“What about the Red Army?” asked Jemmy Hart. “As long as it stands to arms, Poland stays mobilised. As long as it threatens Poland, France presses Germany for the last gold mark, because France pays Poland.”
“Precisely that,” said Dr. Weekes. “The nations must present an ultimatum to Soviet Russia. ‘We’ll feed your people, make your trains run, re-start your industries, in return for certain conditions which we impose. Down with the Red Army. No propaganda. Recognition of pre-war debts. That or nothing.’ ”
“Would Lenin accept?” asked Bertram.
Dr. Weekes nodded.
“He knows the game’s up. He must accept to save his people. But we must act together, or he will drive wedges between us and play Germany against France.”
So they talked. But in their silences they thought of the peasants who were dying in the snow-bound villages beyond the river banks.
Day after day they went down the river, tying up at landing stages, driving over the snow-fields, going into the land of Famine, until Bertram said, “I’ve seen enough. The horror is getting on my nerves.”
“I agree,” said Dr. Weekes. “We have enough to report. Mine will go to the A. R. A. Yours to the world. With Jemmy Hart’s. Your opportunity is greater than mine. If you write the things we have seen, you’ll make men and angels weep.”
“If I write what I feel,” said Bertram, “it will make them sick.”
“If I write what I know,” said Jemmy Hart, “my best friends will denounce me as a Bolshevist!”