The Forbidden Territory (37 page)

There was a knock on the bedroom door; Marie Lou knew that knock by now. “Come in,” she called, gaily.

“You are comfy here?” Richard remarked, looking round the well-equipped room.

“Why, yes,” she replied, as she thought how terribly attractive he looked in his evening clothes. “It is so lovely that I almost regret to leave it for the restaurant or the shops. But are you not comfortable at your hotel?”

“Oh, I’m all right, but something’s gone wrong with the central heating since the afternoon. It was as cold as Siberia when I changed just now.” He held out a spray of catlias with a smile.

“Richard—how lovely.” She took the orchids. “You spoil me terribly. Look at all the lovely flowers you sent me this morning.” She waved her hand towards the roses and lilies that stood about making the room a perfect bower.

“I’m so glad you like them,” he said, softly.

She felt herself blushing under his gaze, and moving quickly over to the dressing-table, pinned on the orchids.

“I am so sorry you are miserable at your hotel,” she said, not looking at him.

“They’ll put it right,” he remarked, casually. “It’ll be on again by the time I get back tonight.”

“Richard,” she said, after a moment. “Would you mind if I came down to you in the lounge? I have one little matter that I would like to see to.”

“Of course,” he agreed. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

When he had gone Marie Lou picked up the house telephone; all their party, with the exception of Richard, were staying at the same hotel; she tried De Richleau’s room, but could get no reply, then she tried Rex—he was still dressing.

A wicked little smile lurked round the corners of her mouth while she was talking to him—his laughter came
clearly over the line. “Sure,” he said, chuckling. “Sure, I’ll fix it!”

“And you won’t tell?” she begged.

“Not on your life. You leave it all to me.”

Marie Lou’s little face was grave as she hung up the receiver.

2

The Duke was in his dressing-gown, the brilliantly coloured robe of honour of a Chinese mandarin. The house telephone tinkled, and he picked it up. He thought that he had heard it ring a few moments before, when he was in his bath.

“Yes,” he answered. “This is the Duke de Richleau … who? Herr Murenberg? … I don’t think that I … what? … he says that I shall remember him as Fritz of the Baumgarten? … ah, yes, of course, let him come up.”

A few minutes later an official in a handsome uniform was shown into the Duke’s room.

De Richleau extended his hand. “My dear Fritz, this is an unexpected pleasure.”

Herr Murenberg took the Duke’s hand with marked deference, he clicked his heels and bowed low over it. “For me also, Altesse.”

“How many years is it since I have last seen you? Fifteen—no, twenty it must be—dear me, but you have prospered, my dear Fritz.” De Richleau patted the Austrian on the shoulder. “What a fine uniform you have got, to be sure.”

Herr Murenberg bowed and smiled again. “I hope, Altesse, you will be kind enough to forget the little restaurant where you so often gave me your patronage in the old days, many things are changed since then, although I remember your kindness with much gratitude.”

“That would be impossible, my dear fellow; many of my most cherished memories have an association with the dear old Baumgarten which you used to run so well.
Nevertheless I am delighted to think that the upheaval of the War has brought good fortune to one of my friends at least. What splendid position has Fate decreed for you?”

“I am deputy chief of the police, Altesse; that I knew many languages has stood me in good stead.”

“Dear me,” the Duke made a grimace. “I—er—trust that this is not an official visit?”

“I fear, yes, Altesse,” he bowed again. “It is a serious matter that I come upon.”

“Sit down, my friend. Let us hear how I have broken the laws of your delightful city.”

The Chief of Police sat gingerly on the extreme edge of an armchair. “Unfortunately, Altesse, it is not here that you have offended—if that were so …” he spread out his hands, “it would be my pleasure to put the matter right; it seems that you have come from Russia?”

De Richleau’s eyes narrowed. “Yes,” he admitted, “that is so.”

Murenberg was obviously troubled. “Altesse, in the old days you were a gentleman who liked his amusements; the cabmen of Vienna, they knew you well—and if you smashed up their cabs with reckless driving after a party—what matter. If you broke a few heads even—you paid handsomely in the morning, and all was well, but now it seems that you have taken to killing men for your amusement—Bolsheviks, it is true, but even so it is a serious thing.”

“Hardly for amusement, my dear Fritz,” the Duke smiled, grimly. “It happened that I was called on to defend myself. I did so to the best of my ability.”

The Chief of Police shook his head sadly, he raised one arched eyebrow, and scratched the back of his neck; he was evidently much troubled. “An order has been applied for—for the extradition of yourself and others, Excellency. What am I to do?”

De Richleau was thinking quickly. “What is the procedure in such cases,” he asked.

“It is my duty to issue a warrant for the arrest of you and your friends.”

“You have not done it yet?”

“No, Altesse, when I saw your name on the paper the memory of the old days came to me, I thought to myself ‘tomorrow will do for this—tonight I will go informally to pay my respects to my old patron’.”

“That was very good of you, Fritz; tell me, what happens when this warrant is executed?”

“There is a man from Russia here. He will identify you; we shall supply an escort to the frontier, and with him you will go back to Moscow to be tried.”

“Do you know the name of the man they have sent?”

“Yes, Altesse. It is an important man, a Kommissar Leshkin. He stays in this hotel.”

De Richleau nodded. “Now if we leave Austria tonight, this man will follow us, will he not, and apply for our extradition in any country in which he finds us?”

“I fear that is so, Altesse, but the world is wide; there are many very comfortable trains which leave Vienna this evening. If you travel it will mean delay—important witnesses against you may disappear—time is on your side in this affair.”

“If there were no one to prove our identity, however, they could not apply for our extradition, I imagine,” the Duke said, softly.

“No, that is true.” Herr Murenberg stood up. “But this man is here, Excellency. For the sake of the old days I trust that I may not have to make this arrest tomorrow morning.”

De Richleau took his hand. “I am more grateful to you, my dear Fritz, than I can say, you may rely on me to spare you that painful duty.”

3

The dinner table was adorned with flowers, the string band was worthy of the Viennese traditions, the champagne sparkled in the glasses. To Marie Lou it was like fairyland.

Richard sat on her right, Simon on her left. Across
the table were Rex and De Richleau, between them the long, humorous face of Gerry Bruce.

Dinner was over, the Duke was handing round cigars, the first of a new box of the famous Hoyos, that had arrived with his clothes that afternoon from London. Marie Lou had just finished a peach, the first that she had ever seen in her life, the flavour lingered, exquisite, on her tongue—she was in Heaven. She looked across at Rex. “Have you arranged everything?” she asked.

He grinned. “Sure thing. There won’t be any fool—”

“Hush!” she exclaimed, quickly.

“Sorry,” he apologised. “I nearly spilled the beans that time, but it’s all O.K., you can take it from me.”

“Thank you. It is a little surprise that Rex and I have arranged for you,” she explained to the others, who were looking completely mystified. “He has got me a nice strong file; I spent a busy hour this morning.”

Rex began to look mystified, too; he had got no file for her, and it was only while dressing for dinner that she had asked for his co-operation in a little secret.

She produced a flat square parcel from under her chair, and laid it on the table. They had all wondered what it could be when she had brought it in to dinner with her.

Richard and Simon cleared away the plates and glasses to make room; Rex was looking more and more puzzled.

A waiter paused beside De Richleau’s chair and laid a heavy triangular parcel on the table beside him: “The manager’s compliments, sir, and he hopes that will do.”

“Thank you.” The Duke nodded, and gave the man a coin, then he felt the package carefully and transferred it to the pocket of his tail coat; the others were far too interested in Marie Lou’s big parcel to pay any attention.

She smiled at Rex as she undid the wrapping. “For a long time,” she said, “he has been telling us that it will be tomorrow that he will find the jewels—I have decided that it shall be today!”

She removed the last sheet of paper from her parcel. Rex and the Duke recognised at once the gaily painted
abacus that she had insisted on taking from her cottage at Romanovsk when they fled to the Château. It lay there, incongruous enough—a childish toy, the solid square frame and the cross wires with the gaily painted beads, upon which every Russian learns to calculate.

“As I have told you,” she said slowly, “my mother always said that if I ever left Russia, I must take this with me; and it was not because she feared that I should forget how to count. I knew that she had taken it from the walls of the foundry after the fire—it was she who cleaned and painted it after that. This morning I filed through the iron tubing which makes the frame—see, now, what it contains.” As she finished speaking she divided one piece of the framework from the other where she had filed it through. She swept some wafers from a dish in front of her and poured out the contents of the hollow pipe.

With a little rattle they fell on the china dish—a heap of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, a glistening pile of precious stones sparkling and flashing in the electric light. She took the second and third and fourth sides of the abacus and added their contents to the shining heap. The men sat round, speechless, gazing in wonder at the heap of stones sparkling with hidden fire from their many facets.

“There are the pearls still,” she cried, delighted with the success of her surprise; “each bead is a great pearl from the famous necklace of the Princess Tzan, dipped in some substance which protected it from the fire.” She drew them off the wires, putting them beside the glittering stones already in the dish. One she retained and began to scrape it with her knife; the covering flaked away, leaving a great rosy pearl.

“Princess, you may not know it, but you have a fortune here,” said the Duke. “Even I have never seen such rubies; they are of the true pigeon’s blood, worth a king’s ransom.”

“It is said, Monsieur, that a Prince Shulimoff who lived in Catherine the Second’s time was granted rights over all the Russian lands that lie adjacent to Persia.
It is believed that he got these during his Khanship there.”

The Duke nodded. “I do not doubt it; the Shah himself has no better stones than these.” His long, elegant fingers played with the pile. Red, green, and blue, the stones glittered under the big electrolier—a dazzling sight which held them fascinated.

“And now,” said Marie Lou, “I wish that you all should choose such stones as you may like to be keepsakes of our days in Russia.”

They drew away shyly. Marie Lou’s mouth drooped with disappointment.

“Princess,” said De Richleau, voicing all their thoughts, “this is your fortune; on it we trust that you may live in happiness for many years. We could not rob you of your inheritance.”

“Oh, please,” she begged, “it will spoil it all for me if you do not—had it not been for you I should still be at Romanovsk.”

She looked so disappointed that Richard bent forward and picked up a square diamond from the pile.

“I will keep it for you in trust, Marie Lou,” he said, smiling. “I shall treasure it always because it comes from you, but if you ever need it, it is yours.” She squeezed his hand gratefully, and his pulse raced at the pressure of her tiny hand in his. The others each picked a jewel in turn, with the same reservation.

“Say,” Rex grunted, “this packet’s going in the hotel safe tonight; we’ve had all the trouble we’re needing for a while.”

A waiter stood beside De Richleau. “The gentleman you were inquiring for has just gone into the grill, sir.”

“Thank you.” The Duke carefully placed the beautiful ruby he had chosen in his waistcoat pocket. “Be good enough to inform me when he goes up to his room.”

Rex took Marie Lou’s hand. “Come on,” he said, “let’s hit the floor again.”

He was teaching her the gentle art of modern dancing. Like most Americans, he had such a perfect sense of rhythm that it was impossible not to follow him.
Richard sat watching and wished that he could dance as well. Marie Lou seemed to be picking it up easily and quickly, but he knew that it was too soon for him to attempt to dance with her yet, and he was too wise to try—let her learn with Rex. When they returned to the table Gerry Bruce took up his glass. “Well, fellers,” he declared, “as I’m the one and only guest, it’s up to me to give a bit of a toast.”

“Hear, hear!” Simon filled up the glasses with champagne.

Gerry lifted his glass. “May you all live to give your old friend Gerry Bruce many another good dinner in the years to come. How’s that?”

They drank it with enthusiasm. A little later Marie Lou turned to Richard. “Would you mind very much if I went to bed?”

“But it’s early,” he protested.

“I’m tired,” she said.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, just as you like.”

She rose from the table and he followed her out into the hall. “I’ve hardly seen you alone all day,” he said reproachfully, as she was about to enter the lift.

“I’m sorry,” she smiled sweetly at him, “but I’m tired; I want to go to bed.”

“What about tomorrow?” he asked. “I thought we might get a car and go for a drive. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

She shook her head. “No, tomorrow I mean to have a long morning in bed.”

“Right-o, if that’s how you feel,” he said, a little sulkily. “What about lunch?”