“The frontier bridge at Bielo’ostrof.”
I thought he was mad. “What on earth do you mean?” I asked.
“It can be fixed up all right—with a little care,” he went on. “Five or six thousand roubles to the station commissar and he’ll shut his eyes, another thousand or so to the bridge sentry and he’ll look the other way, and over you go. Evening is the best time, when it’s dark.”
I remembered I had heard speak of this method in Finland. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. It was the simplest thing in the world, but it wasn’t sure. Commissars were erratic and not unfearful of burning their fingers. Furthermore, the Finns sometimes turned people back. Besides, Mrs. Marsh would be with me—I hoped—and of that Zorinsky must know nothing.
“That is a splendid notion,” I exclaimed. “I had never thought of that. I’ll let you know before I start.”
Next day I told him I had decided not to go to Finland because I was thinking of going to Moscow.
“Madame Marsh has not been moved from No. 2 Goróhovaya,” declared the little Policeman as I sat opposite him in his fetid den. “Her case is in abeyance, and will doubtless remain so for some time. Since they learned of Marsh’s flight they have left her alone. They may perhaps forget all about her. Now, I think, is the time to act.”
“What will they do to her if her case comes on again?”
“It is too early yet to conjecture.”