. That is why you will notice a child-like quality about most successful politicians. They reflect the mass mind.” He paused, stroked his chin and smiled slightly at Carruthers. “Very well, Professor,” he said, “you shall play adult to us children. You will throw the knife into the river lest we cut ourselves or other children.” He turned to the man in the corner and held a brief conversation with him in Ixanian. Then he turned to me.

“You and the Professor have done well in this affair. The Young Peasants’ Party acknowledges your efforts. More, we welcome you, Mr. Casey, as a representative of the American press. You can, if you will, be of inestimable service to us. We are about to make a bid for power in this country.”

“A revolution?”

“A revolution if you wish to call it that. It is badly needed. You, here in Zovgorod, can have no conception of the plight of the peasants in the country. It is, let me tell you, a terrible one. The character of the present Government you know. The Chamber of Deputies has not been summoned for years. It is a travesty of democracy. I will not weary you with a history of the economic blunders committed since the republic came into being with such high hopes and such inferior abilities. The Countess Schverzinski is aware of them, for she is a clever woman, but her political creed is based partly on her inherited instincts and partly on her personal ambition. She desires power and glory for Ixania. The peasants ask no more than food for their bellies. A new order is long overdue.”

“You will succeed?”

“I believe so. I am having great difficulty in restraining a section of the party from attempting violent reprisals for the murder of Andrassin. There was a stormy meeting this morning. To show our hand thus would be fatal. Meanwhile, however, the peasants are being organised. It is now a matter of days before we shall be ready to effect a
coup
to coincide with their
march on Zovgorod. We shall, I think, take them by surprise. Our plans have been kept secret from all except the council of the party. They can all be trusted, for they are good men and they have daggers at their backs. Only one thing impedes us—the army. Many of the soldiers are sympathetic; they are themselves drawn from peasant stock. But we cannot be sure of them yet. If their officers order them to fire, they may obey. A man in uniform loses the ability to think for himself. The …”

“One moment, Monsieur.”

We turned to Carruthers. I felt a trifle impatient of his interruption.

“Monsieur?” said Toumachin politely.

“How many are there in the army?”

“Twenty thousand.”

“Where are they quartered?”

Toumachin told him.

Carruthers drew at his pipe. “I presume, Monsieur, that the army owes its allegiance to the Government in power?”

“Yes, Monsieur.”

“It seems then that if the army could be concentrated in a remote part of the country while the
coup
was carried out in the city, the new Government could establish itself and claim the allegiance of the army as its constitutional right and order their return. There would thus be no question of disobeying orders.”

There came a sudden crackle of excited speech from the man in the corner. Toumachin listened to him, then held up his hand for silence and turned back to Carruthers.

“How would you effect the removal, Monsieur?”

Carruthers drew his chair up to the table, demanded a map of Ixania and talked steadily for about ten minutes. The man in the corner leaned over his shoulder and gave vent to sharp ejaculations of approval.

When he had finished, Toumachin sat back in his chair
and stroked his chin. For fully fifteen minutes he sat there deep in thought, his hands caressing his jaw, his finely proportioned forehead creased into a frown. We waited. At last he sat up and turned to me.

“Who is this man, Monsieur Casey?”

“Professor Barstow,” I said and blushed.

He gave me one of his rare smiles and shook his head. Then he stood up and his voice descended two octaves at least.

“No,” he thundered firmly, “this man has been sent by fate. You have brought to me the saviour of Ixania.”

He turned and, clasping Carruthers in his arms, kissed him loudly on both cheeks.

It was some time before Carruthers managed to explain that it was the tobacco that had made him choke.

I
t was early evening before, to the accompaniment of extravagant precautions against our being observed, we left Toumachin’s lodging.

Much had been done. Carruthers was to install himself in a vacant room in Sa’ Maria prospek eleven late that night and remain there in hiding. I was to take advantage of my comparative immunity and for the time being act as a sort of general intelligence bureau for Toumachin, Beker—the sinister little second-in-command who had let us in—and other fugitive members of the Young Peasants’ Party lying low in the district. Toumachin seemed anxious, however, that I should move to the Sa’ Maria prospek when the trouble started. I was not unwilling. If I came out of the business alive it would make a whale of a story. If I didn’t, well, it wouldn’t matter much. Arrangements were to be made by Toumachin for keeping a tab on Groom’s activities, and Carruthers’ plan was to be put into action. That I doubted the practicability of the famous
plan goes without saying. Its favourable reception by Toumachin would have impressed me more if I could have rid myself of the thought that, although Toumachin seemed to possess more than ordinary ability, revolutionaries were, for the most part, notoriously unsuccessful at their business.

As we strolled towards a café, Carruthers asked me what I thought of the chances.

“Fifty-fifty,” I answered diplomatically, “but I should think that the biggest danger is among Toumachin’s own followers. You heard what he said about those birds demanding immediate reprisals for Andrassin’s murder. That man Beker told me that there were two schools of thought on the question. One bunch wants to assassinate the President. Another lot are all out for blowing up the Kuder dam—making their presence felt like.”

Carruthers stopped dead in his tracks.

“What’s the matter?”

“Had an idea.”

“Good one?”

“I don’t know.”

We walked on in silence and found a bar near the cathedral.

I had a beer, Carruthers his usual sweet black coffee. He grunted absently when I asked him a question. I gave it up and returned to my own thoughts. These consisted chiefly of a survey of the more recent revolutions. I had succeeded in depressing myself to an almost suicidal degree before Carruthers came out of his trance.

“What do you think of Toumachin?” he said suddenly.

The question surprised me. I gave him my rather sketchy impressions, but I soon saw that he had lost interest. He seemed to have something on his mind. I waited.

“A pretty shrewd judge of men I should think,” he said after a bit.

“Must be.”

“Seemed pleased with that idea of mine.” It sounded more of a question than a statement.

“So he ought to be. It’s most ingenious.”

He shook his head deprecatingly. My bewilderment increased. I looked at him curiously. He fiddled with his empty coffee-cup and looked away. There was something about his attitude that I found faintly reminiscent—but of what? Suddenly, he emitted a short self-conscious laugh.

“Emotional blighters these foreigners. Saviour of Ixania, eh? If he wasn’t such a shrewd sort of chap you’d say he was a bit sentimental.”

I could hardly believe my ears. If the man hadn’t been sitting beside me I would have sworn that I was listening to the ham lead of a third-rate stock company playing the Englishman in a crook melodrama. I jumped. That was it. I had remembered now why his attitude had been familiar. My mind went back to the première of a new play in New York and to a party that had followed it. I had been introduced to the lead, a quiet man with a faraway look. He had been glad to hear that I had enjoyed the play, but had expressed surprise. As we had talked I found the conversation leading almost imperceptibly to the subject of his own performance. I remembered the way in which he had seemed to avoid discussion of it, by enthusing over the performances of other members of the company. Now, in Carruthers’ odd performance, I recognised the same sort of phony bid for approbation.

“He’ll probably revise his opinion of it when he cools down,” I said brutally.

He shrugged. “You’re probably right.” But I knew he didn’t think so and felt like kicking him.

The subject was dropped and we returned to the business in hand; that of Carruthers’ removal to the Sa’ Maria prospek. After some discussion it was decided that the less Carruthers was seen about the Europa the better. I was for abandoning
his belongings, which could have easily been replaced, but it turned out that he had left the bulk of his money, four thousand francs in Swiss and English currencies, locked up in his suitcase. The possession of plenty of ready cash was essential in the circumstances and I volunteered to collect it with his other gear if he would give me a note to the manager of the hotel. I soon regretted my offer. I might have known that such mundane simplicity would not appeal to Carruthers. He raised all sorts of objections to the proposal, none of which I could answer to his satisfaction. I might be seen leaving by Groom. The Countess’s agents might have given instructions to the management. There were lots of other similar obstacles to which I gave in, finding myself finally committed to entering his room furtively—he still had his room key—and lowering his case by means of a cord out of the window. He would be waiting to receive it on the pavement below.

As we set off Carruthers explained to me that it would be a simple matter for me to reach the staircase leading to the rooms unobserved as the night porter who came on duty at ten was rarely at his post. Should I, by any outside chance, be questioned, I was to pretend to be a foreign bristle buyer, as there were a number of such gentlemen staying there. The prospect of excusing myself for snooping about somebody else’s apartment and lowering his bags out of the window on the grounds that I was a bristle buyer did not commend itself to me; but it was a waste of time to argue with Carruthers. By the time we reached the end of the street in which the Europa stood it was dark. With a jauntiness that I did not feel, I walked on alone to the palm-flanked entrance.

I had decided to put a bold front on it. No front was needed. Not at first, anyway. I reached Carruthers’ room without meeting anyone and let myself in. Carruthers had warned me against switching on the light and the first thing I did was to fall over an overturned chair which lay in the middle of the
room. I cursed, struck a match, shielding it carefully with my hands, and looked around.

The room was in a state of indescribable confusion. The bedding had been turned on to the floor and the mattress slit open. The pillows had been similarly treated and there were feathers everywhere. Drawers were open and as I moved my foot caught in a picture-frame stripped of its contents. I went into the bathroom, crushing glass under foot as I did so. Another match showed me Carruthers’ case, the locks smashed and the contents strewn on the floor. A rapid search showed that the money had gone. Suddenly I thought I heard a faint sound from the bedroom. I put the match out and stood still. There was dead silence for a minute or two and I concluded that I had imagined it. The place was beginning to get on my nerves and I picked my way back to the window in the bedroom. I opened it gently and looked out. Carruthers was below me and looking up. He waved his hand. I took a piece of paper and a pencil from my pocket, scribbled: “Room ransacked, money gone,” and uncoiled the cord. I attached the note to one end and lowered it down to him. Then I dragged what remained of the bed to the window and lashed the other end of the cord to the frame. I had just completed these preparations when I felt a sharp tug on the cord and leaned out. Carruthers motioned me to haul the cord up again. I did so. On the end was my note to which Carruthers had added: “Leave everything and clear.”

I let the rope down again and was just buttoning up my coat for the descent when I heard a faint “click” from the door. I flung my leg over the sill. I got no farther. The door flew open and a stab of light from the corridor illuminated the room.

“If you move an inch you’ll be shot,” said a familiar voice.

I remained motionless. I was still half-blinded by the unexpected light and all I could see was two figures silhouetted in the doorway. Then the door shut and the room lights were
switched on. It was Groom and Nikolai and in the right hand of the latter was a heavy automatic fitted with a Maxim silencer.

Groom regarded me steadily for a moment: Then: “Get back into the room,” he said.

I did so.

“Put your hands behind your head.”

I obeyed. Nikolai stood beside him glowering at me. He was a tough-looking Greek with a dirty complexion, a wet clumsy mouth and a nose that drooped nearly to his chin. He had his left arm in a sling. The fingers of his useful hand twitched longingly at the hair trigger of the gun. Groom addressed him without taking his eyes off me.

“Is this one of the men?”

“Yes, Monsieur.”

“Where’s Professor Barstow?” he said to me.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying.” He spoke coolly. “Where are the papers you stole the other night?”