To JOAN

This souvenir of one of the most difficult years of my life, which by our united efforts has turned out to be one of the most successful, and, thanks to her, has certainly been one of the happiest.

I — A Cry for Help

The Duke de Richleau and Mr. Simon Aron had gone in to dinner at eight o’clock, but coffee was not served till after ten.

Aron had eaten sparingly of each well-chosen course, and to one who made a hobby of such things the wines had proved a special pleasure. Since their mutual friend Richard Eaton had brought them together, he had dined on many occasions with De Richleau at his flat.

A casual observer might have considered it a strange friendship, but despite the difference in age and race, appearance and tradition, the two had many tastes in common.

Both the young English Jew and the elderly French exile loved beauty in its many forms, and could linger happily over a jade carving or a page of prose. They had also developed a pleasant rivalry in producing for each other great wines, fine food, and well-matured cigars.

Aron accepted a long Hoyo de Monterrey from the cedar cabinet which the Duke’s man presented to him, and his dark eyes flickered towards his host.

During dinner the impression had grown upon him that there was some special reason why the Duke had asked him to dine on this occasion. His intuition had not deceived him. De Richleau exhaled the first cloud of fragrant smoke from another of those long Hoyo’s which were his especial pride, and drew from his pocket a dirty piece of paper, which he flicked across the table. “My friend,” he said, raising his grey eyebrows a little, a slightly cynical smile on his thin lips, “I should be interested to have your opinion on this curious document.”

Simon Aron unfolded the piece of grimy paper. It had light blue rulings upon it, and was covered with a pencil scrawl; it might well have been a page torn from an exercise-book. Simon’s full mouth broadened into a wide grin, and, with a sudden gesture peculiar to himself, he gave a little nervous laugh, stooping his bird-like head with its pronounced Semitic nose to the hand which held his long cigar.

“Well, I’ll tell you, I’m no good at puzzles,” he grinned, “never done a cross-word in my life — but I’ll see what I can do.” As he spoke he took a pair of tortoise-shell spectacles from his pocket and began to study the crumpled paper, reading it out slowly as he did so.

“Dear Comrade,

Since I left the New York centre I have been investigating the possibilities of mineral wealth in this country.

There is one mine containing valuable deposits which has been closed down for a number of years, and I had hoped to get it going. Unfortunately, before I could do so, I was sent to the place where Comrade Eatonov was for a short time.

Work at the London centre must be almost at a standstill with the present reactionary Government in power, and if my transfer from here could be arranged for, I should badly need skilled assistance at the mine, so if you could come over, your help would be most welcome.

I would like to have met you in Moscow, but that will be impossible now. You can get all the information regarding the mine at Jack Straw’s. If little Simonoff is still with you, perhaps both of you could come.

I certainly need help pretty badly in my present position — it’s too much for me alone.

Your old comrade and fellow-worker,

Tsarderynski.”

Simon Aron shook his head with a little wriggle of his narrow shoulders. “How did it come to you?” he inquired.

The Duke passed over a flimsy envelope with which he had been toying. “Just so, my friend,” he said, lightly, “you will note that this bears a Finnish stamp, and was posted in Helsingfors.”

Simon examined the writing on the envelope. It was thin and angular — very different from the pencil scrawl of the letter — and bore the legend:

Monsieur Ricillou,

No. I Maison Arrol,

Londres,

Gde. Bretagne.

“I — er — suppose it’s not a mistake?” ventured Simon, thoughtfully. “I mean, it is meant for you?”

The Duke ran the tips of his fingers down his lean, handsome face. “At first I was inclined to suppose that it had been sent here in error, but now I am convinced that it was intended for me.”

“Wonder it ever got here — addressed like this!”

“Yes, the name misspelt — also Errol House, no mention of Curzon Street, or Mayfair, or any district number. But tell me — who do you think it is from?”

“Tsarderynski,” Simon murmured, “don’t know — never heard of him; looks like a letter from one Bolshie agent to another, on the face of it”

“May I suggest that you endeavour to translate the name?” The grey eyes of almost piercing brilliance, which gave character to De Richleau’s face, lit up.

— “‘Tsar,’ that’s Caesar — King,” Simon Aron began,

“‘de’ of, or from — ‘ ryn’ — ah! now wait a minute — this is interesting, very interesting —” He sat forward suddenly and began nodding his narrow head up and down. “Of course — this is from our old friend Rex Van Ryn!”

His host smiled encouragement.

Simon read the letter through again. “And Rex is in a muddle — a really nasty muddle,” he added jerkily.

“Exactly the conclusion I had arrived at,” De Richleau agreed. “Now what do you make of the rest of the letter?”

For some little time Simon did not reply. In his left hand he slowly revolved the bowl-shaped glass that held some of the Duke’s wonderful old brandy, in his right he held the long evenly burning cigar. For the moment his thoughts had left the beautiful room with its lovely old panelling, its four famous pictures by great masters, and the heavy carpet which seemed to deaden every sound.

He was thinking of Rex Van Ryn — that great hulking American with the ugly face and the enormous sense of fun. He could see Rex now, in the little sitting-room of the house in Trevor Square, which he always took when he came to London. He could hear him dilating on the question of drinks — “Never give a guy a large cocktail, but plenty of ’em — make ’em dry and drink ’em quick — come on, boys — it takes a fourth to make an appetite — here’s to crime!” — and now this strange letter out of Russia. What sort of wild escapade could have taken Rex to such a place? What kind of trouble was he up against? For Simon had not the least doubt that he was in trouble, and Simon was worried — he was very fond of Rex.

De Richleau meanwhile sat silent at the head of the table, a striking and unusual figure. He was a slim, delicate-looking man, somewhat above middle height, with slender, fragile hands and greying hair; but there was no trace of weakness in his fine distinguished face. His aquiline nose, broad forehead, and grey devil’s eyebrows might well have replaced those of the cavalier in the Van Dyke that gazed down from the opposite wall. Instead of the conventional black, he wore a claret-coloured Vicuna smoking-suit, with silk lapels and braided fastenings; this touch of colour increased his likeness to the portrait. He watched Simon with a slight smile on his firm mouth. He knew the cautious, subtle brain that lay behind the sloping forehead of his guest too well to hurry his deliberations.

“Let’s go through it carefully,” said Simon at last “What’s all this business about a mine? I didn’t know that Rex ever trained as a mining engineer.”

“Nor I,” agreed the Duke. “What do you make of the passage about Eatonov?”

Simon’s dark eyes flickered over his spectacles at the Duke.

“That’s where the muddle comes in — Eatonov is Richard Eaton, of course — and poor Richard went to Brixton! Rex is in prison — that’s what it seems to me.”

“Without a doubt,” De Richleau nodded, “that reference to Eaton was a clever way of putting it — no ordinary person could understand it, but he would know that, to us, it would be abundantly clear. If one needs further confirmation, one has only to note the suggestion about his transfer being arranged for, and that ‘it will be impossible for him to come to Moscow now to meet us’; he is somewhere in Soviet Russia, but he is not a free man.”

“The letter was posted in Finland,” Simon remarked.

“Certainly.” The Duke pushed the old brandy across the table to his guest. “It looks as if the letter was smuggled out of Russia, evidently Rex was afraid that his messenger might be searched at the frontier, and so made him commit the address to memory. From the envelope I doubt if the man could even speak English. The whole thing, with its talk of centres, comrades, and reactionary Governments, is obviously designed to throw dust in the eyes of any Soviet official.”

“Who is Jack Straw? I don’t — er — understand that bit at all. The only Jack Straw’s that I’ve ever heard of is the Castle on the Heath.”

“Jack Straw’s Castle — what is that?” The Duke looked puzzled.

“An inn on Hampstead Heath — place where Dick Turpin, the highwayman, used to make his headquarters about a hundred and fifty years ago — at least,” Simon corrected himself, “I’m not certain that isn’t ‘The Spaniards’.”

“What can an inn on Hampstead Heath have to do with a mine in Russia? There must be some other explanation.”

“Perhaps,” Simon hesitated, “it is the meeting-place of some secret Bolshevik society.”

“But, my friend, if Rex has fallen foul of the Ogpu, surely they would be the last people to give us any information about him?”

“It might be a society of counter-revolutionaries, and Rex has been arrested for being in touch with them.”

“If you are right, Rex may have gone to Russia on behalf of these émigrés, and been arrested on that account — if so, the mine may be anything of value — perhaps even secret information.”

“Well — I’ll tell you,” said Simon, “I don’t like it a little bit — look at the last sentence in that letter — ‘ I certainly need help pretty badly in my present position, it’s too much for me alone.’”

The Duke gently laid the long blue-grey ash of his cigar in the onyx ash tray. “There is not a doubt,” he said, slowly, “our good friend Van Ryn is a prisoner in Soviet Russia — Rex is one of the bravest men I have ever known, he would never have written that last paragraph unless he were in dire distress. It is a cry for help. Where he may be in that vast territory which constitutes the Union of Soviet Peoples, it will be no easy task to discover. He has found somebody — a fellow prisoner, perhaps — who was about to leave the country, and persuaded him to take this letter in the hope that it would get through. The chances were all against it reaching it’s destination, but as it has done so — the point is now — what are we to do?”

Simon Aron leant forward and laughed his short, jerky laugh into his hand. “Well — er — I hate to say so,” he laughed again, “but it seems to me that you and I have got to take a trip to Russia.”

II — A Plan of Campaign

“Now this,” said the Duke, “is indeed a pleasant surprise. I thought you might bring fresh light to bear upon some aspect of this affair — but to have your actual help was more than I had dared to hope.”

“Very fond of Rex,” said Simon briefly.

“I know,” De Richleau nodded, “but our situations are so different. My life is one of leisure — in fact, now that old age is creeping upon me, and more and more pursuits become barred to a man of my years — I find it increasingly difficult to pass my time in an interesting and agreeable manner. You, on the contrary, as a young partner in a great financial house, have always to be on the end of the eternal telephone. You even grudge a single afternoon spent away from your office in the City. I had imagined that it would be quite impossible for you to get away.”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I was — er — thinking of taking a holiday — going down to Monte for a few days — might just as well go to Russia!”

De Richleau smiled rather grimly. “I fear that this will be a very different kind of holiday, my friend. However, we will not talk of that. It is some days since I received this letter, so I have already made certain inquiries and preparations.”

“Tell me,” said Simon, shortly.

“First I cabled to my old friend, the President of the Chesapeake Banking and Trust Corporation — Van Ryn the elder — for news of Rex. Let us go into the other room, and I will show you his reply.” As he spoke the Duke left the table and threw open the door for his guest.

“Yes, I’d like to see that — I’ll take my brandy with me, if you don’t mind.” Carrying his glass, Simon Aron led the way into the big library.

It was not so much the size or decoration which made this room in the Curzon Street flat so memorable for those who had been privileged to visit it, but the unique collection of rare and beautiful objects which it contained. A Tibetan Buddha seated upon the Lotus; bronze figurines from Ancient Greece. Beautifully chased rapiers of Toledo steel and Moorish pistols inlaid with turquoise and gold, Ikons from Holy Russia, set with semi-precious stones, and curiously carved ivories from the East. The walls were lined shoulder-high with books, but above them hung lovely old colour-prints, and a number of priceless historical documents and maps.

De Richleau went over to his desk and, taking a few flimsy sheets from a drawer, handed them silently to Aron.

Simon read out the contents of the cable:

“Rex very unsettled since return from Europe last summer — went lone hunting expedition in Rockies August September — went South America October — stayed West Indies on return trip — went Russia late November against my wish ostensibly investigate commercial conditions properly accredited by me — letter received dated December fourth stating safe arrival no news since — became worried end December put inquiry through Embassy — Rex left Moscow December eleventh destination unknown — all efforts to trace movements so far unavailing — spare no expense cable any news immediately now very anxious Channock Van Ryn.”

Simon nodded. “Expensive cable that!”

The Duke crossed his slender legs, as he settled himself comfortably in an arm-chair. “That I think would hardly matter to Channock Van Ryn, and Rex, you will remember, is his only son. I am not surprised that he is anxious, but if there was ever any doubt about the message having come from our young friend, I think this cable places the matter beyond dispute.”

“Umm,” Simon nodded. “Now let’s see — today’s the 24th of January, isn’t it? At any rate, it’s nearly seven weeks since he disappeared from Moscow.”

“Exactly, but there is one comfort: we know at least that he has not been knocked on the head in some low quarter of the town and his body flung into the river — or pushed under the ice, rather — for, of course, the Moskawa River will be frozen over now. He must have fallen foul of the secret police in some way — our young friend is nothing if not inquisitive — and I believe there are very definite restrictions as to what visitors to the Soviet may, or may not, see during their stay.”

“Wait a moment!” Simon slowly revolved his brandy-glass, holding it in the palm of his hand to warm the spirit through the thin transparent glass — “Wait a minute,” he repeated, “that cable said ‘left Moscow for an unknown destination’!”

“Yes,” agreed the Duke, “and during the last few days I have been gathering information regarding other places to which he may have gone. I think you would be surprised at the knowledge which I now possess of the towns and railways of the Soviet Republic.”

“How — er — did you set about it?” Simon asked curiously.

“The obvious way, my friend.” De Richleau’s clever face broke into a sudden smile. “I paid a visit to the London office of the ‘Intourist’, which as you may know, is the official travel bureau of the Soviet. For some time now, Stalin and the present group of Kommissars have thought it desirable that people of the anti-Bolshevik states should be encouraged to visit Russia. For one thing they spend money which the Soviet badly needs — for another, they are shown certain aspects of the Bolshevik State, such as the great Metalurgical works, and scientifically run agricultural centres, of which the Kommissars are justly proud. It is hoped that they will return to their own countries with a glowing picture of the benefits of Communism for the masses.”

“But you can’t just take a ticket and go to Russia, can you?” Simon spoke doubtfully.

“Almost — but not quite, they have been very clever.” The Duke spread out his slim hands. “You wish to go to Russia? Good! To what part would you like to go — Leningrad, Moscow, Keiff, Odessa, the Crimea, the Caucassus? Would you like to stay four days — or four weeks? To start in the north, or in the south? All you have to do is to tell — us — The ‘Intourist’. We will be your servants in a country where there are servants no longer. Here are all sorts of itineraries, all ready planned. They can be varied to suit your purpose. Is it the treasures of the old world, that we have so carefully preserved, which you wish to see — or the marvellous industrial developments, by which Russia will lead the world in a few years’ time? Let us plan your journey for you. We will take your railway tickets in advance, and provide you with hotel accommodation during your stay. Of both there are four grades; and which you choose depends only upon what you wish to pay. Good meals will be provided for you, and the prices of the tours include not only entrance to all museums and sights of interest, but to the theatres and places of amusement as well. What is that? You fear you may have difficulty with the language? But not at all! An interpreter will be placed at your disposal — You do not wish to go with a crowd of people like a tourist? Certainly not! You shall have an interpreter entirely to yourself — there is no extra charge. You see, my friend —” Once more the Duke spread out his elegant hands as he finished his word-picture of the persuasive advertising agent of the Bolsheviks.

“Clever,” Simon said softly. “Oh, very clever!”

“Exactly.” De Richleau smiled again. “And that little Bolshevik interpreter will be your guide, philosopher, and friend, from the time you arrive until the time you leave this very interesting country. You can secure neither railway tickets nor hotel accommodation without consulting him, and although this excellent ‘Intourist’ will cheerfully get your passport visa for you to enter the Soviet — should you by chance desire to change your plans, and forget to inform the little interpreter — you will find it quite impossible to secure the necessary visa to get out.”

“I see.” Simon laughed his little nervous laugh. “And that’s where the fun begins. Supposing we wanted to get off the beaten track — to some place that the itineraries don’t mention — what happens then?”

“That,” said the Duke, slowly, “is a different matter. I talked vaguely to the polite young man at the bureau of visiting Archangel. He pointed out that the port would be frozen over at this time of year; an uninteresting place to visit, he seemed to think. I spoke of other towns not mentioned in the official guide — and the winter scenery in the Urals. He said that there would be no suitable accommodation. In fact, he was not helpful in any way.”

“Have you any idea what conditions are like out there now?”

De Richleau shrugged. “It is difficult to say — the reports of people to whom I have spoken vary so greatly. There is little doubt that the towns are overcrowded and food scarce. Everyone has to surrender thirty-five per cent of their wages to assist in the accomplishment of the Five Year Plan. The whole population is pauperized to this one end. Some say that the masses will not stand the strain, and that through this, and the lack of technical experts, the plan will fail and there will be counterrevolution. But with these, I think, the wish is father to the thought. Others contend that the enthusiasm for the Plan is tremendous, and that the sacrifices to assist in its accomplishment are made with the same fervour as that displayed by the early Christians in their attempt to convert the world. The truth, I think, lies somewhere between these two.”

“That’s more or less what I’ve heard.” Simon solemnly nodded his head up and down. “Mind you —” he added, “The Five Year Plan is only the first of a series, and they’re up against tremendous difficulties — it’s such a big place — Russia — and nine-tenths of the people couldn’t even read and write before the War; population’s about a hundred and eighty million, and the whole thing’s run by the Communist party, which is only about a million and a half.”

“But, my friend, that million and a half of a few years ago, is nearly four million today. Every day thousands of young people are graduating from the enlarged universities under high pressure, and every one of them is a Communist. That is one great factor in their favour; they control the intelligent youth of Russia, the other is their fanaticism. With them the Communist ideal is a religion. Ambition, comfort, leisure, personal relations, everything must give way to that. That is why I believe in the long run they are bound to triumph.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps — I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Christianity hasn’t triumphed or Islam — and they were fanatical enough. Still it won’t be yet awhile, and anyhow it’s not our business. When do you think of starting?”

“I am leaving tomorrow,” the Duke replied, somewhat to Simon’s surprise. “You will understand, I had not counted upon your company, and I felt that every day was of importance. Traces that our friend may have left in his passage will tend more and more to become obliterated; and I do not care to contemplate what Rex may be suffering in a Bolshevik prison. It was for that reason that I made all speed — even to secure a special diplomatic pass through a certain Embassy, where I have particularly obliging friends.”

“All right,” Simon agreed. “I shan’t be able to get away for a few days, but I’ll follow you as soon as I can.”

“Do not follow me, my friend, but join me in Moscow. I have elected to go by sea to Gothenburg, and hence by rail via Stockholm and St. Petersburg — or rather Leningrad as they call it now. It will take some days longer, but you will remember that the messenger posted Rex’s letter in Helsingfors. It is my intention to break my journey there for forty-eight hours; I shall advertise in the Finnish papers for news of Rex, and offer a substantial reward. If fortune is with us, the messenger may still be in the town, and able to inform us more exactly regarding our poor friend’s misfortune and his present whereabouts.”

“Yes — that’s sound. Thanks —” Simon helped himself to another cigar. “We shall miss our Hoyo’s —” he laughed suddenly.

“Not altogether, I trust,” De Richleau smiled. “I have dispatched two hundred in an airtight case to await our arrival.”

“Won’t they be opened at the frontier? Customs people pretty troublesome about anything like that, I should think.”

“Not these, my friend — I sent them in the Embassy bag — and that, at least, is one privilege that we, who used to rule the world, retain — as long as we have friends in the diplomatic service there is always that wonderful elastic Embassy bag — passing the Customs without examination, and giving immunity to correspondence.”

Simon’s dark eyes flickered at the Duke with an amused smile. “That’s wonderful,” he agreed, “and if the food’s going to be bad we shall enjoy the Hoyo’s all the more. I’ll tell you one thing I’m worried about, though. I can’t speak a word of Russian! How are we going to make our inquiries?”

“Fortunately I can,” De Richleau replied. “You probably do not know it but my mother was a Plakoff — her mother again was a Bourbon-Condé, so I am only one-quarter Russian — but before the War I spent much time in Russia. Prince Plakoff possessed immense estates in the foothills of the Carpathians. A part of that territory is now in the enlarged Rumania, the other portion remains in the new Soviet of the Ukraine. I stayed there, sometimes for months at a time, when I was young. I also know, many of the Russian cities well.”

“That’s lucky,” said Simon. “Now what exactly would you like me to do?”

“Go to the ‘Intourist’ and arrange for a stay of perhaps a fortnight in Moscow; let them obtain your passport visa in the ordinary way — that will take some little time. Book by the direct route to Moscow, via Berlin and Warsaw — you will cross the frontier at Negoreloye; I will meet you in Moscow after making my inquiries in Helsingfors, and combing the Consulates in Leningrad for any information which they may have.”

Simon nodded his bird-like head. “What about the Embassies here. I suppose you’ve done what you can?”

“Yes, but quite uselessly. The American Embassy had already been questioned by Washington on behalf of Channock Van Ryn, but they could add nothing to Moscow’s report that ‘Rex left on December 11th for an unknown destination’.”

“How about mun?”

“Who?” asked the Duke, vaguely.

“Money — I mean,” Simon corrected with a grin.

“I would suggest a good supply; at one time visitors to the Soviet were forced to deposit all foreign money at the frontier; they were given Soviet roubles in exchange, and any surplus of these which they had left over they could exchange once more into their own currency when they left the country; but that is so no longer. It is permissible to carry any currency into Russia, only the amount must be declared, in order that no question can be raised as to taking it out again.”

“Won’t they be suspicious if I — er — bring in more than I should need in the ordinary way?”

“Yes, perhaps. Therefore it would be best if you declare only one third of what you bring; conceal the rest about you — in your boots or the lining of your waistcoat. I am sending a reserve for myself by way of that excellent Embassy bag. It is quite possible that we may need a considerable sum for bribes, and, if we can find Rex, for arranging a method by which he can be smuggled out of the country. If we declare all that we have when we go in — it might be difficult to explain upon what it has been expended, when we go out. You must remember that all travels, hotels, food — practically everything is supposed to be paid for before we start.”

“Jack Straw?” queried Simon, suddenly “I can’t help wondering what he meant by that. Do you think there’s anything to be done there?”

De Richleau ran his hand lightly over his forehead. “What do you suggest?”

“Well, I’ll tell you. I don’t think it would do any harm if I went up to Hampstead one evening — had a look at the people that go there these days — we might get a line.”

“An excellent plan; you will have ample time.”

“Do you happen to have an atlas?” Simon asked with a little laugh. “I’ve almost forgotten what Russia looks like!”

“But certainly, my friend.” De Richleau produced a heavy volume. A table was cleared of its jewelled crucifix, its jade god, and the signed photograph of King Edward VII; then the big atlas was opened out. For a long time the handsome grey head of the Duke remained in close proximity to the dark Semitic profile of Mr. Simon Aron, while the two talked together in low voices.

Some two hours later De Richleau saw his guest down the broad stairway of Errol House to the main hall, and out into the silent deserted streets of Mayfair.

“You will not forget Jack Straw?” he said as they shook hands. “And twelve o’clock at the Ilyinka Gate in Moscow a fortnight hence — it is best that we should seem to meet by chance.”

“I’ll be there,” said Simon, adjusting his top-hat upon his narrow head. “The Ilyinka Gate, Moscow, at twelve o’clock, fourteen days from now.”

III — “Valeria Petrovna”

Simon Aron stepped out of a taxi in front of his cousin’s house in Hampstead one night, a little more than a week after his dinner with the Duke.

Simon was a very rich young man, but it was an interesting point in his psychology that he lived in one small room at his club, and did not own a car. The taxi-driver, however, had no reason to be dissatisfied with his tip, although he had had a long and chilly wait outside Jack Straw’s Castle, which his fare had elected to visit on his way from Piccadilly.

The house was one of those long, low, modern mansions standing back from the road in its own grounds. The short gravel drive and the roadway on each side were lined with private cars of all makes and sizes; the windows of the house were a blaze of light; it was evident that a party was in progress.

Having greeted the maid at the door as an old friend, and divested himself of his silk scarf, white kid gloves, stick, and shining topper — Simon was soon in conversation with his hostess.

“Good party tonight, Miriam?” he asked her in his jerky way, with a wide smile.

“I hope so, Simon dear,” she replied a little nervously. “I’ve taken an awful lot of trouble — but you never know what people will like — do you?”

“Of course it will be a good party, Miriam,” he encouraged her. “Your parties always are good parties! Anyone special coming?”

“We’ve got Gian Capello — he’s promised to play, and Madame Maliperi is going to sing; it’s a great help having Alec Wolff too, he’s really very clever at the piano; Jacob says he’ll go a long way — and knowing him so well I can get him to play at any time.”

“Of course you can — Alec’s a nice boy.”

“I tell you who I have got here —” she went on hurriedly. “Madame Karkoff — you know, Valeria Petrovna Karkoff — from the Moscow Arts Theatre; she’s over here on a visit with Kommissar Leshkin. Jacob met them at the film studios at Elstree last week.”

Simon’s quick eyes flickered about the wide hall; with sudden interest he asked: “Does she — er — speak English?”

“Oh yes. Simon dear I do wish you’d look after her, will you? They don’t know anybody here. It would be an awful weight off my mind. Look! there she is — the dark woman, in the yellow dress. She’s awfully good-looking I think — will you?”

“Well — er —” He appeared to hesitate. “Taking on a bit of a handful, isn’t it?”

“Oh, no, Simon. You get on so well with everybody. Of course,” she went on a little wistfully, “I do love giving parties, but you know what Jacob is — he just asks everybody that he can think of — and I have to do all the work. Do be a dear!”

Simon allowed himself to be led over. “Oh, Madame Karkoff, I want you to meet my cousin, Mr. Aron.” Simon’s hostess smiled a little unhappily. “He’s awfully interested in the theatre.”

“’Ow do you do, Meestaire Aron?” said Madame Karkoff, in a rich, deep, almost husky voice, as she lifted her fine chin and held out a long slender hand. “Come — sit ’ere by me.” With a quick gesture she made a pretence of drawing aside her dress.

Simon accepted the invitation, and produced his cigarette-case. She took one with a little laugh.

“I ’ave been dying for a cigarette,” she confessed. “Ah, sank you.” Almost before the cigarette had reached her scarlet lips Simon’s other hand had left his pocket, and the patent lighter in it flickered into flame. It was a much-practised little trick of his.

“So you are interested in the theatre, eh?” She regarded him curiously. “Tell me about the theatre, Meestaire Aron!”

Simon leant forward and laughed his little nervous laugh into the palm of his hand. “Fraid I can’t,” he chuckled. “Mind you, I’d love to be able to, but we haven’t got a theatre in England!”

“Ah! So you know that, do you?” A gleam of appreciation showed in her large dark eyes.

“Of course,” he nodded vigorously. “There is no theatre here in the sense that you know it; there are some people who try pretty hard, but they don’t get much encouragement — and they’ve got a lot to learn.”

He studied her thoughtfully, marvelling at her dark beauty. The dead-white skin, the narrow arched eyebrows; the rather flat face with high cheek-bones, relieved by the sensual scarlet mouth and slumbrous dark eyes. No one would have thought of her as other than a woman, although she was actually little more than a girl. He put her down as about twenty-five.

“You are a Jew — are you not?” she asked suddenly.

He laughed jerkily again, as he ran his finger down his prominent nose. “Of course. I couldn’t hide this, could I? And as a matter of fact I’ve no wish to try.”

She laughed delightedly, showing two rows of strong white, even teeth. “I ’ave of the Jewish blood myself,” she said then, serious again in a moment. “My grandmother — she was a Jewess. It is good; there is no art where there is not Jewish blood.”

Simon looked round the big lounge-hall. “Plenty of them here tonight,” he said. And indeed, although there were a fair number of Christians, the majority of the guests were obviously what Simon would have termed “our people”. He smiled and waved a greeting as he caught sight of his friend, Richard Eaton, who was one of the Christian minority.

“I would like champagne,” declared Madame Karkoff, suddenly — throwing back her dark head, and exhaling a cloud of cigarette-smoke. “Lots and lots of champagne!”

“All right.” Simon stood up. “It’ll be in the billiard-room, I expect.”

She made no attempt to rise. “Bring it to me ’ere,” she said with a little shrug of the shoulders.

“Ner.” He shook his head rapidly as he uttered the curious negative which he often used. It came of his saying “no” without troubling to close the lips of his full mouth. “Ner — you come with me, it’s so crowded here.”

For a moment her mouth went sullen as she looked at the slim figure, with its narrow stooping shoulders, that stood before her, then she rose languidly.

He piloted her through the crush to the buffet in the billiards-room. An obsequious waiter proffered two glasses; they might have held a fair-sized cocktail, but they were not Simon’s idea of glasses for champagne. He waved them aside quickly with one word — “tumblers!”

Two small tumblers were produced and filled by the waiter. As Simon handed one to Madame Valeria Petrovna Karkoff she smiled approval.

“They are meeserable — those little glasses for champagne, no good at all — all the same you are, ’ow do you say? ‘You are a one, ’ees it not? Chin-chin!”

Simon laughed, they finished another tumbler apiece before they left the billiards-room. “Come on,” he said. “I think Maliperi is going to sing.”

“Maliperi?” she exclaimed, opening wide her eyes. “Come then, why do we stay ’ere?” and gripping him impulsively by the hand she ran him down the long passage to the music-room at the back of the house.

They stood together in a corner while Maliperi sang, and marvelled at her art, although the magnificent voice that had filled so many opera houses was too great for the moderate-sized room, and a certain portion of its beauty lost.

“Let us ’ave more champagne,” said Valeria Petrovna, when it was over. “I feel I will enjoy myself tonight.”

Simon led the way back to the buffet, and very shortly two more tumblers stood before them. As they were about to drink, a big red-headed man put his hand familiarly on her shoulder, and spoke thickly, in what Simon could only imagine to be Russian.

She shook his hand off with an impatient gesture, and answered him sharply in the same tongue.

He brought his rather flabby, white face, with its short, flat nose, and small, hot eyes, down to the level of hers for a moment with a wicked look, and spoke again.

Her eyes lit with a sudden fire, and she almost spat the words back at him — so that her melodious, husky voice became quite harsh for a moment. He turned, and stared angrily in Simon’s face. With his great, broad shoulders, powerful jaw, and receding forehead, he reminded Simon of a gorilla; then with a sudden scowl he swung upon his heel and turned away.

“Who — er — is that?” Simon asked, curiously, although he knew already who the man must be.

She shrugged — smiling again in a moment. “Oh, that — that ees Nicolai Alexis — Kommissar Leshkin. We travel together, you know — ’e is a little drunk tonight, I think.”

After that they heard Capello play; the Maestro was in form and drew marvellous music from his cherished violin.

“Oh, it ’ees tears ’e makes me cry,” Valeria Petrovna exclaimed passionately after he had played one aria, and the gallant Simon found it difficult not to cry out with pain, as she unconsciously dug her sharp nails into his hand which she held between her own.

They returned to the buffet and drank more tumblers of champagne, then Simon suggested that she might like to powder her nose. She seemed surprised at the suggestion, but accepted it; actually it was Simon’s way of saying that he wanted to use the telephone, he also wanted a word with Richard Eaton.

He found his friend without difficulty — and led the way to a quiet corner. Richard Eaton was a young man of medium height. His dark hair was brushed straight back from a “widow’s peak”, grey eyes twinkled out of a tanned, clean-shaven, oval face; he had a most attractive smile. He smiled now at Simon. “You are hitting it up, my boy — who’s the lovely lady?”

Simon looked a trifle sheepish — “Madame Karkoff,” he mumbled. “She’s a Russian — Moscow Arts Theatre — nice, isn’t she? But, look here, where have you been all the week? I’ve been trying to get hold of you for days.”

“I’ve been staying with the Terences, down near Reading — he’s great fun — commanded a battalion of the Coldstream in the Chinese shemozzle. I’ve got my new plane down there — been trying it out.”

“I see,” Simon nodded. “Well — I wanted to see you, because — er — I’m off to Russia in a few days’ time.”

“My dear old boy, you have got it badly!”

“Don’t be an ass.” Simon wriggled his neck and grinned. “No, honestly, there is a muddle on.”

“What sort of a muddle?” Richard Eaton asked, serious at once.

“It’s Rex. He’s in Russia — spot of trouble with the authorities. He’s in prison somewhere — we don’t quite know where.”

“Phew!” Eaton let out a long whistle. “That’s a nasty one — poor old Rex — and you’re going over to try and get him out, is that the idea?”

Simon nodded. “That’s about it”

“Well,” said Richard Eaton, slowly, “you can’t go off on a job like that alone — I’d better come, too. I owe Rex a turn over that mess of mine.”

“Ner — awfully nice of you, Richard, but De Richleau’s coming, in fact he’s already gone — probably there by now, but I’ll tell you what I do want you to do.”

“Go right ahead, Simon.” Eaton took his friend by the arm. “Just say how I can help. I was going to take the new bus down to Cannes for a week or two, but I can easily scrap that.”

“That’s splendid of you, Richard, but don’t alter anything,” Simon begged. “As long as you don’t kill yourself in your plane. I’m always terrified that you’ll do that!”

Eaton laughed. “Not likely; she’s fast and foolproof — a kid of twelve could fly her — but what’s the drill?”

“I shall arrive in Moscow next Tuesday. I’ve got a permit for three weeks; now if you don’t hear from the Duke or myself that we are safely back out of Russia by then, I want you to stir things up. Get busy with the Foreign Office, and pull every wire you know to get us out of it. Of course I shall leave instructions with the firm as well — but I want someone like you, who’ll not stop kicking people until they get us out.”

Richard Eaton nodded slowly. “Right you are, old boy, leave it to me — but I’ll see you before you go?”

“Um, rather — what about lunch tomorrow?”

“Splendid, where shall we say? Let’s go and see Vecchi at the Hungaria. One o’clock suit you?”

“Yes. Look!” Simon had just caught sight of Valeria Petrovna again. “There’s Madame Karkoff — come over and let me introduce you.”

Richard shook his head in mock fright. “No, thanks, Simon. I like ’em small and cuddlesome, with big blue eyes! I should be scared that Russian girl would eat me!”

“Don’t be an idiot! I want to telephone — come and talk to her. I shan’t be a minute.”

“Oh, if it’s only a matter of holding the fort while you’re busy — that’s another thing!” Richard was duly presented, and Simon slipped away.

Eaton found her easier to talk to than he had expected, but she did not attract him in the least. He was glad when Simon came back, and took the opportunity to leave them when they suggested returning to the music-room.

Simon and Valeria Petrovna heard Alec Wolf! play, which was a pleasant interlude — and a bald man sing, which, after what had gone before, was an impertinence.

Later, at the buffet, Madame Karkoff consumed two large plates of some incredible confection, the principal ingredient of which seemed to be cream, with the gusto of a wicked child, and Simon ate some foie gras sandwiches. They both drank more champagne, she lashing hers with Benedictine, because she considered it “dry-thin” and much inferior to the sweet, sparkling Caucasian wine to which she was accustomed; but the amount which she drank seemed in no way to affect her.

At length Simon suggested that he might see her home. She looked round the crowded room with half-closed eyes, then she shrugged eloquently, and smiled. “Why not? Nicolai Alexis will be furious, but what does it matter? — ’E is drunk — let us go!”

With a magnificent gesture she seemed to sweep her garments about her, and the crowd gave passage as she sailed towards the door, the narrow-shouldered Simon following.

They both assured the tired and still anxious Miriam that it had been a “marvellous party”, and reached the hall.

“Mr. Aron’s car? Yes, sir.” The hired butler nodded. “One moment, sir.”

He gave a shout and beckoned, and a moment later a great silver Rolls was standing before the door; Simon had not telephoned in vain. He had a garage with whom he had an understanding that, at any hour of the day or night, a luxury car was always at Mr. Aron’s disposal, and he paid handsomely.

“Where — er — shall I tell him?” Simon asked.

“Ze Berkeley,” she said, quickly. “Come, get in.”

Simon gave instructions and did as he was bid. Almost immediately they were speeding down the gradients towards the West End.

She talked quickly and vividly of the party and the people whom they had just left The car had reached Baker Street before Simon had a chance to get in the question which he’d been meaning to ask; he said quickly: “What about a little lunch one day?”

Her shoulders moved slightly under her ermine cloak. “My frien’, it would be nice — but it is impossible. Tomorrow I ’ave a ’undred things to do, an’ the next day I go back to Russia.”

The car slid through Grosvenor Square, and into Carlos Place. Simon considered for a moment, then he said, seriously: “Are you doing anything for lunch this week?”

She put her head back, and her magnificent laughter filled the car. “Foolish one, I shall be in Moskawa — you are an absurd.”

“Ner.” Simon shook his head quickly. “Tell me — are you booked for lunch next Thursday?”

The car sped through the eastern side of Berkeley Square, and up Berkeley Street. She pressed his hand. “Silly boy — of course not, but I ’ave told you — I shall be in Moskawa once more!”

“All right,” said Simon, decisively. “Then you will meet me for lunch at one o’clock at the Hotel Metropole in Moscow — Thursday, a week today.”

The car had stopped before the entrance to the hotel, the commissionaire stepped forward and opened the door.

“You make a joke! You do not mean this?” she asked, in her melodious, husky voice, leaning forward to peer into his face.

“I do,” nodded Simon, earnestly.

She laughed suddenly, and drew her hand quickly down his cheek with a caressing gesture. “All right — I will be there!”

IV — Cigars and Pistols for Two

At twelve o’clock precisely on the 7th of February, a very cold and miserable little figure stood ostensibly admiring the ancient Ilyinka Gate in Moscow.

It was Mr. Simon Aron, clad in his ordinary London clothes. A smart blue overcoat buttoned tightly across his narrow chest, black shoes, gloves and stick, a soft hat pulled well down over his arc of nose.

Somehow, Mr. Aron, for all his foresightedness in the realms of commerce and finance, had failed to bargain for the rigours of a Russian winter. The cold wind cut through his cloth coat, his feet were wet through with the slush of the streets, and the glare of the snow upon the open “prospekts” was already beginning to hurt his eyes — never too strong at the best of times.

It was with more than ordinary relief that he saw a trim, soldierly form come through the gate; it was easily discernible among the crowd of town moujiks and porters. He recognized the Duke immediately, but how changed — in all but the clever, handsome face.

De Richleau was dressed in the manner of a Russian nobleman before the Revolution, or a high official under the Soviet Government. He wore a heavy coat, belted at the waist and with a vast fur collar, shining black Hessian boots, and on his head at a rakish angle — making him look much taller than usual — a big fur “papenka”.

As the crowd instinctively made way for him, he looked sharply from side to side, evidently catching sight of Simon at the first glance — but taking no apparent notice. Turning to speak to a little man beside him, who wore a shabby coat and peaked cap which suggested some sort of uniform, he started to cross the street diagonally.

Simon knew the shabby individual to be a guide; he had just such another standing at his elbow, dilating to him on the history of the Ilyinka Gate. He turned to his man quickly. “Let’s go on,” he said. “I’m cold,” and he began to walk down the pavement to the point at which the Duke would arrive.

De Richleau looked round suddenly when he was nearly across the road, and seemed to see Simon for the first time. He waved a greeting.

“Hello! mon cher, and what are you doing in Moscow?”

Simon pretended equal surprise as they shook hands. “Over here on a holiday — thought I’d like to see some of the wonderful improvements they’re said to be making.”

“Indeed, yes,” the Duke agreed heartily. “All educated people should know of the great progress which is being made for civilization. I find it most interesting. Have you see the Mogess power station and the Michelson Works?”

“Ner.” Simon shook his head. “I only arrived last night.”

“I see, and where are you staying?”

“The Metropole.”

“Really! But that is excellent; I am there, too.” De Richleau took Simon’s arm and led him down the street — their respective guides, who had been interested listeners, followed side by side. “Are you alone?”

“Yes — friend who was coming with me let me down at the last minute — he couldn’t help it poor chap — lost his father suddenly!”

“Dear me. However, we shall now be able to see something of this fine town together.” The Duke spoke in loud tones, determined, that the guides should not lose one syllable of the conversation. “Some of the historical sights are of the greatest interest — and the museums, what treasures they have got! All the beautiful things that were formerly locked up in the houses of the nobles.”

“I saw the Kremlin this morning,” Simon volunteered. “But I was a bit disappointed really — I mean with the old part — Lenin’s tomb is worth seeing, though!”

“A marvellous sight, is it not, with all those precious metals sent from every part of Russia? The tombs of the Tsars are nothing to it. But you look cold, my friend!”

“I am,” Simon declared feelingly, and in truth his thin face was almost blue.

“But what clothes!” exclaimed the Duke, surveying him. “You must get furs if you are to stay here any length of time, or else you will be miserable!”

“I shall be here about a fortnight,” said Simon doubtfully.

“In that case — most certainly. We will go to the trading rows in Red Square at once.” He turned, and spoke rapidly in Russian to the guides; they nodded, and looked sympathetically at Simon. The whole party then retraced their footsteps.

“It will not cost you a great deal,” De Richleau added. “You see, if we buy well, you will be able to sell the furs again at a good figure before you go home. The comfort to you will most certainly be worth the difference.”

Before long they arrived at the Trading Rows, and after some sharp bargaining, which the Duke carried out with the assistance of the two guides, Simon found himself equipped in a fashion not unlike that of the traditional Cossack. In addition to furs, De Richleau insisted that he should have a pair of galoshes; for without these, no boots, however tough, could long withstand the continual wetness of the Moscow streets in winter; and as Simon looked about him he saw that everyone was wearing them.

“Let us lunch, my friend,” said the Duke, once more taking him by the arm when their purchases were completed. “The Hotel Metropole is not the Ritz in Paris, or our old friend the Berkeley in London, but I am hungry — so it will serve!”

Arrived at the hotel, the guides wished to know “the plans of gentlemen for afternoon”.

“Have you seen the Park of Culture and Leisure?” the Duke asked Simon.

“Ner, what’s that?”

“It is in the Zamoskvarechye — the River district; a great park where there is every variety of amusement for the people — volley-ball, tennis, fencing, a circus and a children’s town, a hundred things — it would be interesting — let us go there.”

“Um,” Simon nodded. “Let’s.”

“If situation is such, gentlemen will not need us?” proffered one of the guides. “Gentlemen can find their way?”

“Thank you — yes,” De Richleau answered. “I have the little map which you gave me.”

“What for evening-time?” asked the other guide.

“A theatre,” the Duke suggested. “I have been to the Arts Theatre already — what of Meyerhold’s theatre? That is where they have all the queer new plays — mechanical scenery, a complete break with all the old stage traditions — shall we go there?”

“Yes — I’d like to see that,” Simon nodded vigorously.

“Certainly,” the guides agreed; again they would not be needed; they would procure seats, and leave the tickets in the bureau of the hotel; was there any other way in which they could be of service? They were polite and anxious to oblige. “No?” Very well, they would call tomorrow morning.

The Duke and Simon were soon seated at a small table in the restaurant.

“Well — er — any news?” Simon asked at once, but the only reply he received was a by no means gentle kick, from the Duke’s big Hessian boot under the table. Then that amazingly interesting and erudite man launched forth into a long dissertation upon the marvels of Moscow — its wonderful historical associations lying side by side with all these modern developments, which, in another two generations, might make it the capital of the civilized world.

It was well that De Richleau talked fluently, and enjoyed talking, since the service of the restaurant was quite appalling. They had to wait twenty-five minutes before a waiter condescended to take their order — and another twenty minutes before the first course arrived.

Despite his anxiety to hear if any news of Rex had been secured by the Duke in Helsingfors or Leningrad, Simon remained patient through the long wait and the plain but satisfying meal that followed. He never tired of listening to the Duke, and the dullness of the fare was relieved by a large helping of caviare. Simon, who was patient by nature, could be especially patient if the caviare was good and plentiful!

Directly they had finished they donned their furs, and left the hotel, but De Richleau did not take the road to the River District. Instead he turned up the Petrowka Boulvarde, saying to Simon as he did so: “I feel that now is the time to ascertain about our Hoyo de Monterreys.”

“Um,” Simon agreed, “hope they came through all right?”

“Yes, but I did not wish to collect them until you had joined me.”

They walked on for some twenty minutes, turning occasionally to right or left; meanwhile De Richleau still avoided the subject of Rex, and continued his dissertation upon Moscow.

Simon looked about him with interest Moscow was quite unlike any large city he had seen — the great majority of the buildings were in a shocking state of repair, the paint peeling from shop-fronts and doorways. The windows broken, boarded over, or covered with grime. Nine out of ten shops were empty and deserted; those that were still occupied had little in their windows other than a bust of Lenin and a Soviet flag, except here and there, where long queues of people waited outside one of the State Co-operative Stores. In contrast to this atmosphere of poverty and desolation, a great deal of demolition was going on, and in nearly every street new buildings were springing up — great structures of steel, concrete, and glass.

The side streets showed ruts and ditches guaranteed to ruin the springs of any car, but all the main roads had been newly paved with asphalt. Traffic was practically non-existent, which gave the streets a strange appearance.

The only regular means of transport seemed to be the trams — and at each stopping place the waiting crowds swarmed upon these like a flight of locusts; there seemed no limit to the number they were allowed to carry, and people who could not force their way inside hung from the rails and platforms at the back and front. One thing that astonished Simon was the extraordinary number of people in the streets — they all seemed to be hurrying somewhere, and he thought that some sort of national holiday must be in progress, but when he suggested this to the Duke, De Richleau shook his head.

“No, my friend — it is only the effect of the five-day week! There are no more Sundays in Russia, or Saturday half-holidays. Everybody works at something, in a series of perpetual shifts, so that from year’s end to year’s end there is no cessation of industry. The factories are never idle, but each individual has every fifth day free — therefore, one-fifth of the entire population of this city is on holiday each day.”

“So that is why there are so many people about — I’m surprised at the queues, though; I thought all that was done away with.”

“While there is no system of delivery there must be queues.” De Richleau shrugged his shoulders. “A great part of everybody’s free time is spent in queueing up for necessities; besides, there is never enough of anything; if you apply for a hat or a pair of new boots, your co-operative society notifies you when they receive a consignment. If you need your boots badly, you must run to be early in the queue, or else there will be none left to fit you, or perhaps no more at all. If you live in Russia now, you must even go out to fetch the milk in the morning — that is, provided you are entitled to a milk ration. Nine-tenths of the milk supply is turned into butter in order that it may be dumped in England, and more machinery bought for the new factories with the money. That’s all part of the Five Year Plan!”

“God-forsaken place! Glad I’m not a Russian,” said Simon, feelingly; “but what about the private shops? Why do the people go to the co-ops and queue up, when they can buy the stuff elsewhere?”

“It is a question of money; everything in the private shops costs from four to five times as much as in the State Stores. The great majority of the people cannot possibly afford to buy from them.”

For some time they had been walking through less crowded streets, and at last they arrived in a small square of what must have been, at one time, respectable private houses. Most of them were now in a sad state of dilapidation.

De Richleau stopped outside one of the least disreputable, which bore the arms, painted in colour on a metal shield above the front door, of one of the lesser South American republics. The word “Legation” was also written up, both in Russian and Roman capitals. He gave a quick glance round — the little square was practically deserted — then he stepped up, not to the front door but to a smaller entrance a few paces farther on, and rang the bell sharply, twice.

The door was opened almost immediately, and, without speaking to the little dark man who held it open, the Duke pushed Simon inside, slipping in himself directly after.

“Is Señor Rosas in?” he asked. “I come from Señor Zavala.”

“Yes, señor, this way — please to follow me.” The little man led them down a long passage to a room at the back of the house.

A swarthy individual rose to greet them with a charming smile. The Duke introduced himself.

“But, yes, Excellency — my good friend Zavala wrote to me from London of your coming. Your case has safe arrival in the diplomatic bag — it is here beneath the table.” Rosas indicated a small, stout packing case. “You would like it opened? But certainly!” He rang the bell, and asked for a chisel and hammer; very soon the wooden case had been prized open, and an inner one of shining tin, about two feet long by a foot wide and eighteen inches deep, placed upon the table. “You would like the privacy to assure yourself of the right contents of the case, Excellency, is it not?” smiled Señor Rosas. “Please to make use of my room — no, no, it is no trouble — only ring when you have finished, that is all!” He slipped softly out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“Now let us look at our famous Hoyos.” De Richleau seized the ring that was embedded in the soft lead strip that ran round the top of the case, and pulled it sharply. A wire to which the ring was attached cut easily through the soft lead, and a moment later he had lifted out the two cedar cabinets of cigars.

Simon opened one with care, and ran his fingers lovingly down the fine, dark oily surface of the cigars. “Perfect,” he murmured; “travelled wonderfully!”

“But that is not all, my friend!” The Duke had opened the other box. The cigars were not packed in two bundles of fifty each, but in four flat layers of twenty-five to the row, and each layer was separated from the other by a thin sheet of cedar wood. Very carefully De Richleau lifted out the top layer on its cedar sheet, and then the next Simon looked over his shoulder and saw that, neatly packed in the place where the two bottom layers of cigars should have been, there reposed a full-sized, ugly-looking automatic.

The Duke removed it, together with two small boxes of ammunition and the packing. “You will find a similar trifle in the other box,” he remarked, as he gently lowered the two trays of cigars into the place where the pistol had lately been,

Simon unpacked the second box with equal care, the Duke taking the two layers of cigars from it, and placing them in the box before him. When all was done, there remained one box full of cigars, the other — empty.

“What — er — shall I do with this?” said Simon, a little doubtfully, as he gingerly picked up the other deadly-looking weapon, with its short blue steel barrel.

“Inside your left breast pocket, my son. It is far too large to carry upon your hip — the bulge would show!”

Simon did as he was bid. They rang the bell, and Señor Rosas rejoined them.

De Richleau thanked him courteously. “There is only one thing more,” he added, “if we may trespass upon your good nature?”

“Excellency, please to command, I beg!”

“I should be grateful if you would be good enough to send this full box of cigars, in a plain parcel, addressed to me at the Hotel Metropole. The other — it contained some papers which I wished to receive undisturbed — I should be glad if you would burn that”

“It shall be done!” The Spaniard’s quick smile flashed out again. “A thousand pleasures to be of assistance to you, Excellency.”

When they were once more out in the square De Richleau tapped his pocket with a grim little smile. “We are short of a hundred cigars,” he said, “but we may be infinitely more thankful to have these before we are out of Russia.”

V — The “Tavern of the Howling Wolf”

After walking for some half an hour they came at last to the Park of Culture and Leisure.

“Now,” said De Richleau, with a sigh of relief, “we can talk freely.”

“Well, I’ll tell you,” Simon laughed into the palm of his heavily gloved hand, “I’m glad about that!”

“My friend,” said the Duke, seriously, “before — it was impossible; there are eyes and ears everywhere. Have you noticed those little ventilators in your bedroom at the hotel? They are microphones, so that all you say may be overheard. In the restaurant, along the walls, there are microphones also; Russia is pleased to welcome the tourist or harmless business man, but always the Kommissars are terrified of counter revolution. It is not easy for the small Communist party to keep an entire population in subjection on short rations; and how can they tell who is the tourist, and who the secret enemy of the Soviet, only by watching? You may be certain that the parcel containing our Hoyos will be opened and examined before it is delivered to me — yes,” he smiled, “and they will look below the two top layers; that was why I did not dare have the case delivered to me just as it arrived. Even the streets are not safe, a passer-by may overhear some chance word, and immediately one is suspect — that is why I brought you here. In these open spaces we are safe — we can speak our thoughts aloud — but only here, remember that!”

“I will,” said Simon, briefly. “Now — any news of Rex?”

“No,” the Duke shook his head. “My advertisements in the Finnish papers at Helsingfors brought no response. The messenger is, perhaps, by this time in Paris or New York, or more probably he is an illiterate who can hardly read. I had to word the advertisements with care, of course, and I did not dare to use my own name — the Russian authorities might have seen them, and refused to allow me to pass the frontier. I worded them as far as possible as if they had been inserted by the American Legation, or a relative who was seeking news of Rex. In any case they have proved useless.”

Simon nodded. “Bad luck that; I didn’t have much fun either. I went up to Jack Straw’s Castle three times; got to know the barman and the manager quite well, but there wasn’t a Russian near the place. Just the usual quiet, old-fashioned pub; no trace of any special club using it as a meeting place either, and very little business doing at this time of year.”

“That is bad — one moment!” The Duke swung on his heel, to confront a seedy-looking man who, although apparently uninterested in them, had approached silently from behind.

The man lurched up as De Richleau turned, and asked in Russian for a light; the Duke gave him one without comment, and they moved on until he was out of earshot.

“Do you think that chap was listening?” Simon asked, nervously.

“I shouldn’t think so — just a lounger. Now tell me, have you had any ideas on the subject of Rex’s mine?”

“Ner. I’ve been puzzling quite a lot about that. Have you?”

“No; it completely defeats me. I did not have any good fortune in Leningrad either, although I questioned everyone that I knew in the Consulates.”

“What’s Leningrad like?” Simon inquired. “As dreary as this place?”

“Worse, my friend; it is a dying city. As you may know, that part of Russia was wrested from the Swedes, and the city built by Peter the Great in an attempt to make Russia a maritime power. Since the Upper Baltic is frozen for a considerable portion of the year, that ambition has never been fully realized. Only the fact that it was the seat of Government for so long has maintained the prestige of the city. Now that Moscow is the capital once again, the life-blood has been drawn from Leningrad. These Kommissars are no fools; they know that all the wealth and fertility of Russia lies in the South, and it is here that they are making their great efforts for the future. The ‘Nevsky Prospekt’, the Piccadilly of old St. Petersburg, which used to be such a wonderful sight, is now dreary beyond description; filled with the same crowds that you see here, it is true, but lacking the bustle and vitality of these Moscow streets. Leningrad was stricken mortally on that dark night when Dimitry and Yousopoff pushed the still warm body of Rasputin under the ice of the Neva.”

“I suppose you’ve been to the American Embassy?”

“Yes, but they can tell us nothing that we do not already know. Rex arrived here on the 4th of December, did the usual round of sight-seeing, and left again on the 11th.”

“What do we do now?” Simon asked, thoughtfully.

“There is one possible line of inquiry which a friend of mine in the Italian Embassy suggested to me. It seems that there is a small ‘stoloveya’, that is, a restaurant of sorts, in the lower quarters of the town, where certain discontented elements in the population meet. There is nothing at all against them, you understand, or they would be arrested at once by the Ogpu, but it is thought that many of the habitués have counterrevolutionary sympathies.

“My friend was told that Rex was seen there one night during his stay; I thought that we also might pay a visit to this place. It is called the ‘Tavern of the Howling Wolf’. He may have gone there only out of curiosity, but, on the other hand, it is just possible that we might learn something.”

“Going to be a bit difficult, isn’t it?” Simon laughed. “I mean with these wretched guides about.”

The Duke smiled. “If it is agreeable to you, I thought that, for once, we might play truant this evening.”

“What — cut the theatre?”

“Yes, it is possible that they may not even know that we absented ourselves; but even if they do find out, I do not think that anything very serious can happen to us. We shall be duly apologetic, and say that, at the last moment, we decided on a change of plan for our evening’s entertainment.”

“Splendid!” said Simon. “Let’s. I tell you one curious thing that happened to me before I left London.”

“What was that?”

Simon told De Richleau of his meeting with Valeria Petrovna Karkoff, and her appointment to lunch with him the following day.

The Duke was pleased and interested. “That friendship can most certainly do us no harm,” he said; “the famous artistes are as powerful here now as they ever were — more so, perhaps. It is always so after a revolution; the one thing which the people will not allow the dictators to interfere with is their amusements. The most powerful Kommissar would hesitate before offending a prima donna or a ballerina.”

The early twilight was already falling, and in the clear air a myriad lights began to twinkle from the houses and factories across the river. They made their way back across the crisp snow of the Park, and through the slush of the streets, to the hotel.

Dinner was a long, uninteresting meal, with many tiresome delays in service, and, since they could not talk freely together, they were glad when it was over.

After, they sat for a little time in the lounge, where dancing was in progress; it was a strange assembly. Most of the men wore the Tolstoyian blouse of the proletariat, or some kind of threadbare uniform; one or two were in evening dress; most of the better clad were Germans or Jews. The women, for the most part, seemed blowzy and ill-cared for, only a few were dressed in the special costume created by the revolution, most of them had shoddy copies of the fashions prevailing in London and Paris a year before. Here and there, and not necessarily with the best-dressed men, were women with expensive clothes, who would have passed muster in the smartest restaurants of the European capitals. Everybody seemed to be drinking freely, although the prices were prohibitive; the band was shocking, and the waiters surly. Simon and the Duke did not stay long, and were relieved when the time came at which they should have gone to the theatre. One of the limited number of hired cars that are to be had in Moscow had been ordered by the Duke; they climbed in and settled themselves upon its hard seats. De Richleau gave the address in a low voice to the driver, and the car started off, nosing its way through the crowded streets.

On each street corner, attached to the electric light standards, were affixed a cluster of loud-speaker megaphones — they blared continuously, not music, but a harsh voice, dinning short sentences into the ears of the moving multitude.

“What’s it all about?” asked Simon. “Loud speakers never seem to stop here! I noticed them this morning, and again this afternoon — can’t be news all the time, can it?”

“It is the Five Year Plan, my friend,” the Duke shrugged. “Never for one second are the masses allowed to forget it. Those megaphones relate what is being done all the time — how many tractors have been turned out at Stalingrad today — how many new teachers graduated with honours from the University of Karkov last week — how many tons of ore have been taken from the great Kuznetsky basin, which they are now beginning to exploit — how the branch of the young Communist party in Niji-Novgorod has passed a resolution giving up their fifth day holiday, for a year, in order that The Plan may be completed the quicker — and every five minutes the announcer says: ‘You who hear this — what are you doing for the Five Year Plan? — what are you doing that the Five Year Plan shall be completed in Four?’” He shuddered. “There is something terrible about it, my son. These fanatics will yet eat us all alive.”

They fell silent, each pondering on the. threat to the old civilization of Western Europe, that was gaining force in this blind, monstrous power, growing beneath their eyes.

The car left the smooth asphalt of the more frequented streets, jolting and bumping its way down narrow turnings into the suburbs of the city. Eventually they stopped before a house in a mean street. Faint sounds of music came from within, and these, together with the chinks of light that shone through the heavily curtained windows, were the only signs of life.

They got out, and their driver knocked loudly upon the door; after a little it was opened, and they went in, bidding the driver return in an hour. It was snowing heavily in the street, and as they began to remove their wraps they were astonished at the quantity of snow that had gathered upon them during the short wait on the threshold. They took a small table near the great china stove, blowing into their hands to warm their chilled fingers. A slatternly woman shuffled up to them, and after a short conversation with the Duke, set two small glasses of spirit before them; it proved to be some kind of plum brandy, similar to Sleigowitz.

In the low room were about twenty tables, some dozen of which were occupied. Men of all classes were present — several low-browed, stupid, or sullen-looking workers, in the usual Kaftan, here and there a better type, who from his dress seemed to be some minor official; one or two faces suggested the cultured European who has “gone native”, and known much suffering — one elderly man, with a fine domed head, sat staring with wide blue eyes into vacancy. The only woman there had a hard unpleasant face with the pink eyes of an albino, and patchy hair, alternate tufts of white and yellow.

There was little talking, and few groups of any size; most of the denizens of this dubious haunt seemed tired and listless, content to sit idle, listening to a monotonous repetition of gipsy music from the travesty of a Tzigane band.

The Duke and Simon sat for a long time studying the people, bored, but anxious not to miss any movement or word which might give them the opportunity to get in touch with the frequenters of this poor hostelry; but nothing changed, nor did anyone molest them. Even so, Simon was happy to be able to press the hard bulk of the big automatic between his upper arm and his ribs. He was aware that they were being covertly watched from a number of tables, and if many of the faces were tired, some of them were far from being free of evil.

Now and again a newcomer entered, heralded by a gust of icy wind and snow — occasionally a man pulled his extra long layers of frowzy clothing about him, and went out into the night. Beneath the low rafters the room grew thick with the haze of cheap tobacco smoke, the monotonous band droned on.

After a long time, as it seemed, three workmen arrived, bringing with them quite a drift of falling snow; they were a little drunk, and two of them began to clap, and call for “Jakko”. The face of the third seemed vaguely familiar to Simon, who caught him slyly glancing in the direction of their table. He noticed, with a feeling of aversion, that the man had a cast in one eye, and quietly, almost unconsciously, forked his fingers under the table.

The cry of “Jakko” was taken up by several others; the band of three struck up a livelier tune, and through a door at the back of the room appeared a dancer.

He was clad in a fantastic costume of ribbons and dried grasses, not unlike the traditional Hawaiian dress. As he pirouetted, his skirts flared out about him; he carried an enormous tambourine, and upon his head he wore a conical hat of reeds, reminiscent of Robinson Crusoe in the pantomime. Leaping into the clear space in the centre of the room, he began a wild and noisy czardas, in time to the monotonous clapping of the audience.

De Richleau looked at him for a moment, and then away with a slight shrug. “This fellow will keep going for hours,” he said, impatiently. “He is, or would pretend to be, a Shamman from the Alti — that is, a sort of witch-doctor from the desolate Russian lands north of Mongolia, where the Tartar tribes still worship the spirits of their ancestors. I think we had better go — there is nothing for us here.”

But Simon was not listening; his shrewd eyes were riveted on the gyrating dancer. He was careful not to look at the Duke, not even to appear to speak to him, but he nudged him slightly, and, placing his hand casually before his mouth, whispered:

“Don’t you see? This is Jack Straw!!!”

VI — The Secret of the Mine

“You are right, my friend, you are right!” the Duke breathed back. “I am thankful you are with me; I should have missed this altogether!”

For a long time they sat in silence while the dancer leaped and spun, crashing his tambourine, and making his grass skirts swirl around him. They could not see his features, since he wore a hideous mask. He was a big, powerful man, but even so the terrific exertion caused little rivulets of perspiration to run down his neck and arms, and such parts of his body as were naked soon glistened with sweat.

Meanwhile the stale smoke collected and hung in stratus clouds beneath the rough-hewn beams of the low ceiling. No breath of air was allowed to penetrate from outside, and the atmosphere of the overheated room became almost unbearable.

At last, with a final leap and a crash of the tambourine, the dance was over; De Richleau threw some kopecks on the floor, and, catching the fellow’s eye, beckoned. The dancer picked up the money and came over to the table. The Duke said five words only, in Russian: “You will drink — sit down.”

It was not only the words he chose, but the accent which he put upon them, which made the man regard him with a sudden narrowing of the eyes; but De Richleau knew what he was about. He had purposely chosen the words and tone which a Russian aristocrat would have used in addressing an artiste who had pleased him in the days before the revolution; not the cordial invitation from one worker to another, in a state where all men are equal.

The grotesque figure, still wearing the mask of a Shamman, pulled out a chair and plumped down on it. Without speaking he crossed his muscular legs and, producing a tobacco pouch and papers, began to roll himself a cigarette.

De Richleau called the slatternly woman, and a fresh round of the spirit resembling Sleigowitz was put before them.

With his brilliant grey eyes the Duke studied the dancer. He felt certain now that they were on the right track; had the fellow churlishly refused, or been abusive of that invitation issued almost in the form of a command, he would have felt that probably they were mistaken, and that the man was no more than an ordinary moujik. Since the man accepted in seeming serenity, the inference was that he realized their visit to be no casual one, and was himself no casual peasant dancer.

“We are visitors here in Moscow for a few days,” the Duke began, in a low voice. “Americans. Do you get many Americans here?”

“Könen sie Deutsch sprechen?” the dancer inquired, softly.

“Jawohl,” De Richleau answered under his breath.

Simon pricked up his ears, for he had a fair knowledge of German.

“That is good,” the peasant went on in the same language, still looking the other way; the hideous mask hid the movement of his lips. “I also am American, so also are all the people in this room — every one, just as much American as yourself, old one. Now tell me the truth.”

A glint of humour showed in De Richleau’s piercing eyes. “I ask your pardon,” he said briefly, “but it is an American that I seek, and I thought that Jack Straw might give me news of him!”

“So?” The dancer seemed to consider. “How do I know that you are not the police?”

“That you must judge for yourself,” the Duke replied lightly. “If I showed you my passport, you would say that it is forged, perhaps.”

“You are not of the police,” said the other, decisively. “No spy of the Ogpu could call an artiste to his table as you call me. Yet it was a risk you ran — such is no longer the manner used in Moscow!”

De Richleau smiled, pleased that his subtlety had been appreciated. “I must run risks if I wish to find my friend,” he said, simply. “A tall, young American — he came here one night early in December — Tsarderynski, or Rex Van Ryn, which you choose, that is his name.”

“I know him,” the other nodded laconically, and spat on the floor.

“Did you know that he was in prison?” the Duke inquired, guardedly.

“No, but I suspected that, else he would have returned by now; but it is better not to talk of this here!”

“Where can we meet?” De Richleau asked at once.

“Where is your guide?” the dancer countered, quickly.

“We are supposed to be at Meyerhold’s Theatre tonight, but we came here instead.”

“Good. It must be some place where he will not accompany you.”

“The Zoological Gardens?” suggested the Duke.

“That will do. In the Krassnaja Pressnja, inside the eagles’ house,” he laughed softly; “that is appropriate, eh? Eleven o’clock tomorrow, then.”

“Eleven o’clock,” De Richleau repeated.

The dancer pressed his mask more closely against his face, and swallowed his drink through the slit of the mouth, then he stood up quickly and, without another word, he left the table.

He had hardly disappeared through the back of the restaurant when the street door was flung violently open, five men pushed in — three appeared to be ordinary working men, the other two were the guides.

“Now we’re in a muddle!” Simon laughed his jerky little laugh, but the Duke was equal to the situation, and even before the guides had had time to look round the dimly lit room, he had called a boisterous greeting to them. The three workmen sat down near the door, while the guides came over to the table near the stove at once.

“Hello, my friends, come and sit down, come and drink with us!” The Duke thumped the table, and called loudly for the woman who served the drinks, seeming suddenly to have become a little drunk himself.

Simon took up the cue immediately, and tipped his chair back from the table at an almost dangerous angle, while he allowed a fatuous smile to spread over his face.

“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 Kommissar Stalin — To Ramsay Macdonald — To each other — To the President of the Spanish Republic — To the King of England — 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 Presnja 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 organization 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 queer 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!

VII — Simon “Almost” Falls in Love

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: “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 jerky, 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 for ’alf a kopeck an ’our, and the workpeople ’appy, with good food and good apartments.”

“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, “and the great dam shall raise the water thirty feet in the air over all the baddest part of the river, so that ships can sail all the seven hundred versts from Kiev to Odessa!”

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 Bœuf Strognoff 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.

Was Russia really turning the corner, Simon wondered, after the terrible succession of upheavals that had rent the state from end to end during these last fifteen years? Was the iron rule of the Kommissars at last bearing amazing fruit? What would that mean to the world in, say, another ten years’ time? Simon’s busy brain began to translate goldmarks into sterling and sterling into pesos, and pesos into land, and land back again into millereis; but he did not allow Valeria Petrovna to imagine for one moment that his thoughts were not entirely concentrated upon her charming self!

“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 has as many ears as any Papal Palace in mediaeval Italy, 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!”

As he spoke he regarded her steadily with his sharp expressive eyes, and evidently she understood, for she smiled slightly.

“You must come and visit my apartment, it is quiet there. You can tell me all about yourself; I am interested in you, Mistaire Aron, you do not make stupid love, like all the other young men; yet you like me, do you not?” Her smile became bewitching.

“I’d love to come,” said Simon, simply, and the world of meaning in his voice was a sufficient answer to her question.

“Let us see, then,” her eyes sparkled; “it must be at a time when Leshkin ees not there. Oh, ’e ees so jealous, that one, you ’ave no idea! The scene ’e make me when I go off to lunch with you. I ’ad not thought for a little minute that you would be ’ere, and when your message come and I telephone ’im to say I cannot meet ’im — Ho! what a temper! It all comes, I think, because ’e ’as red ’air!” and she went off into peals of delighted laughter.

“What about the afternoon?” Simon suggested.

“Why not?” she smiled; “you shall come back with me, and we will make what you call Whoopee!”

She was as infectious in her child-like gaiety as in her fierce enthusiasms, and Simon felt the spirit of adventure stirring in him.

“I’d love to come,” he said, again.

“Let us go, then — now, this moment!” She set down her coffee cup and rose impulsively.

He followed her out of the restaurant, and they secured their furs. Madame Karkoff’s limousine was waiting at the hotel entrance; it was one of the few private cars that Simon had seen during his two days’ stay in Moscow. The fact that the traffic was almost entirely composed of tramcars and occasional carts, and that their car was not once blocked en route, made Simon revise his lunch-time reflections as to the true prosperity of Soviet Russia; the traffic of a city is a very good index to its wealth and commercial activities. Making a mental note to consider the business aspect of the position later, Simon devoted himself to the lovely creature at his side.

Madame Karkoff’s apartment was on the first floor of an old-fashioned block. She explained to him that all the new domestic buildings were composed of large numbers of small flats, modern in every way, with communal kitchens and wash-houses, and crèches for the workers’ children, but that none of these flats were of any size. If one wanted spacious rooms, there was nothing to be had other than the mansions and apartments of the old bourgeoisie.

The outside of the building was depressing, with its peeling paint and rain-streaked walls, but the inside was a revelation.

The great rooms were almost barbaric in their splendour, with no trace of modern decoration. Magnificent tapestries hung from the walls and beautiful lamps in Russian silver filigree from the ceiling; the polished floor was strewn with furs and Persian carpets in glowing reds and purples.

A maid in a neat dark dress put a tray with tea in glasses, and sugar and lemon, on a low stool beside her mistress, and Valeria Petrovna drew Simon down on to the divan beside her.

“Now tell me,” she commanded, “why, Mistaire Aron, you — come to Russia?”

“Simon,” he corrected, gently.

“Simon!” She went off into fits of laughter. “Simon — that ees good — you know why I laugh?”

“Ner —” he confessed, puzzled.

“It ees the childhood rhyme I learn when I have an English nurse: ‘Simple Simon met a pieman, going to a fair; said Simple Simon to the pieman, what ’ave you got there?’“ and once more she dissolved into tears of childish laughter.

“Now look here,” Simon protested, “that’s quite enough of that!” but he smiled his kind, indulgent smile at her teasing.

“What ees a pieman?” she inquired, seriously.

“Chap who makes pies,” Simon grinned from ear to ear; “you know — cakes, puddings, and all that.”

“All, well, I am glad I am not a pieman! Tell me, little Simon, what are you?”

“Well,” Simon hesitated, “I’m a banker, in a way — but I’ll tell you, I do all sorts of other things as well. I’m interested in chemicals and metals and phosphorus.”

“And what do you make ’ere in Moscow?”

“To tell you the truth, I’m not here on business exactly,” Simon continued, cautiously; “I’m looking for a friend of mine; he got into some trouble with the police, I believe.”

She looked suddenly grave. “That ees bad; they are powerful, the Ogpu — was it for politics that ’e got into trouble?”

Simon was in a quandary; he wanted to discover the whereabouts of Rex, but he could not tolerate the idea of lying to this beautiful and charming woman, who seemed to have taken such a liking to him, and in whom his own interest was growing deeper every minute. Honesty, with Simon, was not only policy, but a principle from which he never deviated — it had brought him the confidence and respect of business acquaintances and friends alike.

“Ner,” he answered, “not as far as I know. Perhaps he may have gone somewhere he should not have gone, or got tight or something, but I don’t think he got into a muddle with politics. The only thing I know is that he is in prison, poor devil.”

“But what could you do? Even if you know where ’e was, they would not let ’im out — ”

“We’d get him out,” said Simon, promptly. “If we knew where he was, we’d apply for his release through his Embassy; he’s an American. But we can’t, you see, if we don’t know! That’s the trouble.”

“I will see what I can do,” she said suddenly. “Kommissar Leshkin ’as a great deal to do with the prisons. What ees the name of your frien’?”

“Rex Van Ryn.” Simon spoke the syllables carefully. “Here,” he produced a gold pencil from his waistcoat pocket, “I’ll write it down for you — no, better write it yourself — you’ll understand your own writing better.” He gave her the pencil, and she wrote the name in a large round childish hand as he spelt it out for her.

She pushed the piece of paper into the top drawer of a small desk that stood near her.

“You won’t forget?” Simon asked, anxiously.

“No,” she shook her dark head; “eet may take a little time, but an occasion will come when I can ask Leshkin — ’e may not know ’imself, but ’e will tell me if ’e does.”

“I — er — suppose Kommissar Leshkin is a great friend of yours?” hazarded Simon.

She made a little grimace. “What would you — ’ow. old are you? Twenty-eight; thirty, perhaps; three, four years older than myself — it does not matter. You are a man of the world; you know it, then. All artistes must have a protector; eef I ’ad lived twenty years ago it would ’ave been a Grand Duke; now eet is a Kommissar. What does eet matter; eet is life!”

Simon nodded with much understanding, but he went on quietly probing. “Of course, I realize that, but — er — I mean, is it just a political allience, or are you really friendly?”

“I ’ate ’im,” she said, suddenly, with a flash of her magnificent eyes; “’e is stupid, a bore, ’e ’as no delicacy of feeling, no finesse. In the revolution ’e did terrible things. Sometimes it makes me shudder to think ’ow ’is ’ands they are cover with blood — ’e was what you call ‘Terrorist’ then. It was ’im they send to crush the revolt in the Ukraine; eet was ’orrible that, the people that ’e kill, ’ole batches at a time. Most of those terrorist they are finish now, but not ’im; ’e is cunning, you understand, and strong, that is ’ow ’e keeps ’is place among the others; if ’e ’as any attraction for me, it is ’is strength, I think — but let us not talk of ’im.”

Unfortunately they were not destined to talk of anything else, for raised voices sounded at that moment in the hall outside, the door was thrust violently open, and the big, red-headed Kommissar strode in with a scowl on his face.

Simon got slowly to his feet, and Valeria Petrovna introduced them, recalling to Leshkin their former brief meeting in London.

“How do you do?” said Simon, in his most polite manner.

“Thank you — and yourself?” said Leshkin, without any trace of cordiality in his manner; “do you stay long in Moskawa?”

“Don’t know,” Simon replied, airily. “I rather like Moscow, I may stay for a month.” He was well aware that he had done nothing so far to which the authorities could object, and behind his passport lay all the power and prestige that gives every British subject such a sense of security in any part of the world. Moreover, passport or no passport, Mr. Simon Aron was not accustomed to being browbeaten. Between his rather narrow shoulders there lay a quiet but very determined courage, so, ignoring Leshkin, he turned with a smile to Valeria Petrovna and asked her to dine with him that night.

“But ’ow can I? You forget the theatre; but you shall call for me, and we will ’ave supper after. Leshkin,” she turned imperiously to the Kommissar, “do not be a bear; Mistake Aron is the guest of Russia — ’elp ’im with ’is furs, and show ’im out.”

Leshkin’s small eyes narrowed beneath his beetling brows, his great jaw came forward with an ugly curve — for the fraction of a second it looked as though he were going to seize the frail Simon in his big powerful hands.

Valeria Petrovna stood between them, her eyes never left Leshkin’s face. With a sharp movement she flicked the butt of her cigarette from the long slender holder. Suddenly the Kommissar relaxed, and with a little shrug of his giant shoulders obeyed.

VIII — The Price of Information

When Simon got back to the Metropole he asked his guide to get seats for that evening’s performance at the Moscow Arts Theatre, and on this occasion he and the Duke really made use of the tickets.

Both were lovers of the theatre, and enjoyed the finish and technique of the production; De Richleau was enraptured with Valeria Petrovna and her performance. In the first interval he turned to Simon with a sigh.

“Ah, my friend, why am I not twenty years younger? I envy you the friendship of this lovely lady.”

Simon laughed a little self-consciously. “Well, I shouldn’t care to have you as a rival, as it is!”

“You have no cause to fear on that score.” De Richleau laid his hands gently on Simon’s arm. “The chère amie of a friend is always to me in the same category as an aged aunt, and in any case I think it best that you should not present me; develop this friendship with Valeria Petrovna on your own; it will give more time for me to work on other lines.”

When the play was over the Duke made his way back to the hotel alone, and Simon waited at the stage door, as he had been instructed. Valeria Petrovna appeared in a remarkably short time, and whisked him back in her big car to her luxurious apartment and a charming petit souper à deux.

She was in marvellous spirits, the room rang with her laughter as she told him of the scene she had had after his departure that afternoon with Leshkin.

“You should ’ave seen ’im,” she declared. “’Ow ’e rage and stamp ’is big feet, but I tell ’im ’e is a great fool. I am no little chorus girl to be told ’oo I entertain; a few years ago, that was different; but now, I will ’ave ’oo I choose to be my frien’! Come, fill up your glass, little Simon, that red-’ed can go to ’ell!”

“Little” Simon filled up his glass, also Valeria Petrovna’s. He was just a trifle anxious that, instead of going to hell, the large and brutal Kommissar might wait outside for him on the pavement, but he put such unpleasant thoughts quickly from him; fate had sent him this delightful companion, who glowed with life and beauty, the heavy curtains shut out the falling snow, the subdued lights lent an added richness to the warm luxury of the room. With all the hesitant, tactful charm with which he was so well endowed, Simon set himself to captivate the lovely Russian.

Even if Leshkin had meant to waylay his rival that night, the long wait in the bitter cold must have quenched his furious jealousy, for it was some hours before Simon left the apartment, and even then Valeria Petrovna was reluctant to let him go.

The next few days were crowded with incident for Simon. In the mornings with De Richleau he visited the places of interest in the city. It was necessary — indeed, vital — to sustain their character of intelligent and interested tourists. They visited the cathedrals and palaces — the latter now turned into museums — the Lenin Institute, and the Museum of the Revolution, formerly the English Club.

They kept a sharp look-out for the man with a cast in his eye on these expeditions, and caught a quick glimpse of him now and then, so they did not dare venture near the “Tavern of the Howling Wolf”, or communicate with Jack Straw in any way. They felt that he would manage to let them know if he received any news of Rex.

The Duke’s shrewd, observant eyes missed nothing of Simon’s restlessness and preoccupation during these days; it was he who planned a different excursion for each morning, and exerted himself to interest and amuse his friend, recreating for him in vivid pictures the changes that had taken place in Moscow since he had first visited it in the early ’eighties, as a small boy of nine.

At lunch-time they parted, for Simon and Valeria Petrovna lunched together every day and spent the afternoon sleigh-riding, driving in her big car out into the country, or skating on the frozen ponds. Simon was a most graceful skater, and the swift motion in perfect unison was a delight to both of them.

The guides did not bother Simon, as long as he was with the famous actress. Valeria Petrovna was the idol of the Russian public, and Simon shone with her reflected glory in the eyes of the two interpreters.

He dined each evening with the Duke, and they went alternately to a theatre or the opera, the latter being one of Simon’s greatest interests in life. Afterwards he would call for his beautiful lady at the Arts Theatre, and have supper with her in her apartment, only to leave her in the small hours of the morning.

Six days went by in this manner, but they had failed to secure any further information regarding Rex. De Richleau persisted in his inquiries through the Embassies and Legations, and also through various American and English trading houses to which he obtained introductions; but without result. Rex might have been spirited away by a djinn for all the traces he had left behind him. Simon raised the question tentatively with Valeria Petrovna several times, but she always brushed it aside quickly.

“I ’ave told you — it is not a thing which can be done at once. Leshkin must be in a good ’umour. What do you say — ‘wheedled’, is it not? For this information which you want, at present it is ’opeless — ’e is so jealous, ’e is like a bear.” Then, suspiciously: “Why are you in such a ’urry — are you not ’appy with me?”

Simon hastened to assure her. They had grown very intimate these two — a strong mutual attraction and many hours spent alone together for a number of days in succession is the soil on which intimacy thrives. Never before had Simon met a woman who had at the same time, her beauty, her intellect, and her vitality.

Constantly he put away from him the thought that in a week or so at most he would have to leave Moscow. He grudged every moment of time not spent in her company, and bitterly resented the fact that they were in Moscow and not in London, Berlin, or Paris. In any of the latter cities he could have heaped flowers and gifts upon her — it would then have been his car in which they were driven about, his wines that they would have drunk together, but the limitations of life in Moscow taxed to the utmost his ability to display one-tenth of his innate generosity.

She was appreciative of the ingenuity that he showed to give her pleasure, but her generosity matched his own and she delighted to entertain him as her favoured guest. His subtle brain and mental gymnastics delighted her intellect, his charming humour and diffident, thoughtful kindness made irresistible appeal to her heart.

Kommissar Leshkin hovered in the background of the affair, arriving sometimes unexpectedly at Valeria Petrovna’s flat, or glaring at them from a distance with his red-rimmed eyes when they were lunching at the hotel. Simon disliked the man intensely, and Leshkin displayed an equal hate, but Valeria Petrovna seemed unperturbed. She mocked the Kommissar in her soft Russian tongue when he came on his blustering visits; and Simon smiled his little amused smile as he watched her handling of this undoubtedly clever and powerful man.

It was the seventh evening that Simon and Valeria Petrovna had spent thus delightfully together; he thought that she seemed worried and depressed when he fetched her after the theatre, and taking both her hands in his he asked her gently what it was that troubled her.

“Alas, mon ami,” she said sadly. “I fear that I must love you very much.”

“Darling,” Simon murmured, clasping her hands more tightly, and gently kissing their rosy palms.

“Yes, I am sad — for I know now where is your frien’.”

Simon’s eyes lifted quickly. “He — he’s not dead, is he?” he asked with a sudden fear.

“No, it was as you suppose, ’e is in a prison of the State.”

“But that’s splendid — do tell me where!”

“I will tell you later,” she said with a sigh. “The night eet is yet young — you shall know all before you go.”

“But, darling, why are you so sad about it? I mean, we’ll get Rex out, that is, if we can — and even if I have to go back to London I’ll come back here later — next month. After all, Moscow’s only two days’ journey from London by ’plane.”

“Ah, that is what makes me so sad, my Simon. I ’ave ’ad to pay a price for this knowledge about your frien’.”

“How — what exactly do you mean?” he asked anxiously.

She shrugged her beautiful shoulders. “It was Leshkin ’oo tell me what I want to know. I ’ave been at ’im for the last two days.”

“I didn’t know you had spoken to him yet.”

“How should you, little one? But I have promise you that I will ’elp you find your frien’, and I ’ave succeeded!”

“But — er — what did Leshkin want?”

She smiled, though tears were brightening her eyes. “That I promise ’im that you leave Moskawa tomorrow, and not return!”

For a time they sat silent; both had known that in any case Simon’s stay in Moscow must be limited, but each had put that thought firmly at the back of their minds. And now the moment had come it found them utterly unprepared in the first mad rush of their passion for each other.

“You can come to London,” he said at last, suddenly brightening.

“Not for a long time, Galoubchick, it is so recent since I ’ave been there — the Soviet do not like their artistes to go to other countries. Besides, I ’ave my duty to the Russian people. My art is not of myself — it belongs to them!”

“I could meet you in Berlin.”

“Perhaps — we will see, but tell me, what will you do about your frien’?”

“Apply for his release or public trial, through his Embassy,” Simon suggested, but he had little faith in the idea.

“That will be of no use; officially the Kommissars will deny all knowledge of ’is existence. ’e was found wandering in forbidden territory. That is the bad trouble. ’e may know things that the Kommissars do not wish the world to know.”

“You — er — haven’t promised that I shall leave Russia, have you? Only Moscow — ”

She smiled. “No, it is Moskawa only that you must leave, but I can guess, I think, what you will do — you will go searching for your frien’ in the forbidden territory, like the ballalaika player of the old days who search for your King Richard the Lion-’earted. Oh, my little Simon, it is you ’oo are Lion-’earted, but I am frightened for you!”

Simon laughed, a little bashfully. “Doesn’t seem much else to do, does there?”

She left the divan, and went over to an Empire escritoire in which she unlocked a drawer, taking from it a small, square ikon set with pearls. She looked at it carefully for a moment, studying the delicate oval miniature of the Madonna and Child which it contained — then she brought it over to him. “Take this, Batushka, and carry it always with you. It will be of great protection to you.”

“Thank you, my sweet — why are you so good to me?” Simon took the scared picture. “I — er — didn’t know that you were religious — I didn’t think that Russia was religious any more.”

“You are wrong,” she said, quietly. “Many of the popes have been done away with — they were evil, drunken men, unfitted for the service of God. That ees a good thing, but there is freedom of thought in Russia now. One can follow a religion if one will, and Russia — Holy Russia — is unchanging beneath the surface. With a few exceptions, all Russians carry God in their ’eart!”

Simon nodded. “I think I understand — anyhow, I shall always keep this with me.”

“Eef it ees that you are in what you call a ‘muddle’, send the little ikon back to me. Look!” She took it again, quickly, and pressed a hidden spring. “In ’ere you can send a little letter — nobody will find it — all Russia knows Valeria Petrovna. It will come to me surely, wherever I am.”

“Mightn’t it be stolen?” asked Simon, doubtfully. “I mean these pearls — they’re real.”

“They are small, and only of little value — also you will say to ’im ’oo brings it: ‘Valeria Petrovna will give you a thousand roubles if you bring this safe to ’er.’”

“You’ve been wonderful to me,” said Simon, drawing her towards him. “How can I ever tell you what I feel?”

The late dawn of the winter’s morning was already rising over the snow-white streets, and the ice-floes of the Moskawa River, when Simon Aron slipped quietly out of the block of flats which contained Valeria Petrovna’s apartment; but he left with the knowledge that Rex was held prisoner amid the desolate wastes of the Siberian snows, in the city of Tobolsk.

IX — Beyond the Pale

The Duke and Simon were walking in the great open courtyards that lie between the many buildings within the Kremlin walls.

It was the Duke’s quizzical sense of humour that had prompted him to choose this particular spot — the very heart and brain of Soviet Russia — in which to hold a conference, having for its end a conspiracy against the Soviet State.

When a tired but cheerful Simon had pushed a slip of paper across the breakfast table that morning, bearing the one word “Tobolsk”, he had only nodded and said: “Let us go and see the Kremlin this morning.”

“Tobolsk,” said the Duke as they strolled through the first courtyard, “is on the other side of the Ural mountains.”

“Yes,” Simon agreed, dismally. “Sounds an awfully long way away.”

“It is about thirteen hundred miles, that is to say, a little less than the distance from here to London.”

Simon groaned. “Somewhere in Siberia, isn’t it?”

“It is, my friend —” De Richleau smiled. “But Siberia is a large place — let us be thankful that poor Rex is not imprisoned at Tomsk, which is two thousand — or Irkutsk, which is three thousand — or Yakutsk, which is four thousand miles away! All of these are in Siberia!”

“Well, I’m glad about that!” Simon gave his jerky little laugh into the palm of his hand. “But how do we get there?”

De Richleau looked round carefully, to make sure that they could not be overheard. “I spent some little time,” he said, slowly, “before we left the hotel, examining the maps and time-tables that are provided. Tobolsk is unfortunately not on the main Trans-Siberian line — it lies about a hundred and twenty miles to the north of the railway; there is, I find, a local line from the little town of Tyumen, which is just on the border of Siberia and Russia proper, but the main-line trains do not halt there. There is another local line running back northwestward from Omsk, but that would mean going a further four hundred miles into Siberia to get to Omsk, and the loss of at least a day.”

“Seems a difficult place to get at!” Simon interjected.

“It is. I think that the best way would be by the Trans-Siberian to Sverdlovsk, or Ekaterinberg, as it used to be called, after the amorous Empress of that name! That is the last town of any importance in European Russia, and all the main-line trains stop there. From there we could take the Trans-Siberian branch-line which heads direct for Tobolsk, but which is not yet quite completed. It comes to an end at the west bank of the Tavda River, but, there is only a hundred miles between Tavda and Tobolsk, and it is almost certain that there will be a service of sleighs between the dead end of the railway and the town.”

“You — er — couldn’t find out definitely?”

“No, nothing at all about the unfinished branch from Sverdlovsk or the branch-line from Tyumen, and furthermore we must be very careful in our inquiries not to arouse suspicions that we have any idea of venturing outside the prescribed limits for tourists.”

“I — er — suppose —” Simon hesitated, “the American Embassy couldn’t do anything?”

The Duke laughed. “How can they, my dear fellow; their position today is the same as yesterday. If we had actual proof that Rex was at Tobolsk it would be a different matter, but to charge the Soviet with holding him there on the information given you by Valeria Petrovna would only provoke another denial. They would move him at once to another prison. The only way is to go there and find out the truth — the problem is how to get there. Personally I favour the plan of going to Sverdlovsk and then trusting to chance.”

“Wonder if they’ll let us?” said Simon, doubtfully. “I haven’t seen anything about it in the booklets that they issue.”

“That we must find out, but, in any case, they will not prevent me taking a ticket through to Vladivostok, and as all the trains stop at Sverdlovsk, I can drop off there. I think I should tell you, my friend, that it is not my intention that you should accompany me on this journey.”

“Oh! Why?” Simon’s eyes flickered towards his friend.

“There are a variety of reasons,” said De Richleau, quietly. “You are, I think, very happily engaged here, in Moscow — it would be a pity to curtail your visit. It was by your quick wit that we discovered Jack Straw, which, in turn, supplied us with the reason for Rex’s visit to Russia. It is you, again, who have discovered his whereabouts — whereas, so far, I have done nothing. It is my turn now. When I step off the train at Sverdlovsk, I shall, I think, be outside the law; it would be a great comfort to me to have you here in Moscow, safe and free, and able, if I do not return in a short time, to stir up the Embassies on my behalf. It would be sheer foolishness for both of us to run our heads into the noose.”

“Um — I agree,” said Simon quickly, “very silly. It’s a good thing that you know the people at the Embassies too — you’ll have much more pull than I should. Obviously, you stay here, and I go to Tobolsk!”

“But, my friend — do not be foolish!” De Richleau frowned.

“I’m not.” Simon gave his jerky little laugh. “Now I’ll tell you. I didn’t get that information about Rex for nothing. Valeria Petrovna got it from Leshkin, but he made her promise that I should be out of Moscow by tonight, so that settled it!”

“Indeed!” said the Duke, with surprise. “But, even so, I fear it does not solve our problem. How will you manage in Tobolsk? You can speak no Russian!”

“Um!” Simon was a little dashed. “That’s a bit awkward!”

“We will both go,” said the Duke, with decision, “and I will confess that I shall be more glad to have you with me.”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I should simply hate to go alone.”

“That is settled then! Let us go to the head office of the Intourist. We will talk about a change of plans, and that we should like to go into Siberia. We will not talk of Tobolsk, but of Irkutsk — that is some fifteen hundred miles farther on; it is quite natural that we should wish to see it, as it is a wonderful city in the very heart of Siberia, near Lake Baikal, just north of the Mongolian Plain. It is there that all the political exiles used to make their homes before the Revolution. It was a centre of enlightenment and culture.

“I thought they were sent to the North,” said Simon. “To the Salt Mines and all sorts of terrible things.”

De Richleau shook his head. “Dear me, no, that is quite a mistaken idea; certain of the convicts — real felons and dangerous criminals — were, it is true, sent to the mines, but the politicals were only banished to the other side of the Urals, where they were free to trade and carry on their professions, moving from town to town, or settling in pleasant communities with similar aspirations to their own.”

When they arrived at the Bureau of the Intourist the Duke announced their plans. The lean, shrewd-eyed man who interviewed them was not particularly helpful. “Irkutsk? Yes, it was possible to go there — but there were many more interesting towns in Russia itself — Leningrad, now?”

“No,” the Duke truthfully replied. He had just come from Leningrad.

“Well then, Kiev, Odessa, Karkoff, Stalingrad?”

No, De Richleau and his friend thought of seeing all those wonderful places on their return — they had ample time — but above all things at present they desired to see Irkutsk!

Well, since they wished it, it could be done. The lean man proceeded to make out the tickets. Did they wish to leave tonight, Thursday, or on Sunday — or would they wait till Tuesday? The service ran thrice weekly. Tonight? Just as they wished. The train left the Smolenski Station at fifteen hours thirty, and the Saverinii at seventeen fifty-five. They would motor to the Saverinii? True it was a big difference; there was over an hour’s wait there, to take on mails, but they were advised to be there at least three-quarters of an hour before the time of departure — passports would have to be examined and luggage registered. He would have the tickets endorsed by the authorities and sent to their hotel.

“Do there happen to be any places of interest that we can see upon our way?” the Duke inquired in seeming innocence. “Do we go through Niji-Novgorod?”

The man shook his head. “No, you pass far to the north of Niji, going via Danilov, Bui, Viatka, Perm, Sverdlovsk, Omsk, Krasnoyarsk and Kansk.”

“What of Perm — that is a fine town, is it not?”

“Yes, you could break your journey there if you wish.”

“And Omsk — that again is a great town?”

“Yes, there also you could stop — but there is not much to see in these places.”

“And Tobolsk — do we stop at Tobolsk?”

“No, that is not on the Trans-Siberian line.”

“Ah, what a pity.” De Richleau’s face took on a rueful look. “Always, since I was a little boy, I have wanted to go to Tobolsk — it is, I think, the romance of the name. Is there no place at which we can change trains to go there? I should so greatly like to spend just one day in Tobolsk!”

The man looked away, impatiently. “It is impossible — a long, uncomfortable journey. Besides, it is a wild place — not fit for foreigners, and the Soviet Government considers itself responsible for all travellers who are its guests.”

“Dear me, how sad,” said the Duke, politely. “We will then go to Irkutsk and perhaps break our journey at Omsk and Perm on our way back.”

After they had left the Intourist Bureau, Simon asked, softly: “Why didn’t you take tickets to Sverlovsk or Ekaterinburg, or whatever it’s called — that’s really as far as we want to go!”

“Because, my friend, there would most certainly have been one of these eternal guides to meet us there if we had. Even if we had managed to evade his attentions the alarm would have been given at once. We arrive at Sverdloysk at 7.43 on Saturday morning. That is roughly a day-and-a-half’s journey — the train does not get to Irkutsk till midday on Tuesday — that is more than three days later. If we are fortunate the hue and cry will not begin until the guide who is detailed to meet us at Irkutsk finds that we are not on the train.”

“What about the officials on the train?” demanded Simon.

“True — that is a difficulty to be faced, but if we can overcome it we should gain three days’ grace, and much can be done in three days. But let us not talk here, we will go down to the bank of the river where there are fewer people.”

They walked for some time in silence, and when they reached the unfrequented embankment under the walls of the Kremlin, the Duke continued: “Now, we must make plans seriously. You realize of course that we shall have to leave the bulk of our baggage behind?”

Simon thought ruefully of his beautifully fitted dressing-case. “I suppose they’ll pinch that when they find out?”

“No.” The Duke’s eyes twinkled. “We can defeat them there. We shall take one suitcase each, and that only for show. The rest of our luggage we will deposit this afternoon at the Legation that you know of, then, if we get out of this wretched country, it can be returned to us through the diplomatic bag!”

“Well,” Simon grinned, much relieved, “I’m glad about that. I should have hated to see Leshkin with my dressing-case!”

“We shall have to get knapsacks,” the Duke continued, “to hold all that is essential, and abandon our suitcases when we leave the train.”

“Where do we get the knapsacks from?”

“There are several places in the Kitaigorod where we can get them — that is the old town, where the narrow streets are; many people think it is the Chinatown of Moscow because ‘Kitai’ is China in Russian, but actually it is an old Tartar word meaning Bastion — referring to the walls.”

“And then?”

The next thing is supplies. Luckily I brought certain things in case of such an emergency. We will buy some chocolate here, also some smoked ham and biscuits. Are you having a farewell luncheon with your lovely lady?”

“No, got all that over last night — thought it best.”

“And you were right,” the Duke agreed. Then, suddenly, but very low: “Hush! I think our wall-eyed friend is behind us again.”

Simon allowed a minute to elapse and then glanced round casually; sure enough, it was the same wizened little man. Today he was dressed in the slovenly uniform of a Red Guard, but they knew his face too well to mistake him. They quickened their pace, and in the turning and twisting of the narrow streets, succeeded in shaking him off before they reached the Kitaigorod.

By the time that they got back to the hotel they found that the tickets had been delivered, duly endorsed for Irkutsk. In the afternoon they packed and deposited their luggage with the ever-obliging Señor Rosas. Five o’clock found them standing on the Saverinii Station platform, two suitcases beside them — the principal contents of which were food and the knapsacks into which it was to be transferred at Sverdlovsk.

They found their compartment on the train without difficulty. Being of the “Direct Communication, 1st Category”, it contained two berths only and a private toilette, and, owing to the wide gauge of the Russian railways, when the berths were stowed away it made a large, comfortable coupé.

Punctually at seventeen hours fifty-five, the long train with its powerful engine began, almost imperceptibly, to move, and gradually gathering speed, started on its long, eleven-day journey to Vladivostok at the other end of Asia.

They settled themselves comfortably on the wide seats, and the Duke took out Norman Douglas’s South Wind, which he was reading for the fourth time. The sophisticated humour of the book never failed to amuse him. Simon gazed out into the swiftly moving darkness and thought a little wistfully of these last unforgettable days in Moscow, and the loveliness of the smiling eyes of Valeria Petrovna. He found difficulty in realizing that it was really Simon Aron who was even now speeding towards unknown adventures. His heart gave a little bump as he thought of what might lie before them — rescue, hardship by cold and hunger, flight for life, perhaps, and a little smile curved his lips as he found himself humming a tune. It was: “Malbrouck s’en vat en guerre!”

They dined better in the restaurant car than they had in the hotel, and Simon, at least, was grateful for an early bed.

When they awoke next day they had left Bui far behind and were crossing a seemingly interminable plain. Simon started to get up, but the Duke forbade him.

“You are ill, my friend,” he said, quickly.

“Ner,” said Simon.

“But yes,” said the Duke. “You are feverish!”

“Never felt better in my life,” said Simon.

‘That is a pity, since I’m afraid you’ve got to pass the day in bed!”

Simon grinned understandingly. He knew De Richleau to be a wily man, and felt certain that this was a part of some scheme which the Duke had hatched in the night to get them safely off the train at Sverlovsk.

When the train steward arrived with the news that breakfast was ready, De Richleau held a long conversation with him in Russian. He was a fat, jolly man, and seemed much concerned. Simon groaned and made himself look as ill as possible, but later he supplemented the weak tea and toast which the sympathetic steward brought him, with several rolls that the Duke had smuggled out of the restaurant car.

All that morning they rolled through the unending plain, until at a little after half past one they came to a halt at Viatka, where the Duke got out to stretch his legs. Simon, of course, had to remain in bed, and his luncheon was perforce meagre.

The scenery in the afternoon was more varied; they ran for many miles through the valley of the Chepsa River, but the early winter’s dusk had blotted out the landscape by four in the afternoon. It was quite late at night when the train snorted into Perm, but another consultation had been held by De Richleau and the jolly steward earlier in the evening, and certain drugs were procured during the halt, so the drowsy Simon found himself compelled to sit up and pretend to swallow capsules as the train steamed out. The Duke also took his temperature with great gravity in front of the now solemn and anxious steward.

This second night the train laboured and puffed its way through the Urals, but in the black darkness they could see nothing of the scenery. At a little after six the Duke woke Simon and said, with his grey eyes twinkling: “My poor friend — you are very, very ill I fear — dying almost, I think.”

Simon groaned, in truth this time, but De Richleau put on his dressing-gown and fetched the steward. “My friend,” he cried in Russian. “He will die — he is almost already dead!”

“What can we do,” said the fat steward, sympathetically shrugging his broad shoulders.

“We must get off at Sverdlovsk,” said the Duke.

“You cannot,” said the man. “Your tickets are marked for Irkutsk!”

“What does that matter,” protested the Duke, “the only hope for him is hospital.”

The man shook his head. “The station authorities — they will not permit.”

“It is three more days to Irkutsk,” said De Richleau, almost weeping. “You cannot let him die on the train!”

“No, no, he cannot die on the train!” agreed the steward, obviously frightened and superstitious. “It might mean an accident!”

“Then we must get off at Sverdlovsk!”

“You must see the officials, then — it is the only way.”

“Bah! the Tchinovinks!” De Richleau cried. “The officials, what use are they? All your life you have lived under the Tchinovinks, and what have they done for you? Tsarist or Bolshevist — they are all the same — delay, delay, delay, and in the meantime my poor friend dies. It must not be!”

“No, it must not be —” echoed the steward, fired by the Duke’s harangue. “The Tchinovinks are either rogues or fools. I have it! Always before we arrive at Sverdlovsk we draw into the goods-yard. You shall descend there!”

“Is it possible?” exclaimed the Duke.

“But yes, it shall be done!”

“My brother!” cried De Richleau, flinging his arms round the fat man’s neck!

“Little father!” exclaimed the steward, using in his emotion an expression that must have been foreign to his lips for many years.

“Come, let us dress him,” said the Duke, and without warning Simon found himself seized; he played up gallantly, letting his head loll helplessly from side to side, and groaning a little. It was a longish job, but at last they had him dressed and propped up in a corner.

De Richleau packed for both of them — gathering their few belongings together in the two suitcases the steward had left them.

They jogged on for a while through the grey light of the coming dawn, and at last, after a series of shrill whistles, the train came to a standstill; the steward returned, and with breathless mutterings in Russian, helped the Duke to get the apparently comatose Simon out of the compartment and along the corridor, then down the steps at the end of the carriage. He pushed their bags out after them, and, recognizing in the half light the high value of the banknote which De Richleau thrust into his hand, broke into voluble protestations of gratitude.

The Duke looked quickly about him; the dark masses of buildings seen indistinctly, and the glimmer of lights a few hundred yards ahead, was evidently the main station. They stood in the snow. About them were timber stacks, coal dumps, and immediately in their rear some rough sheds. With a snort the train moved slowly on — the steward still leaning from the window. As it gathered speed and disappeared into the gloom, De Richleau ceased to pretend that he was supporting Simon.

“Come,” he said. “This way — quickly!” and seizing one of the bags he headed for the cover of the sheds. Simon gripped the other and followed. They were not more than half way across the yard when Simon’s quick ear caught a crunching sound, as of someone stumbling suddenly over cinders. He whipped round, just in time to see in the semi-darkness a figure that had evidently leapt off the last coach of the train, scuttle behind one of the stacks of timber.

“We’re spotted,” he gasped.

“No matter. Leave this to me,” said the Duke, as he darted behind the shed. “Here, take this,” and he thrust the other suitcase into Simon’s free hand.

Simon stood, helpless and gaping, the two heavy bags, one in each hand, weighing him down. De Richleau flattened himself against the side of the shed — they waited breathlessly.

A soft, padding sound came to their ears, as of someone running on the thick carpet of snow, a second later a small man came round the corner full upon them. He made a rapid motion of recoil, but it was too late, the Duke’s left hand shot out and caught him by the throat. The small man did not utter a sound — he stared with terrified, bulging eyes over De Richleau’s shoulder, full at Simon, who saw at once that in his left eye there was a cast!

Then there happened a thing which shocked and horrified the mild, peace-loving soul of Simon Aron, for he had never witnessed such a thing before. With almost incredible swiftness the Duke’s right hand left the pocket of his greatcoat — it flew back to the utmost stretch of his shoulder, holding a long, thin, glittering blade — and then, with a dull thud, it hit the little man in the side, just under the heart. His eyes seemed for a second to start out of their sockets at Simon — then his head fell forward, and he dropped limp and soundless at De Richleau’s feet.

“Good God!” said Simon, in a breathless whisper, utterly aghast. “You’ve killed him.”

The Duke gave a grim laugh as he spurned the body with his foot. “What else was there to do, my friend — it was either him or us. We are in Soviet Russia, and when we stepped off that train, we placed ourselves beyond the pale!”

X — “Where the Railway Ends”

Simon felt his knees grow weak beneath him — he was almost overcome with nausea; he was not frightened for himself, only appalled at this sudden slaying of a fellow human without warning. “It’s — it’s awful,” he stammered.

“There, there, my son,” said De Richleau, soothingly. “Do not waste your great heart on this scum. Praise be to God, I have killed many such. You would not pity him if you had seen, as I have, all that his kind accomplished in 1919 and 1920. I fought with Denikin’s White Army, and we saw sights that froze one’s heart. Little children burned to death — men with their eyes gouged out — women of our own blood, who had been kept in brothels, filthy with disease — a thousand horrors committed at the instigation of your friend Leshkin and his kind. It is a nightmare that I would forget. Come now, help me to hide the body of this dog.”

Simon put down the suitcases and drew a breath. He was a natural philosopher, and once recovered from the shock, accepted the awful thing as part and parcel of this astounding adventure into which he had been drawn.

The door of the shed was fastened only by a piece of rope, and they found it to be filled with old farm implements.

Quickly, and as noiselessly as possible, they moved a stack of bent and broken shovels — carried in the body of the wall-eyed man, and piled the shovels over him until he was completely hidden; they secured the door more firmly, and, having obliterated the blood marks in the snow, hurried through the maze of wood stacks towards another group of sheds, the roofs of which were rapidly becoming plainer in the growing light.

The goods-yard seemed deserted, and they were fortunate in finding an empty shed. Once inside it De Richleau flung his suitcase on the ground, and, kneeling down, commenced to unpack. Simon followed his example. In a few minutes they had stuffed the rucksacks with the supplies of food and their most necessary belongings. Next they defaced the labels on their bags and stowed them in an opening between two sheds, heaping stones and rubble on top to hide them from view.

Wherever they moved they left large footprints in the snow, and Simon, greatly perturbed, pointed out there tracks to the Duke, but De Richleau did not seem unduly worried.

“Look at the snow,” he waved his hand about him. “They will be covered in an hour.” And, with the coming of day, the snow had begun to fall again, softly, silently, in great, white, drifting petals that settled as they fell, increasing the heavy band of white on every roof and ledge.

“Well, I never thought I should be glad to see snow,” said Simon, with his little nervous laugh. “What do we do now?”

De Richleau adjusted his rucksack on his shoulders; he frowned.

“We have a difficult task before us — while attracting as little attention as possible, we must find out how the trains run on the branch line to the Tavda River, and then secure seats.

“How far is it — I mean to Tobolsk?” Simon inquired.

“Two hundred miles to the dead end of the railway, and a further hundred across country — but we have at least one piece of good fortune.”

“What’s that?”

“That we should have arrived here early in the morning; if there is a train today we cannot have missed it!”

“Today?” echoed Simon, aghast “Aren’t there trains every day?”

De Richleau laughed. “My dear fellow, it is not Brighton that we are going to. In such a place as this, trains run only twice weekly, or at best every other day!”

Simon grunted. “Thank God we didn’t arrive in the middle of the night, then.”

“Yes, we should have been frozen before the morning.”

While they were talking they had left the goods-yard and turned down a road leading away from the station. There were no houses, only timber-yards and back lots.

After they had walked about half a mile De Richleau spoke again. “I think we might now turn back. Our train should have halted here for about twenty minutes, and it must be forty at least since our good friend the steward set us down.”

“Poor chap, I hope he doesn’t get it in the neck over this job.”

“Let us hope not. If he has any sense he will say that we left the train without his knowledge. They are certain to question him at Irkutsk, but if he says that he did not see us after dinner last night, they cannot put the blame on him.”

Simon began sawing his arms across his narrow chest. “My God, it’s cold,” he said suddenly. “I could do with some breakfast!”

De Richleau laughed. “About that we shall see. We are coming to a cluster of houses, and that building on the left looks like the station. I should think there is certain to be some sort of inn near it.”

He was right; they found a small third-rate hostelry, of which the only occupant was a solemn peasant seated near the great china stove, sipping his tea and staring into vacancy.

The Duke clapped his hands loudly, and the landlord appeared, a clean, honest-looking fellow in a starched white blouse. After some questioning he disappeared, presently to return with two plates of eggs; true, they were fried in lard, but the two travellers were so hungry and cold that almost any food would have been welcome, even the black rye bread and bitter tea which accompanied the eggs.

When they had finished De Richleau drew the landlord into conversation. They were Germans, the Duke said; fur buyers, seeking new sources of supply. How were the markets in Sverdlovsk for such commodities?

“Bad,” said the landlord. “Bad; the trappers will not go out any more. Why should they?” he shrugged; “the Government will not pay them for their skins, and there are no longer the rich who will buy. They go out for a few weeks every season that they may catch enough to keep their families from starving by exchanging the skins for corn and oil. For the rest — they sleep!”

The Duke nodded. “You speak truly. Why should a man work more than he need if there is no prospect of his becoming rich? What of the north? Think you our chances would be better there?”

“I do not think so. Not if what one hears is true. Things may be better in the towns that lie to the east, perhaps, but I do not know.”

“To the eastward?” said the Duke softly. “You mean in Omsk?”

The landlord shrugged. “There, and at other places in Siberia, there are not so many Tchinovinks as here, trading is more free.”

“What of Tobolsk?”

“That would perhaps be the best place of all if you could get there, but Tobolsk is in the forbidden territory.”

“The forbidden territory? What is that?” asked the Duke with a frown.

The man shrugged again. “It is some madness of the Tchinovinks; a great area, where, without special papers, no man may go — but they are the lords, and it is useless to protest.”

“If we could get within reasonable distance of Tobolsk we could send messengers,” the Duke suggested, “and the traders could bring their furs for us to see.”

“That should be possible. There is a train which goes to Turinsk; farther than that you may not go; the railway to Tobolsk is finished, but it is for the officials and the military only.”

“And how often do the trains run?”

“It used to be only once weekly, but since the line is finished it is every other day. Many military and Tchinovinks go through.”

“Is there a train today?”

“What is today?” the man asked vaguely.

“It is Saturday.”

“Yes, there is a train — it leaves at midday.”

“Do you know how long it takes?”

“To Tobolsk, about eight hours — to Turinsk, some five hours, perhaps.”

“And are permissions necessary?” De Richleau asked casually.

“It depends,” said the landlord; “for Turinsk no special permission is necessary, but in the case of foreigners I should think your tickets would require endorsement; however, it is of no great moment; the Tchinovinks hate to be bothered. They sleep all day; if there is trouble, give a few roubles, and all will be well.”

“Thank you, my friend. In that case I think we will go to Turinsk on the midday train, and, if we may, we will remain under your hospitable roof until then. We shall require another meal before we go.”

“Welcome, and again welcome,” said the landlord, with all the inherent politeness of the peasant.

“All is well.” The Duke turned to Simon as he spoke, for the latter had not understood one word of this conversation. “There is a train at midday which will take us as far as Turinsk; after that the forbidden territory begins, and we shall have to use our wits.”

“How about tickets?” asked Simon, doubtfully.

“Bluff, my friend. I gather that the officials here are lazy and careless, and open to bribes, very different to those in Moscow.”

“Better say we left the other tickets in the train!”

“Yes, that is an excellent idea.”

“I’ve been wondering about that Shulimoff treasure,” said Simon, in a low voice. “Do you think Rex got it before they got him?”

“How can we say?” De Richleau raised his slanting eyebrows. “We know that Shulimoff had estates near Tobolsk. Evidently the treasure must be buried there, or Rex would never have ventured into this dangerous area.”

“Fun if we could take a few souvenirs out of this rotten country!” Simon chuckled into his hand.

“Let us not think of that. We shall have our work cut out to get Rex out of the clutch of these devils!”

At eleven o’clock the landlord produced two wooden bowls containing a kind of stew, mainly composed of skinny mutton and barley. With it was the inevitable rye bread and bitter tea.

In spite of the unappetizing nature of the fare they both ate heartily, since they realized that it might well be the last food they would touch for many hours.

When they had finished they paid the landlord handsomely, and crossed the road to the station. At the booking office there were difficulties. The Duke explained that through some misunderstanding their baggage, and with it their tickets, had been carried on that morning by the main-line train, and that they were merchants from the great fur market of Lemberg, anxious to trade. There was much argument, but De Richleau had been clever in that he had not allowed much time before the train was due to depart. It was too late for them to return into the town for an examination by senior officials — their passports were in order — only the tickets were missing.

At the sight of the Duke’s wallet stuffed with money, the man gave way. “It could be managed, perhaps,” he said. “It was irregular, of course — also the tickets were expensive! The fares, in fact, had more than doubled since the tickets were printed. They were old stock!”

So the affair was settled, and the Duke and Simon took their seats in the train for Turinsk. In this branch-line train there was none of the comfort they had found on the Trans-Continental. Hard seats, and a foul wash-place — a crowded compartment where the mingled odours of unwashed humanity fought with that of the smaller birds and beasts, which seemed to be the principal impedimenta of their travelling companions.

“Well, this is another stage on our journey as good as accomplished,” said De Richleau, as the train drew out of Sverdlovsk, only twenty minutes late in starting.

“Um,” said Simon. “But we’re going to be in a muddle when we get to Turinsk!”

“On the contrary —” De Richleau disagreed. “There we shall be able to show our tickets and get accommodation, which we could not do here.”

“You’ve forgotten one thing.”

“And what is that?”

“We were counting on a sleigh service to get us where we want to go, weren’t we?”

“Yes.”

“Well — if you’re right about the railway line being finished, there won’t be any sleigh service — and it’s quite certain that the people at Turinsk won’t let us go on in the train.”

“That’s true,” said the Duke, thoughtfully. “Mon Dieu, how these people stink!”

“Pretty awful,” Simon agreed, and then both he and the Duke lapsed into a thoughtful silence.

The scenery was completely different from that which they had seen the day before; the train puffed and snorted excitedly as it wound its way, at a fair speed, in and out along the snow-covered valleys; they had passed the tops of the Urals during the night, and were now descending through the foothills on the eastern side.

The snow had ceased falling, and the sun came out at midday, but now, in the early afternoon, it was sinking rapidly, and dusk was upon them when they reached Turinsk just before five.

Turinsk seemed little more than a long, straggling village. The train actually ran through the high street, in the most populous part of which it came to a jerky halt.

Nobody asked for or examined their tickets, but Simon noticed that several men with lanterns went carefully along the train, searching each compartment to see that it was empty, and the soldiers and officials, who remained seated in the coach nearest to the engine, had their papers inspected before the train moved on. •

The two fur traders from Lemberg made their way to the hotel, a rambling, wooden building, and ordered the best meal that the place could provide. They had decided, at all costs, to get hold of a sleigh that night and continue their journey. All too soon Soviet officials would be on their track; every moment of their precious start must be utilized. De Richleau asked the landlord if it were possible to obtain a sleigh.

“At this hour?” He seemed amazed and hurt. “Where did they wish to go? Was not his hotel good enough?”

The Duke, on this occasion, told a completely different story. He said that he had just come in on the train from Sverdlovsk, and that on his arrival he had been handed a telegram to say that his wife had had a serious accident. He must return at once.

“You can get the train back at three o’clock tomorrow —” the landlord suggested. “It leaves Tobolsk at an hour before midday, and arrives in Sverdlovsk at eight o’clock.”

“I must go tonight!” The Duke seemed distraught with anxiety. “Please help me, and get a sleigh — then tomorrow I can be beside my poor wife.”

“I cannot.” The man shook his head. “Tomorrow — yes, you shall have my cousin’s troika — a fine affair. He will drive you himself, but he lives six versts from here. I cannot send for him tonight”

“In that case I might as well wait for the train,” the Duke protested. “It would be quicker in the end!”

“You speak truly,” the landlord nodded. “It is sad about your wife, but there is nothing I can do.”

At that they had to leave it “Come,” said the Duke to Simon. “Let’s walk down the village street. It is possible that there may be another inn at which we may have better luck.”

They shouldered their knapsacks, and left the hotel under the landlord’s disapproving eye. He looked as though he guessed their purpose.

Outside the darkness of the long Siberian night had already fallen, lights glimmered from the narrow windows of the houses casting a beam here and there on the crisp, frozen snow. The air was cold, but invigorating like wine, the night fine, cloudless and startlit.

Not many people were about, and to their disappointment they failed to find an inn of any size. As they were walking back to the hotel, a fine sleigh passed them at a trot, and pulled up in front of a small brick building, which had an official air.

De Richleau hurried forward, and was in time to intercept the driver before he entered the building. The man, a tall fellow with high Mongolian cheekbones, was tying his reins to a wooden post.

“Will you hire me your troika?” the Duke asked at once.

The man looked up in surprise. “But no,” he said. “This troika is not for hire.”

The Duke launched into the same story again, of his sick wife and the urgent necessity of his immediate return to Sverdlovsk.

The tall man was not impressed. He shrugged his shoulders and entered the little brick building.

It was a fine troika, with three well-fed horses, the arch above the centre horse brightly painted and gay with little hanging bells; fur rugs were scattered over the interior.

De Richleau made up his mind instantly. “Jump in,” he cried, giving Simon a little push. “He may be back in a minute.”

Even as he spoke he was untying the reins, and scrambling into the driver’s seat; with one crack of the whip they were careering down the street, the sleigh bells jingling loudly.

The owner came running out of the building, shouting and gesticulating as he ran, but there was nothing to bar their progress, and they very soon had left the town behind.

The whole thing had been so sudden that Simon had hardly time to realize what had happened until they were out in the open country, then he leant forward and shouted in De Richleau’s ear:

“The way — will you be able to find it?”

The Duke’s only answer was to point with his whip to the stars. High above them, and a little to the left, Simon made out the “Great Bear”, with its pointers to the North Star. They were the only stars he knew, but it was enough. He realized that they must be going in the right direction.

The three horses carried them forward at a fast trot, but De Richleau was too old a soldier not to know the necessity of economizing their staying-power. Once he felt that they were safe from immediate pursuit he reduced the pace. At the end of the each hour he halted for ten minutes, carefully rugging up the horses against a chill.

Mile after mile was eaten up as the night wore on; the road twisted and turned a little here and there, but in the main it led them through vast stretches of glistening, snow-covered forest, ever to the eastward, towards the heart of Siberia.

At one o’clock in the morning they reached the Tavda river. There was no bridge and only a primitive wooden ferry.

They knocked up the ferryman, but he refused to turn out and take them over at that hour. De Richleau did not press the point or attempt to bribe the man; the horses badly needed rest if they were to be fit to travel next day. Simon and he had been up since six that morning, and both of them were worn out.

They found stabling for the horses in the ferryman’s barn, and rolled themselves up in their furs on the floor of his living-room — in spite of its hardness they were soon asleep.

Next morning they were up early and soon away, the horses — hardy beasts — seemed as fresh as ever. All through that long monotonous day they drove onwards, halting with military regularity, but never exceeding their allotted time of rest, except once, at midday, when they made a hurried meal at a wayside farmhouse.

Such farms were few and far between — during the whole of the long journey they scarcely saw a human being. Wide, desolate, wastes of snow alternated with long vistas of silent mysterious forest The whole land was so deeply in the grip of winter that it was almost impossible to imagine it otherwise, and to picture the fields bright with the thousand flowers of the short Siberian summer.

As the sun was sinking, a dull red globe, into the forests from which they had come, they passed first one farmstead and then another; they topped a hill, and there, in the gathering darkness spread below them, lay a town. They knew that they had reached their journey’s end, and that this must be the city of Tobolsk.

XI — Which Shows that a Little Yiddish Can Be Useful

They halted at the side of the road and held a short consultation. The first question was what to do with the stolen sledge — no doubt its owner had notified the police in all the neighbouring towns.

“I think it would be best to abandon it in that small wood to the left there,” said De Richleau, climbing stiffly from his seat. “We can turn the horses loose, they will find shelter somewhere.”

“Ner,” Simon protested. “If we can find a stable for them they may be useful later on.”

“As you will,” agreed the Duke, wearily. He was over sixty, and the long drive had been a great strain upon him. “But where do you suggest?”

“Farm,” said Simon. “Lots of farms round here.”

“Don’t you think they will be suspicious — surely they will wonder why we do not drive on and stable our horses in the town?”

“Lame one of them,” suggested Simon, quickly.

“Lame a horse! What are you saying?” De Richleau was nearly as shocked at the idea as Simon had been, thirty-six hours earlier, when the Duke had killed a man.

“Say one of them is lame,” amended Simon.

“That is different — they will take them in I do not doubt. One thing is certain — we dare not drive into the town; we could not abandon the troika in the streets, and to attempt to stop at an hotel would be almost as good as walking into the bureau of the police.”

Simon nodded vigorously. “Better try a farm. If there’s a real muddle and the police are after us the farm people may refuse to let us have them again, but if we do as you say, we’ll never see them again anyhow!”

De Richleau roused himself and climbed once more into the driver’s seat. “Ah, what would I not give to be once more in the Hispano,” he said, with a little groan. “Heading for Curzon Street, my evening clothes and dinner. May the curse of God be upon the Soviet and all its works!”

Simon chuckled. “Wouldn’t mind Ferraro showing me to a table at the Berkeley myself, just at the moment!”

De Richleau whipped up the tired horses, and they proceeded a quarter of a mile down the road, then Simon tapped the Duke on the back. “What about that?” he suggested, indicating a low house to the right that had several large barns and outhouses clustered round it.

“Ah!” exclaimed the Duke, starting — he had almost fallen asleep over his reins. “Yes, why not?” He turned the horses into the side-track that led up to the farm. “Why is it, Simon, my friend,” he added, sadly, as they pulled up and he climbed down once more, “that you have never learnt either to drive a pair of horses or to speak Russian?”

“Never mind — we’re nearly through, now,” Simon encouraged him. Simon had not only slept soundly from one o’clock the previous morning till six in the ferryman’s hut, but, while the Duke was driving the solid twelve hours after they crossed the Tavda River, he had been able to doze a good deal of the time. He was therefore feeling full of vigour and enthusiasm now that they were so near their journey’s end.

“Nearly through!” the Duke echoed. “You have taken leave of your senses, my son — we have hardly started on this mad journey of ours.”

The farmhouse door had opened, and a dark-skinned woman, enveloped in so many layers of clothing that all semblance of waistline had vanished, stood looking at them with round, dark eyes.

Immediately De Richleau’s ill humour and fatigue vanished. He went up to her, breaking into voluble Russian. It was evident, however, that she had some difficulty in understanding him — and he her. Even Simon could appreciate that her harsh patois had little resemblance to Valeria Petrovna’s sibilant tongue.

A lad of about seventeen was fetched, also a little girl and an aged crone. The latter regarded them with bleary eyes, and for some mysterious reason shook her stick threateningly at Simon.

De Richleau produced his well-filled wallet once again, and it was obvious that whatever might be the ideas and wishes of the Kommissars, hard cash still had a certain value in the eyes of the thrifty Russian peasants.

The young boy unharnessed and led away the horses, the Duke gave liberal payment for their keep in advance, and soon the two friends were trudging down the track to. the highway.

“Have you considered what we should do now?” Contrary to custom, it was the tired Duke who asked the question.

“How far to the town?”

“Three miles,” said De Richleau, bitterly.

“Come on, old chap.” Simon thrust his arm through that of the older man. “It’ll be all right — don’t you worry.”

They trudged on through the darkening evening; somehow, since they had left Moscow, it had always seemed to be night, the short, sunny days of these high latitudes were gone so quickly.

De Richleau walked in a stupor of fatigue. Simon was racking his able brain for some idea as to where they could spend the night; some shelter must be found, that was certain — they could not sleep in the snow. The hotels in Tobolsk were barred to them in this forbidden territory.

Simon almost wished that they had begged a night’s lodging at the farmhouse, in spite of the threatening ancient and her stick.

As they trudged on the houses became more frequent, until the road developed into a mean and straggling street. It seemed endless, but it gradually grew narrower, and the buildings of more importance. At last they entered a large square.

On the corner they halted. How much Simon wished that this was some provincial town in England. He looked about him anxiously; few people were passing, and these few seemed to be scurrying from one glowing stove, with its attendant pile of logs, to another. Then, suddenly, Simon stepped forward, drawing De Richleau after him.

He had seen a queer figure shamble by — a man, whose dark curls were discernible even in the faint glow from the irregular lamps; a man who wore a strange, brimless high hat, puffed out at the top, not unlike a chefs cap, only that this was made of black velvet instead of white linen.

Simon laughed his little jerky laugh into his free hand. “Now,” he said. “If only I haven’t forgotten all my Yiddish!”

He addressed the queer figure, hesitantly, in a strange tongue. The man halted, and peered at him suspiciously, but Simon was persistent. Forgotten words and phrases learnt in his childhood came back to him, and he stumbled on.

That the man understood was evident. He answered in a similar language, asking some questions and nodding at the Duke.

“He is a goy,” Simon admitted. “But, even so, he is as my own father.”

“It is well — come with me,” said the stranger, who was a Rabbi of the Jewish faith.

They followed him down many narrow turnings, until he stopped at last before what seemed, in the dark, to be a large, old-fashioned house. The Rabbi pushed open the great nail-studded door, and it swung open upon its leather hinges.

Simon kept on his fur papenka, for he knew at once by the Shield of David on the windows, and the perpetual light burning before the ark, that this was a synagogue; although in every way different from the smart Liberal Synagogue in London, of which he was recognized, but non-attendant, member.

This synagogue in Tobolsk was not used for fashionable ceremonies, but as a meeting-place — a club almost — frequented daily by the more prominent members of the Jewish community. Just as in the immemorial East the synagogue is the centre of all life and thought wherever there is a Jewish population, so here, for Russia is but an extension of the East — differing in little but its climate.

The Rabbi led them through the place of worship to the school. A number of persons were present — no women, but about twenty or thirty men in various costumes. They sat round a long table, reading and discussing the Torah, and the endless commentaries upon it; just as their progenitors had, in this or similar synagogues, for upwards of three thousand years.

Their guide took them to an elderly man, evidently the chief Rabbi, whose white curls fell beneath his high velvet hat on to his shoulders.

Soft words were spoken in the guttural Yiddish tongue. “It is the house of God,” said the old Rabbi. “Peace be upon you.”

Simon and the Duke found a warm corner near the stove, and a young man brought them a large platter each of smoked salmon — that age-old Jewish dish. They both agreed that it could not have been better cured if it had been served at Claridge’s or the Ritz. With it were wheaten cakes and tea.

After, they sat talking a little in low tones, but De Richleau’s answers became shorter and more infrequent, until Simon saw that he had dropped asleep.

The evening’s debate upon the eternal “Law” seemed to have come to an end, and the members of the synagogue left in twos and threes. At last only Simon, the sleeping Duke, and two or three students remained.

The Rabbi they had first met came up to Simon. “You will stay here?” he suggested. “We shall meet in the morning.”

Simon rose and bowed. “So be it,” he said in Yiddish.

The Rabbi bowed in return, his hands folded before him, and covered by the sleeves of his long gown. Simon settled himself beside De Richleau, and wrapping his furs around him, was soon asleep.

In the morning the Rabbi who had befriended them came to them again. Simon had been awake for quite a time before he arrived, and had been trying to translate what he wished to say into simple Yiddish phrases. He told the Rabbi the plain truth, without either elaborating or concealing anything.

The Rabbi looked grave. It was his duty to avoid bringing trouble or discredit upon his community, yet he wished, if he could, to aid this brother in the faith from a far country.

“I can take you to the prison,” he said at length. “There are Jewish prisoners whom it is my duty to visit from time to time. It may chance that you shall see the brother whom you seek, but more than this I cannot do. I think it wise, also, that you do not stay here longer than another night, else it may be that you will bring trouble upon us, who have ever many troubles.”

Simon inclined his head gravely, more than happy to have secured so much assistance. “When can we go?” he asked.

“I must speak to the chief Rabbi. If he consents we may leave here at once.”

When he had gone Simon translated the conversation to De Richleau, who had woken stiff, but much refreshed.

“I fear we have undertaken a difficult task,” De Richleau shook his head, despondently. “How are we to plot an escape for a prisoner, which may take days of careful organization, when we are suspects ourselves? However, we can only trust our luck will hold, we’ve been very fortunate so far.”

After a little while the Rabbi returned. “It is well,” he said. “The Rabbi consents. Let us go.”

Simon pulled on his furs, and followed the Rabbi through the great wooden door into the narrow street.

They walked quickly and silently — the cold was piercing. Their way lay through the twisting streets of the old town,” and at last they came to a high wall surrounding a number of bleak, two-storeyed stone buildings. The great gates in the wall stood wide open. One heavily bearded man, wrapped in a great top coat, sat in a little watch-house, warming his feet at an open brazier. He nodded to the Rabbi, and they walked through into the courtyard. A very different business, Simon thought, to the regulations which he had encountered when he had had occasion to enter Brixton Prison on account of Richard Eaton.

Several men were playing a game of volley-ball in the courtyard, but Simon saw that Rex was not among them. They entered a long, low room in one of the buildings. Most of the occupants seemed to be asleep.

The place was furnished only with trestle tables, hard benches, and the usual big porcelain stove. The floor looked as though it had not been swept for weeks.

Simon’s sharp eyes travelled backwards and forwards, while the Rabbi spoke to one or two of the prisoners, evidently men of the Jewish race, but there was no sign of the big American.

They left the building, and entered a hall in the second block; it was furnished in the same way, and was identical in size with the first. No warders were in evidence, and it seemed that the prisoners were allowed to move freely in and out just as they liked. Here also the majority of the occupants were sleeping or talking quietly together — still no sign of Rex.

In the common-room of the third block, a similar scene met Simon’s eyes; filth, discomfort, lassitude, but no attempt at any ordered control. It was in the third building that he noticed a curious thing — none of the men wore boots! Instead, they had list slippers. He was just pondering over this when his attention was attracted by a small group squatting on the floor in the corner. Two little Yakuts, with merry faces and long Mongolian eyes, sat with their backs to the wall; before them, facing away from Simon, was a fat, bald-headed man, and a broad, strapping fellow, of unusual height, with powerful shoulders.

The bald man shook a small box that rattled, and it was evident that the four were engaged in a primitive form of dice.

Simon looked again at the colossal back of the young giant. “Could it be? If it was — gone were the dark, wavy curls — this man’s head was close cropped. Suddenly, in a loud voice, he spoke: “Come on, digger — spill the beans!”

Then Simon knew that the first part of their mission was accomplished. In this sordid Siberian prison, he had run to earth that most popular figure among the younger generation of society from Long Island to Juan les Pins — Mr. Rex Mackintosh Van Ryn.

XII — Escape

Simon was in quandary — he could not see any guards, but did not know if it was better to go up and speak to Rex, or wait till the latter saw him; either way there seemed to be the risk that Rex might give the show away in his surprise. The problem was solved by the American turning round, and Simon saw that he had been recognized. Rex kept his head — he did not stand up at once, he played two more rounds of dice, and then, getting lazily to his feet, strolled out of the room.

Simon followed him slowly — he found Van Ryn eagerly waiting for him round the corner of the building, none of the other prisoners was in sight.

“Say, boy!” Rex exclaimed, seizing his shoulders in an almost painful grip. “If this isn’t just marvellous! I’ll tell the world, I never thought to see you in this Godforsaken quarter of the globe.”

Simon grinned, delighted. “See too much of me if you’re not careful — I’ll be in there playing dice with you.”

“How in heck d’you make this place? It’s in their darned forbidden territory — but I reckon you’ll be wise to that!”

“Two trains and a stolen sleigh,” Simon chuckled.

“Good for you! The Duke’ll have got my chit, I guess.”

“Yes, he’s here, too — in the local synagogue!”

“Holy smoke!” Rex shook with silent laughter.

“What a perfect hide-out. No one will go looking for the big thief there!”

“Oh, he’s all right for the moment — but how are we going to get you out, now that we are here?”

Van Ryn laughed, showing his white, even teeth. “That’s easy,” he said casually. “I’ll walk!”

“Aren’t there guards and warders?”

“Not so’s you’d notice them. They’ve got peculiar ideas about prisons in this city. It’s got Sing-Sing beat to a frazzle! No one tries escaping, ’cause they can’t get anywhere — no money, and no boots, that’s the bars they use in this burg; that, and one spy in each block to let them have the low-down about any little plan to frame a get-away.”

“But lots of the prisoners must have friends in the town — surely they could get out first and get help later?”

“That’s where you’re all wrong. Not a man in this prison was raised in Tobolsk. The local crooks get put on rail for a lock-up a thousand miles away — so what could a fellah do, anyway, with no friends, no boots, no money, and a couple of hundred miles of snow between him and the next town?”

“You can get out, then, if we can get you away afterwards?”

“I certainly can! About five o’clock ’ll be the best time.”

“How — er — will you manage?” Simon asked, a little doubtfully.

“Get a pal to have a yarn with the man on the gate — it’ll be near dusk — I’ll be able to slip through all right — the rest of the guard sleep most of the day. They start in rounding us up for the night about six, locking us in our own blocks and doing a sort of inspection round.”

“They will miss you at once then? That’s a pity.”

“We’ll be unlucky if they do. The inspection they have in this place would give the Governor of Dartmoor fits. I’ll leave a bundle of stuff in my bunk. Ten to one they’ll never realize it isn’t me!”

“Where will you go when you get outside?”

“Down to the north-west corner of the prison wall. That’s to the right going out of the gate, get me? And for the Lord’s sake don’t forget to bring me boots — if you do my toes’ll drop off under the hour in this cold. Say, Simon, you haven’t by chance got any food on you, have you? I’m that hungry I’d pinch peanuts off a blind man’s monkey.”

Simon searched his pockets and found a decrepit bar of chocolate. He proffered it dubiously.

“Thanks!” Rex seized and bit into it ravenously. “My, that’s good and no mistake. I guess I’d eat ten dollars’ worth if you’d got it. Now tell me about the Duke.”

“He drove the sleigh for seventeen hours yesterday. He was about all in last night”

“Did he though? At his age! I’ll say he’s the greatest man in Europe, is our Duke, and you’re a close second, Simon!”

“Don’t be silly — I’ve done nothing.”

“Honest, I mean it.” Rex patted Simon’s arm affectionately. “I don’t know two other guys who’d risk getting into this place to get another fellah out I was never so glad of anything in my life as when I saw your ugly mug just now,” Rex grimaced. “Another month or so of this and I’d have had to wring the neck of one of these fool guards, just to make life more interesting.”

Simon chuckled. “Wouldn’t have been much good our coming if you had!”

“No. I reckon it would have been a free ad. in the wrong end of the hatched, matched, and dispatched column of the New York Times for this child. Still, praises be you’ve come. I guess we’d better separate now.”

“Yes. I’ll get back. We’ll be waiting for you at five.”

“Sure —” Van Ryn moved away with a last grin.

“See-yer-later, Simon — round about cocktail time!”

Simon rejoined the Rabbi. They visited three more of the barracks and then left the prison. Simon’s heart was high with the good news that he was bringing to the Duke. True, Rex was lean and cadaverous now, but well and cheerful.

The Duke, meanwhile, had been exercising his stiff limbs. The long drive from Turinsk had been a great strain on him. He thought, ruefully, of his marble bathroom at Curzon Street, and the gentle ministrations of the excellent Max, but not for long. If it had been his habit in recent years to spend much of his time idling in the pleasant places of the earth, he had, during his earlier life, been soldier, hunter, and explorer, and the experiences of those strenuous days stood him in good stead now. At one period he had had a Japanese manservant, from whom he had learnt many things about the human body. Among them was the secret of certain exercises, which relaxed the muscles and relieved their strain. He ceased therefore to think of Lubin’s bath essence, and applied himself to these continual and gentle evolutions, much to the astonishment of the morning gathering of students in the school of the synagogue.

On Simon’s return the two retired to a quiet corner, and began to make their plans.

The sleigh seemed to be their only means of escape, and very glad they were that they had not abandoned it the previous night.

The man who owned it would have notified the police at Turinsk of the theft, but, fortunately, the story which the Duke had told of his dying wife in Sverdlovsk, had also been told to the innkeeper at Turinsk, therefore it was to be hoped that the main hunt would take that direction. In any case, even if the police in Tobolsk were on the look-out it seemed hardly likely that the people at the farm would have been questioned, for the farm was three miles from the centre of the town. With any luck they might secure possession of it again without difficulty.

The next question was — should they attempt to get hold of it before or after Rex had made his escape? If there was going to be trouble with the farm people, it would be a help to have him with them — on the other hand it meant delay. It was an hour’s trudge from the prison to the farm, and if Rex’s disappearance was discovered at the six o’clock inspection, the alarm would be raised before they could get a decent start, and mounted patrols scouring the country in all directions.

If the farm people were questioned afterwards, and Rex had been with them, the police would immediately connect the escaped prisoner with the stolen sleigh. It was far better that these events should remain unconnected in their minds. Simon and the Duke decided to attempt to retrieve the sleigh early that afternoon.

Then the problem arose — which road should they take? They would have liked to have gone to the west, back into Russia, but to do that was to run right into the centre of the hue and cry for the stolen sleigh at Turinsk. The route to the east led farther into unknown Siberia. They would be placing an even greater distance between themselves and the Embassies, which were their only hope of protection. The choice, then, lay between the north and the south. The former, with its vast impenetrable forests, was uninviting in the extreme; whereas to the south, some hundred and fifty miles away, was the Trans-Siberian Railway — their only link with civilization. But, they agreed, that was the direction in which the escaped American would be most keenly sought. The authorities would reason that he would try and reach the line and jump a goods train. Finally they agreed that they would make due north. In that direction, at least, there was good cover. If they could get a start it should not be difficult to evade their pursuers in the depths of those trackless woods. Later, if they were successful in throwing off the pursuit, they would veer west, and try to recross the Urals into Russia.

Having come to these important decisions, they discussed the question of boots with the friendly Rabbi. To procure these seemed a difficulty — boots had been scarce in Tobolsk for years — new ones were an impossibility. These could only be obtained from the State Cooperative, if in stock, but, in any case, a permit was necessary. Possibly a second-hand pair could be bought in the market — that seemed to be the only chance. The Rabbi agreed to go out for them, and see what he could do. Simon explained to him that the boots must be of the largest size if they were to be of any use at all.

After half an hour he returned. No boots were to be had, but he brought a pair of peasant’s sandals — great weighty things, with wooden soles an inch and a half thick, and strong leather thongs.

He explained that if plenty of bandages were wrapped round the feet and legs of the wearer, they would prove serviceable and not too uncomfortable, so with these they had to be content.

At a little after three they left the synagogue with many expressions of gratitude to the kind Rabbi who had proved such a friend in need. There could be no question of payment for food and shelter, but Simon pressed a liberal donation on him for his poor.

Following the Rabbi’s instructions, they avoided the centre of the town, and were soon in the suburbs. Fortunately their road lay within a quarter of a mile of the prison, and they could see its high walls in the distance, so they would have no difficulty in finding it on their return. The cold was intense, and a bitter wind blew across the open spaces. It seemed more like six miles than three, but they trudged on in silence, their heads well down.

At last they reached the farmhouse — it looked dreary and deserted under its mantle of snow — no other buildings or trees were near it so they had no reason to fear an ambush of red guards or police, unless they were concealed in the house or barns.

At the door the fat woman met them once more. She was wreathed in smiles — evidently the lavish payment for the stabling of the horses had won her heart. She was a true Kazak — ignorant and avaricious, close to the soil — a peasant yet a landowner; bourgeois in sympathy, yet hating the people of the towns except for what could be got out of them. The youth was summoned and De Richleau asked for the horses and troika as soon as they could be harnessed. The lad ran willingly to obey. His quick eyes travelled over Simon and the Duke, as he brought the horses from the stable.

“You are not of ‘The Party’?” he questioned, with a flash of his uneven teeth.

“No, we are not of the Party,” De Richleau answered, slowly.

“I knew that — else why should you pay?” the youth looked up quickly. “They never pay — those devils, they eat the lands.”

The Duke regarded him with interest. “Why should they pay? They are the lords now!”

The young peasant spat. As he lifted his face again there was a sudden fire in his eyes. “We killed three last winter, my friends and I — they are as a blight on the land. The land is mine,” he went on fiercely. “Why should I give them the Kelb, for which I work? What are their beastly cities to me? I am a Kulak — independent. My father was head man in the local council, till they killed him!”

“So they killed your father?” said the Duke softly. “What year was that?”

“The year of the great famine,” answered the lad “Little men, who could not have ploughed half a hectare, or they would have died — but they were many, and they hung him in the great barn — he who could plough a hundred furrows in the time that big Andrew could plough only eighty-nine.”

“And you have had blood for blood,” De Richleau nodded.

“Blood for blood — that is a good law,” said the youth with a twisted smile. “They worry us no more; except when they come in batches they are afraid. At first we had a half thought that you were of them when you came last night; the old one, who is the mother of my mother, was for fetching the neighbours to make an end of you, but I knew by the way you spoke that you were not of them, even if your companion is much as they!”

The Duke looked at Simon, and laughed suddenly. “It is well, my friend, that you did not come to this part of the world alone. These good people take you for a Communist, and would have thrown you head down in the manure pit!”

The boy was buckling the horses into the troika; he did not understand a word of what De Richleau said, but he grinned quickly. “You should have been here to see the one we cooked in the stove last winter — a silly man who wanted to teach his silliness to the children in the school. We put him feet first into the stove. How we laughed while we held him there, and the mother of my mother beat him; each time he howled she struck him in the mouth with her big stick, crying: ‘Shouting does not feed the children, oh, man who reads letters — give us back our corn’; and the more he howled the more she struck him, till all his teeth were gone.”

It was as well that Simon understood nothing of all this. The Duke — who did — climbed into the troika and took the reins; for him it was only a nightmare echo of those years when he had fought with the White Army; it interested him to know that outside the towns, where the Communist Party held undisputed sway, this internecine war was still going on. Not a good omen for the completion of the Five Year Plan!

He gave the youngster a hundred-rouble note, and told him to say no word of them should the Reds come from the town to make inquiries. The lad promised willingly enough, and ran beside their horses down the cart track until they reached the main road, shouting and cheering lustily.

They drove slowly, saving the horses, for they had ample time. As it was, they had to wait on the corner opposite the prison. It was an anxious quarter of an hour; twilight fell, and the shadow of the arch above the central horse of the troika grew longer and longer. At last, in the gathering dusk, a tall figure came towards them at a quick run. Both knew instinctively that it was Rex.

He halted beside the sleigh, panting and a little breathless.

“Say, it’s real good to see you boys again. All afternoon I’ve been thinking that I’d gone crazy and just dreamt it!”

De Richleau laughed. “I wish that we were all dreaming and safe in our beds at home — but anyhow, we are together again — jump in, Rex — quick, man!”

As he spoke a Red Guard came suddenly round the corner of the wall full upon them. With one looked he recognized Rex as a prisoner, and raised his rifle to fire!

XIII — Stranded in Siberia

For a moment the group remained immovable; De Richleau with the reins in one hand and his whip in the other; Simon leaning back in the sleigh; Rex standing in the snow beside the horses; and the soldier halted, his rifle raised, only a few feet away.

The Duke gave a sharp, rasping command in Russian. It was so sudden, so unexpected, that the man was taken off his guard. Before he had realized what he was doing he had jerked back his shoulders and raised his rifle preparatory to “grounding arms”; the next second he had checked his automatic impulse, but it was too late. The instant his eyes left the American’s face and his rifle tilted Rex sprang upon him, and they crashed to the ground together.

By the mercy of Heaven the rifle did not go off. Simon and the Duke leapt from the sleigh. Rex and the Red Guard were rolling in the snow; first one on top, then the other.

“Don’t shoot,” cried the Duke anxiously, as he saw Simon whip out his big automatic.

The struggle was brief; the soldier was a big fellow, but not big enough to put up a serious fight once Rex had him in his powerful grip. In less than a minute he was on his back with Van Ryn’s hands tight about his throat.

Simon did not hesitate — the lesson of Sverdlovsk had not been lost upon him. The man must be silenced somehow, or De Richleau’s long knife would be between his ribs. He stooped and hit the man a stunning blow on the head with the butt end of his pistol.

The Red Guard lay still, a grey heap on the whiteness of the snow.

“What’ll we do with this bird?” asked Rex.

“Can’t leave him here,” said Simon. “He’ll raise the alarm when he comes to.”

“Throw him in the bottom of the sleigh,” De Richleau suggested. “We will deal with him later.”

“Sure,” Rex agreed, with a laugh. “Come on, big boy,” he addressed the unconscious soldier, as he picked him up by an arm and a leg, “we’re going to take you for a ride. Reckon your boots ’ll just about do for me!” He heaved the man into the sleigh and climbed in beside Simon.

De Richleau was already on the box again. He put the horses into motion; the sleigh slithered round the corner, and they took the road for the north. The lights began to twinkle from the wooden houses, and the stars came out one by one.

As they left the town behind Simon and the Duke were conscious of one thought. They had succeeded in one half of their enterprise; now they were faced with the second and more difficult half, to get both Rex and themselves safely out of Soviet Russia.

It was Rex who broke their sombre train of thought “Say, boys,” he cried, with his ringing laugh, “who’d want to be on a mucky little street like Broadway, when they could see stars like this!”

De Richleau let the horses have their heads. They were fine beasts, well fed and full of spirit. An hour’s hard driving would not harm them for further service, and it was vital to get well away from the town as quickly as possible.

The three friends wasted no time in discussion. Rex asked which way they were heading. Simon told him they were making for the forests of the north, and he seemed satisfied.

The road lay chiefly along the west bank of the frozen Irtysh River; in places it left the course of the stream, and ran for long straight stretches beside the local railway, which linked up Tobolsk with the small towns of the north. The road was wide, and in far better repair than that on which they had travelled from Turinsk; since it must be the less important of the two, this struck the Duke as curious, but he did not puzzle himself to find an explanation. He was only thankful that this enabled them to make far better progress than he had hoped.

After an hour they pulled up to rest the horses. The place was wild and desolate. Sombre forests stretched away on either hand, an almost uncanny silence brooded over the shadowy darkness, broken only the faint soughing of innumerable boughs as the night breeze rustled the pine tops. The moon was not yet up, and the starlight barely lighted the narrow ribbon of road.

They had been fortunate in meeting no one since they had left Tobolsk. The one straggling village through which they had passed had been destitute of life, its roofless houses and charred remains one of the many grim monuments that mark the years of bitter conflict throughout the length and breadth of Russia.

It was decided that they should press on all through the night, but at an easier pace to save the horses. Their prisoner started groaning, and showed signs of returning life. They tied his hands and feet securely, and put him in the bottom of the sleigh. Rex, having purloined his boots, took over the reins from De Richleau. Simon and the Duke curled up under the rugs to get what sleep they could.

The going for the next hour was difficult; heavy forests came up to the road on either hand, and the feeble starlight barely penetrated to the tunnel of darkness through which they drove. Later, when the forests fell away from the roadside, and the moon got up, its reflection on the snow made the whole landscape as bright as day. Rex was able to increase the pace considerably without straining the horses. In spite of the ever-increasing distance from Tobolsk, the road remained surprisingly even and well kept.

At a little before dawn they passed through the town of Uvatsk. It was shrouded in darkness, and fortunately the population still slept. De Richleau had stripped the sleigh bells from the harness on their previous journey, and except for the hoof-beats of the horses on the hardened snow, their passage was almost noiseless.

A few miles on the farther side of Uvatsk, Van Ryn drove the sleigh some way up a track at the side of the road. The place was thickly wooded, and when he was assured that they were well hidden from any chance passer-by, he stopped the sleigh and woke his companions.

The three set about preparing a meal. Simon and De Richleau had never allowed the rucksacks to leave their possession, and on inspection they found that they had enough food to last them for four or five days if they were careful; by that time they might hope to put a considerable distance between themselves and Tobolsk. After that they must trust to securing supplies from isolated farmhouses. The horses were a more difficult matter. The Duke had seen to it that the nose-bags were well filled the previous afternoon, but they would need to buy or steal fodder by the following day. If possible they must secure relays by exchanging their horses for others at some farm; if they could not arrange something of the kind their pace would be bound to suffer.

Their principal embarrassment was their prisoner. If they kept him they must feed him, and he would be a further drain on their supplies. He would have to be constantly watched or he might find some way of giving the alarm.

For the present they untied him; he was too stiff from his bonds to run away, and Rex had already secured his boots. They were careful also to remove his rifle from the sleigh.

The camping ground they had chosen for their meal was some twenty yards off the track, under the shelter of some bushes; the horses were unharnessed and hobbled.

De Richleau had a fair supply of “Meta” fuel in his pack, so they boiled water for tea. While they were waiting, the Duke spread out a map and pointed to their approximate position.

“Here we are, my friends,” he said, “half-way between Uvatsk and Romanovsk. We have covered something over a hundred miles since we set out fourteen hours ago. That is good going, particularly as we have reason to suppose that our pursuers will not look for us in this direction. But what now? It is over a thousand miles to the frontier. How shall we make that, with stolen horses, an escaped prisoner, and a Red Guard whom we must carry with us?”

Simon laughed his little nervous laugh into the palm of his hand. “We’re in a real muddle this time,” he said.

“Well, I’ll say we’ve taken the right road,” Rex laughed. “Romanovsk is just the one place in all the Russias I’ve been wanting to see for a long, long time.”

“Let us be serious, Rex,” De Richleau protested. “We shall need all our wits if we are ever to get out of Russia alive.”

Van Ryn shook his head. “I’m on the level. You boys wouldn’t know the fool reason that brought me to this Goddam country.”

“Oh, yes, we do,” said Simon promptly. “You’re after the Shulimoff treasure — Jack Straw told us!”

“Did he, though! He’s a great guy. Well, the goods are under fifteen miles from where we’re sitting now, in the old man’s place at Romanovsk; it ’ud be a real shame to go back home without those little souvenirs — we’ll split up on the deal!”

“I should be interested to hear how you learnt about this treasure, Rex,” said the Duke; “also how you were caught. Tell us about it now. We must give the horses at least an hour, they’re looking pretty done.”

“It happened this way.” Rex pushed the last piece of a ham and rye bread sandwich into his month, and leant back against the trunk of a near-by tree.

“Last fall I went to take a look at some of those one-eyed South American States — tho’, come to that, they’re not so one-eyed after all. Of course, as kids in the States, we’re always taught to look on them as pothole places — run by Dagoes, half-breeds, and dirty-dicks, and just crying out for real intelligent civilization as handed out by Uncle Sam — but that’s another story. On the way home I stopped off for a spell in the West Indies.”

“Cuba?” suggested De Richleau.

“Yes, Havana.”

“A lovely city. I was last there in 1926.”

“Sure, it would be a great town if there weren’t so many of our folk there — it was like Coney Island on a Sunday!”

“You were there when? November, I suppose?”

“That’s so. The American people treat Havana like Europe does Monte Carlo. Every little hick from the middle-west has to go to that place once, or he cuts no social ice in his home town at all. The bars are open night and day, and drinks about a tenth of the price they’d pay in a speakeasy back home, which isn’t calculated to make ’em behave as tho’ they were at the King’s garden party. I should have cleared out on the next boat if it hadn’t been for a Dago with a Ford!”

Simon smiled. “You don’t look as if you’d been run over!”

“Oh, it wasn’t this child,” Van Ryn laughed. “I was in my own automobile behind; I toured the Sports Bentley to South America with me. Anyhow, I was taking a spin out to the tennis-courts at the Jockey Club the second afternoon I was there, and just outside the town there was only this bird in the flivver in front of me. I was waiting to pass, when he swerves to avoid an oncoming car, and in swerving he knocked down a poor old man. Did he stop? Did he hell! He gave one look, saw the old bird lying in the ditch, and put his foot on the gas!”

“Brute,” Simon murmured.

“Brute’s the word,” Rex nodded. “Well, I don’t stand for that sort of thing, and I’ll not say Ford isn’t a big man, but he hasn’t turned out a car yet that can give the dust to a Bentley. I was after that guy as though I’d been a speed cop looking for promotion. In half a mile he’d got to take the sidewalk and the nearest light standard, or stop and have a word with me. He stopped all right, and started to jabber in Spanish or some lingo, but that cut no ice with me at all! I just happen to have been born a foot too tall for most people to try any monkeying, so I didn’t have much trouble with this little rat. When we got back they were picking up the old man.”

“Was he badly hurt?” the Duke inquired.

“Nothing serious; more shock and bruises than broken bones, but he was considerable upset, so we propped him up in the Bentley and I ran him down to the hospital. The Mexico negro — or whatever he was — I passed over to a real speed cop, who could speak his rotten tongue.”

De Richleau had been burrowing in his rucksack, and now produced a flat tin box, in which were packed a couple of layers of his famous cigars.

“Hoyo de Monterrey’s, by all that’s marvellous!” exclaimed Rex. “Well, I’ll say I never expected to smoke one of those sitting in the snow!”

“Unfortunately I had to leave most of them in Moscow,” said the Duke, “but I thought we would bring a few, and this — if ever — is an occasion!”

Simon chuckled as he carefully pinched the end of the long cigar which the Duke held out to him. “Thanks — d’you know, I believe if I meet you in the other world you’ll still have a box of Hoyos!”

“If I have not,” said De Richleau, puffing contentedly, “I shall send for my bill and move elsewhere!”

“Well, the whole party would have ended there,” Rex went on, “if it hadn’t been that I was bored fit to bust myself. So next afternoon, just to get away from all the sugar babies and card sharps in the hotel, I thought I’d go take a look at the old man.

“There he was, propped up in bed in the hospital, as wicked-looking an old sinner as ever you set eyes on; he spoke English better than I do, but he was a foreigner, of course; and, without being smarmy about it, he was grateful for what I’d done. You’ll have guessed, maybe, that he was the old Prince Shulimoff.”

Simon nodded. “I thought as much.”

“Yes, that’s who he was, tho’ he didn’t let on about it that first meeting. Just said he was a Russian émigré, down and out. We talked a bit, mainly as to what sort of damages he’d get out of our Dago friend. He was a gentleman all right — got all het up ’cause he couldn’t offer me any hospitality when I called. Well, then, you know how it is when you’ve done a chap a sort of kindness; you feel he’s your baby, in a way, and you’ve got to go on. So I saw the American representative about getting his case pushed on, and of course I had to call again to tell him what I’d done.”

“Was the Dago worth going for?” inquired the cautious Simon.

Rex shrugged his broad shoulders. “He wasn’t what you’d call a fat wad, but he was agent for some fruit firm. I thought we might sting him for a thousand bucks. Anyhow, in the meantime, I became great friends with old wicked face — used to go to the hospital every afternoon for a yarn with the old man. Not that I really cottoned to him, but I was fascinated in a kind of way. He, as was as evil as they make ’em, and a lecherous old brute, but I’ll say he had charm all right. He was worth ten thousand of those half-breed Cubans, or the pie-faced Yanks with their talk of how much better things were at home!”

“Surely,” remarked the Duke, “Shulimoff must have had investments outside Russia before the Revolution. How did he come to be in such a state?”

“He’d, blown every cent; got no sense of money. If he’d got a grand out of the fruit merchant he’d have spent it next day. But money or no money, he’d got personality all right; that hospital was just run for him while he was there. He tipped me off he was pretending to be a Catholic; all those places are run by nuns, and he knew enough about the drill to spoof them all; they fairly ran round the old crook! After I’d been there a few times he told me his real name, and then the fun started. He wouldn’t open his mouth if anyone who could speak a word of English was within fifty yards; but, bit by bit, he told me how he’d cheated the Bolshies.”

“Are you sure he was not amusing himself at your expense?” asked the Duke. “He seems just the sort of man who would.”

“Not on your life. He was in deadly earnest, and he’d only tell a bit at a time, then he’d get kind of nervous, and dry up — say he’d thought better of it — if the goods stayed where they were the Bolshies would never find them till the crack of doom; but if he told me, maybe I’d get done in after I’d got ’em, and then the something — something — something Bolsheviks would get them after all.”

“And where had he hidden this famous hoard?” De Richleau asked with a smile.

“You’ve hit it.” Rex threw up his hands with a sudden shout of mirth. “Where? I’m damned if I know myself!”

“But, Rex — I mean,” Simon protested. “You — er — wouldn’t risk getting into all this trouble without knowing where they were?”

“I’ve got a pretty shrewd idea,” Rex admitted. “They’re at Romanovsk all right, and I was getting right down to the details with the old prince, when — ”

“What happened? Did he refuse at last to tell you?” The Duke’s shrewd grey eyes were fixed intently on Rex’s face.

“No, the old tough just died on me! Rotten luck, wasn’t it? He seemed all right, getting better every day; but you know what old men are. I blew in one morning and they told me he was dead. That’s all there was to it!”

“Surely, my friend,” De Richleau raised his slanting eyebrows, “you hardly expected to find the jewels at Romanovsk on so little information. Remember, many people have been seeking this treasure on all the Shulimoff estates for years.”

“No, it’s not all that bad,” Rex shook his head. “When things blew up in Leningrad in 1917, Shulimoff didn’t wait to see the fun; he cleared out to this place here, bringing the goods with him. He thought he’d be safe this side of the Urals till things quietened down, or if they got real bad, he meant to go farther East. What he forgot was that he was the best hated man in Russia. The Reds sent a special mission to hang him to the nearest tree, and they did — as near as dammit! Took the old fox entirely by surprise. He’d have been a dead man then if some bright boy hadn’t cut him down for the fun of hanging him again next day! It was the old man’s cellar that saved him. The bunch got tight that night, and they’d locked him in the foundry without any guards outside.”

“The foundry? In the village was this?” asked the Duke.

“Lord, no, in his own house. He seems to have been a bit of a metallurgist — made locks, like Louis XVI, in his spare time, when he wasn’t out beating peasants or hitting it up with chorus girls from the Folies Bergère.

“This foundry was a kind of laboratory and study all in one. I reckon they chose it as his prison because it was one of the only rooms that had strong iron bars to the windows. That let them all out for the drunk! All being equal in the Red Army, no one wanted to miss a party to do sentry-go.”

“How did he get out, then,” Simon asked, “if the windows were barred?”

“Easy; he had all his gear in the foundry, so he cut those bars like bits of cheese with an oxy-acetylene lamp. But the old man kept his head — as luck would have it, the jewels were in the foundry. He wouldn’t risk taking them with him, in case he was caught, so he occupied the time while the Reds were getting tight in making something at his forge to hide ’em in.”

“What was it?” came Simon’s eager question.

“Now you’ve got me,” Rex shook his head. “That’s just what I never squeezed out of the old fox before he went and died on me.

“It was some sort of metal container, and he put the stones inside. It was something that ’ud look like part of the fittings of the foundry, and something that nobody would trouble to take away. He soldered it in, too, I gathered, so that nobody could shift it without breaking the plant. You should have heard that wicked old devil chuckle when he thought how clever he’d been!”

“I can hardly imagine that it can still be there,” said De Richleau, thoughtfully; “the place must have been ransacked a dozen times. They would not have overlooked the plant in the foundry, especially a portion which had been newly forged!”

“Old Shulimoff was an artist. I’ll bet it’s there to this day among a mass of rusty machinery. He realized they’d spot the new bit, so he had to make it all look alike. What d’you think he did?”

“Don’t know,” said Simon.

“Set fire to the house, and then legged it through the snow. That foundry can’t have been much to look at, even if there were any Reds left to look at it next day. He reckoned that he’d get back there when things were quieter, but he never did. He was lucky in falling in with a party of ‘White’ officers, and later they all got over the Persian frontier together. I’ll bet — ”

But they were never to know what Van Ryn meant to bet. The crack of a whip brought them scrambling to their feet. Twenty yards away the sleigh had leapt into motion. They had all been so interested in listening to Rex that they had forgotten to keep an eye on their prisoner. He had stealthily harnessed the horses while their backs were turned. The Duke drew his automatic and fired over Simon’s shoulder; the bullet hit an intervening tree and ricochetted with a loud whine. He ran forward, firing again and again, but the sleigh was rounding the bend of the track at full gallop on the road to Tobolsk. Rex snatched up the prisoner’s rifle, but he threw it down again in disgust. Nobody could hit a moving target through those trees.

They looked at each other in real dismay. They were now utterly helpless in the depths of the Siberian forests, an easy prey to the hunters who would soon be on their tracks. It could only be a matter of hours until they were captured, or dead of cold and exhaustion in the wastes of these eternal snows.

XIV — The Secret of the Forbidden Territory

It was Rex who broke the unhappy silence. “If we’re not the world’s prize suckers,” he declared bitterly, “I’d like to know who are!” And he began to roar with such hearty laughter that the Duke and Simon could not forbear joining in.

“This is no laughing matter.” De Richleau shook his head. “What the devil are we to do now?”