The Forbidden Territory (34 page)

“Well—if you are sure of that—but I do not care to think of that child alone in Kiev.”

“She’ll be on the train by now,” Simon assured him.

The car bore on into the night. They were beginning to climb now, up easy gradients, to higher ground. Richard began to groan loudly.

“He’s coming round,” said the Duke. “I doubt if he’ll know what he’s saying at first. I wish I had some morphia; sleep is the best thing for him at the moment.”

“Here—take these.” Simon delved into his pocket and produced a small bottle. “They’re sleeping-tablets that Valeria Petrovna got for me—there’s medinol in them, I think.”

Richard swayed forward. He looked dazedly round,
then sank back with a moan, shutting his eyes quickly.

“Take these,” said the Duke gently, spilling a couple of the tablets into his palm.

“Where … where are we?” muttered Richard.

Rex turned round to grin at him. “Sorry, Richard—hadn’t a notion it was you—’fraid I nearly bumped you off!”

Richard moved his head painfully from side to side, groaned again, and tried to put his hand up to his head. It fell back helplessly. “Where are we?” he asked again.

“We’re in the car—you saved us all, Richard—we’re making for the frontier,” said the Duke.

“No … no …” Richard struggled to sit up again. “Stop the car—I’m going by ’plane.”

Rex laughed. “I’d just hate to be a passenger in your ’plane tonight, Richard. You couldn’t push a pram after the swipe I gave you!”

“I … don’t mind leaving … the ’plane,” Richard muttered, “if we … all get away … safely.”

“Don’t you worry, Richard, we’re all here. You take these and have a good sleep till we get to the frontier.” The Duke pushed the tablets into his mouth. He sank back on to the cushions of the car. “Yes … the frontier … make the frontier …” his voice sank into indistinct mutterings—in a few moments he was fast asleep.

“D’you reckon they’ll send out a warning about us?” Rex asked, after a long silence.

“Not about you and me,” the Duke replied. “With Yakovkin on guard, it is unlikely that they will discover our escape till the morning—but I am afraid there will be trouble about Simon.”

“Certain to be if Leshkin meant to arrest me again tonight,” Simon agreed, pessimistically; “they’ll find the car missing, and try and trace us by that—probably try and hold us up on the road.”

“Have you got a gun?”

“Ner, but Richard may have.”

The Duke felt him over. “No,” he said, “he’s unarmed.”

“That leaves me and the marlinspike,” said Rex, thoughtfully. “Maybe there are a few spanners at the back. Guess we’ll have to step on the gas if we’ve got to go through any towns, Simon.”

“Birdichy—that’ll be difficult, biggish town—after that, there’s nothing to worry us till we cross the Bug at Vinnitsa.”

“Better going on the highway,” Rex agreed. “Got to take a chance about the towns.”

They had come into forest country now; the trees showed ghostly in the arc of the headlights. They gave the impression that the car was going at immense speed as they rushed to meet it and were swallowed up again in the darkness behind. Occasionally they passed through a deserted village street, but no attempt was made to stop their headlong progress.

Ten minutes later, the scattered houses became more frequent, the open road a street. De Richleau tapped Rex on the shoulder. “Try to avoid the main street,” he suggested, “take the first turning that you come to on either side.”

“We’ll sure get lost,” protested Rex.

“No—no, do as I say.”

Rex switched the car sharply to the right. They ran slowly down a long hill.

“To the left, Rex, to the left!” came De Richleau’s voice.

Rex obeyed. They ran along the turning for about a hundred and fifty yards, then had to pull up—the road ended in a gate leading into a field

“Back her out, man—quick—if we’re caught sitting we’re done.” Simon peered behind as Rex backed the great car in a succession of curves and jerks on to the hill road. They took the next turn to the left and ran along it for nearly half a mile; the low houses became less frequent.

“We’ll be out in the country again soon,” remarked Simon, anxiously.

“We have gone too far—there was a turning up the hill farther back—try that!” The Duke moved Richard’s head a little on his shoulder as he tried to make out their position in the darkness.

Rex backed the car once more, and they took the turning up the hill.

“First to the right at the top, and then out of the town as fast as you can,” came the Duke’s voice from the back.

He had judged rightly; a minute later they came out into the high street. As they turned a sudden shout went up from some men with lanterns fifty yards to the left, but their voices were lost on the night air as the great car went speeding out of the town.

“That was a picket, sure enough,” Rex grinned. “Those guys wouldn’t be standing in the street at half past two in the morning just for fun!”

“Yes, the hunt is up.” De Richleau sat back with a sigh. “May we be as lucky at Vinnitsa.”

“Don’t like Vinnitsa,” said Simon. “We’ve got to cross the bridge there.”

“If we manage that, there is still the frontier,” De Richleau spoke gloomily. “Have you got any plan about that?”

“I had,” Simon announced, “but by knocking Richard on the head you’ve put paid to it. He was to have met us at the cross-roads about a mile to the west of Mogeliev—land his ’plane in the nearest field, and taxi us over one at a time. Lord knows how we shall manage now.”

They had entered wooded country once more, and the way was a succession of steep gradients alternating with sharp, down-hill bends. In the twisting and turning road it was difficult to see far ahead; the headlights on the trees were trying and deceptive, but Rex seemed to have a genius for judging the bends and twists. The low car roared through the tunnels formed by the overhanging trees. A dozen times it seemed that they must crash into some vast tree trunk looming up in front of them, but they always swerved in time, hunting down the miles that lay between them and Rumania.

They entered Vinnitsa at four o’clock. All three braced themselves, for they were certain that if a serious attempt was being made to stop them it would be here. It was useless to try side-roads this time, for there was only one bridge. The car flashed through the streets of the sleeping town, awakening thunderous echoes. A sharp slope led down to the narrow bridge; there were lights ahead, and little dark figures clustered at the bridge-head—their worst fears were realised.

Rex had to make a quick decision: should he stop, or risk charging through them? If he did the latter and chains had been drawn across the road, they would crash; even if there were no chains and he knocked down a man, the car passing over his body would be thrown out of control and might plunge into the river below. He decided to slow up.

The men were shouting and waving torches. The car moved towards them at a gentle pace; in the half-light Rex saw that they were armed. As the car drew level one of them sprang on the footboard—there were no chains—the car moved steadily on—the man shouted something in Russian—another jumped on the other side of the car.

“Ready, Simon?” asked Rex, quietly. “I’m going to step on it.” As he spoke he slashed at the first soldier’s face with the marlinspike, and the car leapt forward—the man fell with a loud cry.

“Duck!” Rex shouted, “duck—they’ll shoot!”

Simon had struck his man in the face, but the fellow still clung on—he struck him again, but his fist seemed to make no impression on the peasant’s thick skull. There was a crack of rifles as the car tore over the bridge. With uncanny skill Rex zig-zagged from side to side—a bullet clanged into the metalwork behind—another crashed through the window at the back. The Duke was crouching on the floor, and had drawn Richard down beside him. Simon struck his man again, but the soldier would not let go; the rattle of another scattered volley sounded from the rear—Simon’s antagonist straightened with a sudden jerk and dropped from view; the car rushed across the farther bridge-head and up the hill on the other side. A last bullet pinged on the mudguard, and they had crossed the Bug!

“When I last crossed that river it was stiff with corpses,” remarked the Duke, with a quiet chuckle. “The fighting here was terrible during the War.”

“Reckon there’s another corpse tonight,” Rex laughed; “that chap on Simon’s side got it in the neck all right.”

“I simply could not make him leave go,” muttered Simon angrily.

“If you had used one finger instead of your fist, and poked it in his eye,” suggested the Duke, mildly, “he would have dropped off quick enough; these people have skulls like cannon-balls.”

“Must remember that,” said Simon, thoughtfully

Richard had slept through it all. The Duke had propped him up again, but beyond an occasional moan he showed no sign of life.

The car leapt forward; the going was easier now, long straight stretches of common land with scrub and occasional woods. Rex was getting every ounce out of the engine. The stars began to pale in the sky, and as the Duke glanced through the shattered rear window he saw the grey light that heralds the dawn. An hour and a half after crossing the Bug, they came to the outlying farms of Mogeliev; another few miles and they would be over the frontier into Rumania.

Rex was for pressing on, but De Richleau was against it.

“The wireless is certain to have been busy,” he said, “and the frontier strongly guarded. To attempt to rush a second post in broad daylight would be madness—we should be shot to pieces.”

At Simon’s suggestion they adhered to his original plan and took a by-road to the west at the entrance of the township. It was little better than a cart-track but it proved to be the same road that he had seen with Richard on the map, and a mile and a half farther on they found the cross-roads which had been decided on as the rendezvous. A solitary farmstead standing a little way back from the road occupied one corner. A few yards from the gate leading into the yard, Rex pulled up.

“What’s the drill now?” he asked.

“Better wake Richard,” said Simon. “Now we haven’t got his ’plane to go over in we’ll need all the ideas we can get.”

De Richleau shook the sleeper. Richard muttered angrily at first and refused to waken, but the Duke was persistent. At last he opened his eyes and groaned.

“Oh, God! my head!”

“Wake up, Richard—wake up!” said De Richleau loudly.

With heavy eyes Richard looked about him. “What’s happened?” he asked stupidly.

“I guess I nearly broke your poor old head,” Rex admitted.

“Gosh—it feels like it—still, you found the car—you’d better clear out.” Richard made an effort to get up.

“We’re here,” said Simon. “Mogeliev—Rumanian frontier.”

“What? What’s that?”—Richard was awake now.

“The frontier,” Simon repeated. “Want your ideas about getting across.”

“Where’s Marie Lou?” gasped Richard, looking round wildly.

“She went by train, you know. You told me you’d made special arrangements for her.”

“You fool—you stupid fool,” cried Richard, angrily. “I never said anything of the kind. She was coming with me by ’plane.”

For a moment there was an appalling silence; then Richard said quickly: “I’m going back.”

“Ner,” Simon shook his head. “You’re not up to it—I’ll go. Richard, I can’t tell you how sorry I am, but I could have sworn that you said you were sending her by train, so that she shouldn’t be mixed up in this business.”

“I never said anything about trains, but it’s not your fault, Simon. I ought to have made myself clear. Anyhow, I’m going back.”

“It’s this child who’s going back,” said Rex, “neither of you boys is fit to travel.”

De Richleau had remained silent; he opened the door of the car and stepped out into the roadway. Then he smiled at the others, not unkindly.

“Now, my friends, if you have all done, I suggest that we should treat this misfortune like sensible people. It would be madness for any of us to dash back to Kiev in this quixotic manner. An hour either way can make no difference now, and we are all badly in need of rest. Let us breakfast first, and think about saving Marie Lou afterwards.”

Without waiting for a reply he walked over to the farm gate and held it open.

“That certainly is sense.” Rex put the car in gear, and ran her through into the yard.

“Hullo! what’s that?” exclaimed Simon, as he got out stiffly. “Sounds like a ’plane.”

“It is.” De Richleau was gazing up into the sky. “Quick, Rex, run the car under that shed—it may be the frontier people looking for us.”

A moment later they saw her—a big grey air-liner, coming up from the direction of Mogeliev. With a dull booming of her powerful engines she sailed steadily over their heads, following the line of the frontier, the early morning sunlight glinting on her metalwork.

At the far end of the yard a tall, blond peasant had been harnessing a horse into one of the long, boat-shaped carts so common in the Ukraine. He left his work and walked slowly over to them; after De Richleau had spoken a few words to him he turned and led the way towards the house. The aeroplane had disappeared towards the west.

As the small procession trooped into the clean, bright kitchen a portly, apple-cheeked woman looked up with some apprehension, but the farmer quieted her fears, and soon she was busy preparing a hearty breakfast for her unexpected guests.

The Duke went out again with the man into the yard, and when he returned he pointed through the kitchen window, which looked out on the back. The farmhouse stood upon a slight rise, an orchard lay to the right, but before them spread a gently sloping meadow—beyond it fields, and in the valley, not more than a mile away, the edge of a dark forest.

“You see those tree-tops, my friends? Their roots are in Rumanian soil. At last it seems that we have reached our journey’s end.”

Simon let a little sigh escape him. It had been a terrible wrench to leave Valeria Petrovna, but over the border lay freedom—London … Paris … Deauville … Monte Carlo. The old world capitalist cities, with their life and laughter—their restaurants, the Opera, the print shops, and the excitement of big business deals; everything that he had always loved.