The Forbidden Territory (7 page)

“We believe gentlemen were at Meyerhold Theatre—” began one of the guides, seriously.

“The theatre! Bah!” De Richleau shrugged. “I lost the tickets, so we came here instead—it is better!”

“But, if gentlemen had asked for us we would have got other tickets,” the man persisted.

“What does it matter?” laughed the apparently tipsy Duke. “Come, let us drink!”

“But please to understand, the situation is such—it is not good that gentlemen come to such a place alone, it is not of good reputation. The police do what they can, but there is bad quarter in every city, it is not safe for gentlemen.”

“We have come to no harm.” De Richleau lifted his glass, as the woman set more drinks upon the table. “
Good harvests—and prosperity to all!
” he cried loudly in Russian.

The guides bowed solemnly, and drank. It is a toast that no Russian ever refuses; the great mass of the people—whether under Tsar or Soviet—are too near the eternal struggle with the soil.

“We are only anxious for safety of gentlemen,” the guide who acted as spokesman protested. “When we learn that gentlemen were not at theatre, we worry much; the situation is such because we are responsible.”

“Good feller!” Simon let his chair come forward with a crash, and patted the man on the back affectionately. “Let’s have another drink; you shall see us all safe-home!”

The two guides exchanged a swift glance—they seemed relieved. It was evident that their charges were harmless people, out on the spree and mildly drunk; they accepted a further ration of the fiery spirit.

After that things became easier—they drank: To the Russian People—To the British Socialist Party—To each other—and, finally, for no shadow of reason—To the ex-Emperor of Germany!

By that time the two guides were singing sadly together, and Simon and the Duke had had as much as they could comfortably carry, yet both had still their wits very much about them.

At last one of the guides rose unsteadily to his feet. He made his way to the street door and had to cling on for support as he opened it. The wind had risen, and after he had ascertained that the hired car was outside, assistance had to be given him before he could close the door again. At his suggestion the whole party left the “Tavern of the Howling Wolf”. The driver was fast asleep in the body of the car under a pile of rugs; they roused him up, and soon the party were bumping their way back through the white and silent streets to the hotel.

In the lounge dancing was still in progress; they had a final drink together, and parted for the night with many expressions of mutual esteem and goodwill.

The following morning neither De Richleau nor Aron felt inclined for breakfast, but neither of them had forgotten the importance of their appointment, and as soon as they were out in the fresh, crisp air, their spirits revived.

They had had no difficulty in dispensing with the attendance of the guides when they had declared their intention of visiting the Zoo; but they waited till they actually arrived in the Krassnaja Pressnja before they opened serious conversation.

“I’m worried,” said Simon, looking round to make certain that no one was within earshot.

“Why should you be?” asked the Duke, blandly. “I thought our little adventure of last night passed off most fortunately. We have run Jack Straw to earth, and are, I trust, about to hear his story. I think, too, that our excellent guides are entirely without suspicion; it might have been a very different matter if they had arrived on the scene earlier, when we were talking to Jack Straw!”

“It’s not that,” Simon shook his head quickly. “Did you—er—notice the three workmen who came in before the dance?”

“Yes; what of them?”

“Well, I don’t know, of course, but I’ll tell you—I believe one of them was the chap who asked you for a light in the Park yesterday.”

“Indeed!” De Richleau raised his slanting eyebrows. “What makes you think that, my friend?”

“He had a cast in one eye; nasty-looking little chap. Mind you, I may be mistaken.”

“Would you know him again?”

“Um,” Simon nodded, “I think so.”

“In that case we must keep a sharp look-out. It is by no means unusual, in countries where there is a large organisation of secret police, for one agent to be set to watch another. This man may be acting quite independently of our official guides, and unknown to them. We must be careful!”

They had entered the Zoo while they were talking, and found the eagles’ house without difficulty, but they looked in vain for Jack Straw. A keeper stood near the door at one end; the only other occupant of the big aviary was an elderly gentleman with fine, flowing white moustaches. He looked as if he had seen better days.

As they walked slowly along the cages they drew near to the old man, who was advancing in the opposite direction. Pausing now and again to admire the birds, they came together before a cage of vultures near the centre of the house.

“Filthy brutes!” said the old man, suddenly, in a
surprisingly youthful voice, as he pointed with his stick.

“They are as Soviet Kommissars to the Royal Eagles who are Tsars,” the Duke answered, softly.

“You fooled your guides well last night,” the other went on, in perfect English, “but you must be careful—there are certain to be others watching you.”

“Thank you. Can you give us news of Van Ryn?”

“No, don’t know what’s happened to him, but I know why he came to Russia!”

“Good, that may be helpful.’

“He was after the Shulimoff treasure; the old Prince buried it himself before he cleared out in ’seventeen; there’s said to be millions of roubles’ worth of gold and jewels—God knows where it is, the Bolshies have been hunting for it for years—but that’s what Rex is after.”

The effect of hearing this youthful English voice proceeding from the grey-moustached lips of the elderly Russian was so unusual that Simon had difficulty in restraining his mirth. They walked slowly down the line of cages towards the door at the opposite end from that at which the keeper stood

“Stout feller, Rex,” their elderly companion went on. “Knew him when he came over to play polo for the Yanks in nineteen twenty-nine. I hope he’s all right.”

“I received a letter asking for assistance a fortnight ago,” said the Duke. “It was posted in Helsingfors. He was in prison somewhere—but where, I have no idea, unfortunately; he must have run up against the authorities in some way.”

“Probably found wandering in forbidden territory; they’re pretty strict about that. Large areas are closed altogether to foreigners.”

“Where—er—was Prince Shulimoff’s estate?” inquired Simon. “That might give us a line,”

“That’s just the trouble; the old boy was fabulously rich. He had a dozen places; one outside Moscow, another near Leningrad; a villa at Yalta—that’s the Russian Riviera, you know. Then he had an enormous territory near Tobolsk’, in Siberia, and places in Pskov,
and Yaroslavl, and the Caucasus as well; and being such a wily old bird, he may not have buried the treasure in any of them; the old scout may have thought it safer to stow the goods in one of the monasteries, or the cellars of a friend!”

“Looks as if we’d have to make a tour of Russia!” remarked Simon, with a chuckle.

“I say,” said the young-old man, suddenly, “you might do a job of work for me, will you? When you get back to London—that is, if you do,” he added, smiling under his moustache—“just drop into the Thatched House Club and ask for Colonel Marsden; give him this message from Jack Straw: ‘Stravinsky’s got twelve, and six, and four’. Will you? He’ll know what that means—think you can remember?”

“Colonel Marsden—Stravinsky’s got twelve, and six, and four,” repeated the Duke. “Yes, I shall remember.”

“Splendid. I’ll probably get that bit through another way as well, but one can’t have too many lines. I’ll tell you another thing. If you do make a round trip of the Shulimoff estates, and get anywhere near Tobolsk, keep your eyes skinned—there’s a great deal of activity going on up there just now, and we’d like to know what it’s all about, if it’s just another commercial stunt connected with the Five Year Plan, or something military. Give Marsden anything you pick up; it’s all the odd bits of information pieced together that make a whole, you know.”

De Richleau smiled. “I trust that we shall not be called upon to visit Siberia, but you may be certain that we shall keep our eyes open if we do!”

“That’s the spirit. Sorry I can’t ask you fellows back to the Club for a drink, but my position is hardly—er—official, you know—Look out!”

They had almost reached the farther door of the aviary. Turning quickly, they saw a seedy-looking individual, dressed like a clerk, who had entered without their having heard him. He was apparently studying a hawk. After a second he glanced slyly in their direction,
and both Simon and the Duke were quick to notice that he had a cast in one eye.

Both made a movement to leave the vicinity of their elderly friend, but as they turned again they found that Jack Straw had vanished—silently and completely away.

Later that morning, as Simon waited in the lounge of the Hotel Metropole, he wondered if Valeria Petrovna had remembered her promise to lunch with him. It was already a quarter past one, and she had not yet put in an appearance. He thought it more than probable that she had never taken his invitation seriously, and to guard against this possibility, on his return from the Zoo, he had caused the hall porter to ring up and leave a message at her apartment.

The clock marked two minutes after the half-hour when she arrived, looking radiantly beautiful, enveloped in magnificent furs, both hands outstretched as she hurried across the hall.

“Oh, Mistaire Aron, what a surprise to see you ’ere!”

“Well,” he smiled his little amused smile as he offered her his open cigarette-case, “it’s Thursday, isn’t it?”

“Of course it ees Thursday, but nevaire did I think to see you, all the same; it was late at night when you ask me, after the party—I thought the champagne ’ad gone to your ’ead!”

“Ner—not the champagne!” said Simon, with a quick look.

She laughed delightedly. “Silly boy! Next you will be telling me that you ’ave fallen in love with me!”

“Well,” said the cautious Simon, “I don’t mind telling you—I almost think I have!”

“You
almost
think, eh? That is rich; nevaire in all my life ’ave I met a man who only
thinks
’e ees in love with me!”

Simon drank in her superb dark loveliness. What a woman! he thought, and then said aloud: “Good thing I’m not
given to falling in love, or I should be making a fool of myself! What about a spot of lunch?” he said, getting up from his chair and smiling blandly into her eyes.

“Lunch—yes, but a spot—what ees that?” she asked, turning and leading the way to the restaurant.

“Just—er—an expression,” he laughed, in his nervous way as he followed her. “I wish we were in London—then I
would
give you a lunch!”

“ ’Ow! You do not like Moskawa?” she asked, with a quick frown, as he held a chair for her at a small table near the window.

He saw at once that he was on delicate ground. “Oh, yes,” he prevaricated, hastily; “wonderful city!”

“Ah, wonderful indeed,” she cried, earnestly, and he saw a gleam of fanaticism leap into her dark eyes. “It ees marvellous what ’as been done in Russia these last years; you must see Stalingrad, and the Dnieprestroy; work created for thousands of people, electric light …”

“I’d like to see the Dnieprestroy,” he agreed; “after Niagara it will be the biggest electric plant in the world, I believe.”

“
The
biggest!” she said, proudly.”

Simon knew quite well that Niagara was the bigger hydro-electric station, but tact was more essential than truth at the moment, so he nodded solemnly. “Marvellous!” he agreed, looking at her sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks. “I must see that.”

“And the great factory of tractors at Stalingrad,” she continued, enthusiastically; “you must see that also, and the great palace of Industry at Karkov—all these things you must see to understand our new Russia!”

“Well—I’ll tell you—it’s really your acting I want to see!” Simon smiled at her over the plate of excellent Boeuf Strogonoff he was eating.

“Ah, that ees nothing,” she shrugged; “my art ees
good, in that it gives pleasure to many, but it ees a thing which passes; these others, they will remain; they are the steps by which Russia will rise to dominate the world!”

“You really believe that?” he asked, curiously.

“But yes,” she answered, with wide-eyed fervour; “ ’ave you not seen in Moskawa alone the ’ouses ’ow they ’ave come down, and the factories ’ow they ’ave gone up? The Russian people no longer toil in slavery, it ees their turn to be the masters!”

For some time she talked on fervently and happily about the Five Year Plan—the tremendous difficulties with which Russia was faced through the bitter opposition of the capitalist countries, and the hopelessly inadequate supply of technical experts, but she assured him that they were making steady progress and would overcome every obstacle in time.

He was content to put in a word here and there, quietly enjoying the animation of his lovely guest, and gradually he found himself caught up by her faith and enthusiasm. It was true—all that she said. The capital, as a whole, presented an extraordinary spectacle of decrepitude and decay, rows of empty shops and houses that had not known paint and repair for almost a generation, yet, out of this apparent death fine buildings of steel and glass were everywhere springing up, and although the people in general seemed ill-clothed and underfed, the majority appeared busy and contented.

“What ’ave you come to do in Russia?” she asked, suddenly; “do not say that you ’ave come all the way just to give me the luncheon—but you would not, I know you are not the liar—that, I think, is why I like you.”

It was a difficult question to answer. Simon had not forgotten the Duke’s warning—that the walls of the Hotel Metropole have many ears, so he said discreetly: “Well, it’s a long story, but as a matter of fact, I’ve been meaning to come to Russia for a long time now, wanted to see all these wonderful new factories. I’m interested in that sort of thing, you know!”