Curtain Of Fear Part 2

"Looked at from their point of view, you can't blame them either. Their reasoning is entirely logical. That is why the movement there to force a show-down is growing in strength every day. Only one thing can stop it-the knowledge that the Russians are in a position to give as good as they get, and that if America starts anything her own cities will promptly be laid in ruins. There you have my reasons for the step I am about to take; and if you had the power, as I have, to make this great contribution to preventing war, I am sure you would make the same decision."

"I suppose I would," Nicholas murmured unhappily. "I can't help feeling, though, that there is another side to it. G.o.d knows, no one could ever accuse me of being swayed by silly, sentimental patriotism. I've denounced it too often as one of the major evils leading to war. But, all the same, England has done a lot for you and me; particularly for you, as she took you in when you were a hunted, penniless refugee, gave you protection and enabled you to earn a good living at your own chosen work. It seems pretty mean to me that in return for all that, you are now about to place in the hands of her enemies something that they may use to bring untold misery to her people."

"Nicky, be your age!" Bilto said impatiently. "Stick to the broader issues and stop befogging your mind with clap-trap. The kernel of the issue is that I believe I have it in my power to prevent another major war."

"I know. But if you give the Russians the benefit of your knowledge, there is always the possibility that it might tip the balance the other way and decide them to strike first. Even as things are, a lot of people think that they may be tempted to bank on their colossal man-power and launch a war of preservation while they still have a big superiority in the more orthodox weapons."

"G.o.d Almighty!" Bilto threw up his hands. "To think that I should ever live to hear you spouting capitalist propaganda! You can't possibly believe that there is the least truth behind such scaremongering."

"No. I can't honestly say that I do," Nicholas admitted a little shame-facedly. "Still...."

"Still what?"

"Oh, nothing. It is only that I can't bring myself to approve whole-heartedly of what you are about to do. But, of course, you have the inalienable right of the individual to decide on your own actions, and if you insist on going through with this it is not for me to set myself up as your judge." Having made this admission, Nicholas added a moment later in the same rather pompous strain, "Naturally, too, as your only relative here, quite apart from the affection I bear you, I should regard it as a duty to agree to your request about looking after your interests."

"Thank G.o.d for that!" Bilto muttered. "Come on, then; let's get the job over."

Nicholas stood up and together they went through the papers that Bilto had produced. As he handed over the Power of Attorney, he said, "I should get a solicitor to handle the collection of my a.s.sets on your behalf, as there is no point in drawing down opprobrium on yourself by letting it be more widely known than necessary that you are acting for me."

"That is bound to come out," Nicholas shrugged. "But naturally I shall deny having been an accessory before the fact to your departure; and fortunately it is against their principles in this country to persecute the relatives of anyone they consider to have committed a crime against the State."

When he had pocketed the Power of Attorney and the other papers, he lit another cigarette and perched himself uneasily on the edge of the bed. Then, after taking a few nervous puffs, he stood up again and announced abruptly: "Well, as there is no more to be said, I might as well be going."

"Oh, don't go yet." Bilto was smiling now. "Have a drink first to wish me luck." As he spoke he rummaged in his suitcase and produced a bottle of whisky, then went into the bathroom next door and returned with a tooth-gla.s.s. Filling it half full with the neat spirit he held it out to Nicholas.

"No, thanks." Nicholas shook his head. "I don't want a drink. All the same, on purely personal grounds, I hope that you don't find yourself in prison to-morrow morning. If you do get away safely I expect you will feel a tremendous sense of relief. Keeping secret rendezvous with Russian agents all these months, and never knowing that at any time you might be caught out, must have been an appalling strain."

Bilto took a gulp of the neat whisky, coughed, spluttered, then replied, "It was nothing like as bad as you might think. The Russians are past-masters at that sort of thing. They are much too clever to involve their informants in the least unnecessary risk, and they show great patience in allowing considerable intervals to elapse between meetings. That enormously lessens the chance of M.I.5 being on one's tail when a meeting does take place. In my case, too, until I actually took the decision to leave England, they employed only one contact, which is a good insurance against betrayal. You see, only that one person had it in his power to identify me as the man he had met; so if any of their other agents were caught and tried to get off lightly by giving away what they knew I stood no risk of being incriminated."

After a moment Nicholas remarked, "I'm a bit foxed about this woman you are interested in. I naturally formed the impression that she was in Prague and working against the Russians; but from what you have said since dinner that doesn't seem to make sense."

"She was, until they caught her husband. It was then they got their hooks into her; but she has since become a convert, and a very useful one. I only found that out when I met her again."

"In that case I should have thought you would have been willing for her to carry on with her work."

"No; it's too risky. I'd never have any peace of mind with her dodging about Europe and liable to arrest every time she left Prague. That is why I have stipulated that she should be there to meet me when I arrive, and not be given any further missions. In view of my usefulness to them, I don't think it likely that they will go back on their bargain."

Nicholas gave a pale smile. "Then if all goes well to-night, you will be with her, and making plans for getting married, tomorrow morning."

"I certainly hope so."

Again Nicholas stood up. "Well, I wish you luck about that; but really I think I had better be getting along."

Bilto swallowed the rest of the whisky. "No. What's the hurry? Stay and keep me company while I pack. I won't detain you long. A car will soon be coming to fetch me."

As he spoke he began to cram the rest of his things into the open suit-case, and Nicholas asked: "Do you know from which airport you are leaving?"

"I have no idea," Bilto shrugged. "It was up to them to make all the arrangements for my journey. I was simply told to be here at a certain hour and that a car would be sent to pick me up."

After a glance round he added, "I may as well have a quick wash and brush up before I repack my sponge-bag."

Then he walked into the bathroom.

The moment Nicholas was left alone, he pa.s.sed a shaking hand over his eyes and endeavoured to collect his racing thoughts.

He was in the unhappy position of a man convinced against his will. From early boyhood he had always liked and admired his cousin. It was from him, when in the most formative years, that he had imbibed with such enthusiasm the Marxist doctrines; but he had since fully convinced himself of the rightness of those beliefs in hundreds of discussions with scores of intelligent people. All the arguments that Bilto had put forward in justification of his proposed act were, he felt, entirely sound and he had time and again used them himself. Yet, just supposing....

Just supposing there was something in the contentions of men like John Stevenson and old Benjamin Salting-Sala. They held that the Soviet rulers had long since abandoned the Communist doctrines that had inspired their youth; that when they now quoted Marx and Lenin, it was only hypocritical lip-service which enabled them to continue gulling their people; that Stalin had succeeded in forcing on Russia a rule more autocratic than that of any of the Czars, and that like the Czars his policy was governed by an old-fashioned nationalism with insatiable imperialistic ambitions. According to them Stalin maintained his vast armies and air forces only with a view to future conquest, and would already have launched them into Western Europe had he not been deterred by fear of the United States' lead in atomic weapons.

Such ideas Nicholas regarded as the wildest nonsense. From being in touch with various pro-Communist organisations he considered that he was far better informed on Kremlin policy than were these elderly scaremongers. As he saw it, Russia's efforts to secure a permanent understanding with the West had been unceasing, and that they had failed had been entirely due to sabotage by the old capitalist interests. There was, too, ample evidence in Stalin's speeches that he had never deviated materially from the Marxist line, but confined himself to enlightened interpretation of the original doctrine. And the fact that he continued to maintain vast armed forces had an obvious explanation. Menaced as he was by the capitalist conspiracy to destroy Communism root and branch, he would have been failing in his duty had he not kept his people in a constant state of preparedness to defend Russia-the heart, soul and world-wide hope of the movement-from attack.

Yet at the back of Nicholas' whirling brain there lurked one uneasy thought. The cost of the cold war to Russia must be as great as it was to the Western powers, but her industrial potential was less. How long could she stand the strain without breaking? What if the men in the Kremlin felt that Russia was nearing the point when she could no longer bear such a burden, and must either fight while it was still within her power to do so, or collapse from internal exhaustion? Supposing that awful choice was already looming on the horizon, might not the information Bilto was about to take then prove the deciding factor, through providing those who advocated war with a stronger case for claiming that Russia would emerge from it victorious?

A slight sweat broke out on Nicholas' forehead as he thought of that. War was war whichever side started it, and whatever their reason for doing so. Ever since he had been able to think clearly he had been an ardent pacifist, and the horror of the air-raids in the last conflict had made him positively fanatical on the subject. The next would be infinitely worse. It would mean the blotting out of whole cities, the slaughter of helpless people in their tens of thousands, and in most frightful circ.u.mstances. He recalled reading of the effects of the atom bomb dropped on Hiroshima. Its victims who had been blown to pieces had been fortunate; great numbers of survivors for miles around had died days and weeks later. Their hair and teeth had first fallen out and they had suffered the most frightful tortures from flash burns or internal injuries caused by gamma rays. A picture flashed into his mind of Wendy, stripped naked by the blast and screaming.

With terrible suddenness it was borne in upon him that it was he who now held this ghastly power in his hands. If he did nothing Bilto would give it to the Russians, but he could still step in and prevent that. It seemed to him that for a few moments of time the future of the whole world lay in his keeping; that by acting or refraining from doing so, he must inevitably shape history for many generations to come. By his decision he might decree misery and death for countless fellow human beings, or spare them to live out their lives in peace and security. He wondered if such an appalling responsibility had ever been thrust on any man before.

Then his mind subconsciously took in the fact that the sounds of Bilto splashing in the basin next door had ceased. In a few minutes they would be face to face again. Half numbed with horror, he realised that he was not to be granted any time for calm, reasoned thought. The decision had to be taken-and taken swiftly.

Like a swimmer who fears he may drown before reaching the sh.o.r.e, he strove desperately to keep his head, to thrust out the nightmarish speculations that filled it, and make a final effort to concentrate on the choice of striking out or pa.s.sive floating.

To prevent Bilto giving aid to the Russians would be to go against the principles that he had always cherished. That in itself was difficult enough; but the broader aspects of the problem dwarfed such a personal one into insignificance. The awful thing was that Bilto might be right about feeling in the United States. If he were and the war party there got the upper hand, the only thing that might prevent them from attacking the Russians was the knowledge that Bilto had taken the latest nuclear secrets over to them. On the other hand, if a crisis was approaching in the Kremlin, to let Bilto go ahead was to present them with a newly-sharpened sword, and tempt them to save themselves by using it. His palms sweating and and almost sick with horror, Nicholas faced the fact that whether he stopped Bilto or let him go, his decision might in either case equally well result in precipitating the most terrible war that man had ever known.

Bilto had dried his face and hands, and pulled the plug out of the basin. Nicholas could hear the water gurgling down the waste. In a frenzy he sought for some touch-stone which would resolve his doubts. Were the Americans, or the Russians, the more honourable, restrained and humane? That was no good. It was part of his creed that race made no difference to the fundamental goodness or badness of people. From which side would an onslaught be least likely to prove disastrous to himself and Wendy? No! To think on those lines would be the lowest degree of baseness. In which event would Britain stand the best chance of survival? There could be no doubt about the answer to that; but could he, as an internationalist, honourably accept it as the deciding factor? He had reproached Bilto for his proposed betrayal of the country that had sheltered and fed him; but only half-heartedly, because he believed the well-being of any portion of the human race should always be sacrificed when it conflicted with the general interests of mankind. No. He must not allow himself to lapse into sentimental patriotism, because he happened to have been born British. What of his friends? They formed an infinitely smaller group, so the same argument applied to them. But was there not another that over-rode it; an obligation imposed by love of a few people that one knew intimately, and affection for many others, that transcended all demands made by the cold logic of intellect? Unless a man stood by his friends he was a mean and worthless being. He was on friendly terms with Hindus, Chinese and Negroes, as well as people of many European nationalities, all of whom were living in London and working for the cause. There were several of his fellow professors at Birmingham whom he liked and admired; quite a number of his old students still wrote to him in the friendliest way; and there was the present crowd, the majority of whom looked up to and trusted him. Again, as faces and figures raced through his mind, he visualised the blinding flash and deadly purple dust of the atom bomb that had been exploded over Hiroshima.

Suddenly his decision was taken. These people must be given the best chance to escape such an appalling fate. It was more likely to overtake them if Russia launched another war than if it was started by the United States. He must stop Bilto leaving England. But how?

Further argument was obviously futile. To call in the police and have him arrested was unthinkable; for Bilto had trusted him, and to do so would be the worst possible form of betrayal. He could be leapt upon as he emerged from the bathroom and taken by surprise, overcome; but what then? To tie him up, then stand on guard over him indefinitely, was out of the question. To leave him there locked in his room would be only to postpone the issue.

In his agitated quest for a solution to this new and urgent problem, Nicholas had risen to his feet. His glance fell upon the dressing-table and remained fixed there. Among the papers Bilto had taken from his brief-case, several of which were still lying on it, was his pa.s.sport. At the sight of it the thought flashed into Nicholas' mind that Bilto would not be able to leave England without it. In two strides he reached the dressing-table, s.n.a.t.c.hed the pa.s.sport up and thrust it in his pocket.

Had he delayed a minute longer he would have been caught in the act, for barely thirty seconds later Bilto emerged from the bathroom. He was carrying his sponge-bag and brushes, and with no more than a casual glance at Nicholas, he put them into his suit-case, then shut down the lid.

Nicholas' one anxiety now was to get away before Bilto discovered that his pa.s.sport had been stolen. His hands felt clammy and his throat was as dry as if he had chain-smoked a hundred cigarettes. He hardly recognised his own voice as it rasped abruptly: "Well, you're all packed up now, and I really must be going."

Bilto did not appear to notice the sudden hoa.r.s.eness of his cousin's voice, or the fact that his glance had become nervous and wavering. The last whisky had proved just one over the odds, so his perceptions were now dulled, his eyes a little bleary, and his movements beyond complete control.

"Good-bye, then," he said a shade thickly. "If what I am about to do fails to prevent a show-down, I don't suppose anyone will get much warning that ... that things are about to happen. Still, there is always a chance that you may just have time to see the red light. If ... if you do, chuck everything, skip to the continent and slip behind the Iron Curtain. We'll take good care of you if you manage to get through. But there ... there is always the hope that America will stop sending dollar aid to Europe, and that these d.a.m.n countries will go bust. Should that happen you'll be seeing me back again, and ... and I'll get you made a Minister."

"Thanks," Nicholas managed to mutter. "Thanks very much." And he found himself adding instinctively as they shook hands, "I hope everything will go all right for you."

"Don't worry about me," Bilto grinned, with the casual confidence inspired by the whisky he had drunk. "Take care of yourself, Nicky. And don't let that girl of yours pull the wool over your eyes about the rights and wrongs of things. We can't afford to lose a good man like you."

"No, I won't let her do that," Nicholas promised with a sickly smile as he turned away. He actually had his hand on the door-k.n.o.b when, to his consternation, Bilto called him back.

"Hi! Half a minute. I'd forgotten." As he spoke he swung about and walked quickly towards the dressing-table.

In an agony of apprehension, Nicholas remained by the door, his muscles tensed, his eyes riveted on his cousin's back. Every second he expected Bilto to notice that his pa.s.sport had disappeared, but apparently he had forgotten that he had taken it from his brief-case. After fumbling in the case for a minute, he pulled out a thick wallet, opened it and thumbed five crisp five-pound notes off a hundred-pound wad. Turning, he strode back to Nicholas and held them out to him.

"Here. Take this! Little present! Buy yourself something when you get married."

Flushing with shame, Nicholas shook his head and stammered,"No, really. It's too much-and you may need it."

"Nonsense! It won't be much good to me this time tomorrow. On the rouble exchange one doesn't get much for pounds." Bilto thrust the notes into Nicholas' unwilling hand.

"Thanks!" he blurted. "It's awfully good of you! So long, old chap!" Then, with crimson face, he pulled open the door, stepped through it, and suppressing a gasp of relief, closed it behind him.

His mind still in a turmoil, he walked down the corridor. Bilto's last generous gesture had almost made him repent, but he told himself that it was absurd to allow the spontaneous act of a half-drunken man to weigh so much as a hair in the major issue. All the same, he was still by no means fully convinced that he had acted for the best.

As he went down in the lift, new qualms beset him. Had he really been right to allow his personal feelings for a small circle of people to govern his decision? Should he not have been prepared to sacrifice them as well as himself? After all, the Russians were the champions of everything that he believed in, and the Anglo-American capitalists were the enemy. Yet he had taken a step which would result in allowing the wrong side to retain an advantage that might tempt them to launch a war. And if war really was inevitable, whatever the cost, his creed dictated that he ought to aid Russia to win it. He suddenly felt that he must have been temporarily seized with a fit of madness. Still, he could go back to Bilto's room, confess what he had done, and restore the pa.s.sport.

Although he had refused a drink from Bilto, on entering the Palm Court and seeing a number of people sitting there drinking he was seized with the thought that he wanted one desperately badly. Plumping himself down at a table near the orchestra, he told a pa.s.sing waiter to bring him a double brandy, and soda. When it came he wondered why he had ordered brandy, as he ordinarily never drank it, but after a couple of gulps he felt a little steadier, and began to wrestle with the question of whether he should go up and return Bilto's pa.s.sport, or stick to it.

After a few minutes, now that he was well away from Bilto, his ideas began to clarify. He decided that, as far as he was able to judge personally, Bilto had been wrong about the United States. Unquestionably there were quite a number of millionaire businessmen there who would welcome a war to destroy Communism; but the great majority of Americans must have had a bellyfull last time, so were most averse to having to leave their homes again. It seemed very unlikely, too, that America would start a war without first having made certain that she could count on the active support of the British Commonwealth, and as Britain's geographical situation made her so vulnerable to an atomic war, she would never willingly agree to America launching one. Therefore, the only real menace to peace lay in Russia being driven to make a gambler's throw as the last hope of saving herself from economic disruption.

As he reached this conclusion he heaved a heavy sigh and took another drink. The decision he had taken had been the right one after all. He now felt really positive about that. He need no longer feel any qualms of conscience about having prevented Bilto going abroad by stealing his pa.s.sport.

A minute later a thought came to him that, in view of his final conclusion, threw him into sudden panic. Had he really succeeded in preventing Bilto from going abroad? Bilto had said that he was soon to be picked up by a car, but he had not known from what airfield he was leaving, and earlier he had said he was 'being flown to Prague'. Did that mean that he was not going by any orthodox route but from some small secret airfield that the Russians owned near the coast? If so, he would not need a pa.s.sport. In a new fit of perturbation Nicholas realised that by stealing his cousin's pa.s.sport he had not done enough. The ghastly responsibility for the future now once more rested with him. If he was to make certain that Bilto did not leave the country he must take some further step.

At that moment a page-boy pa.s.sed through the lounge chanting shrilly, "Mister Nov-k. Mister Nov-k."

On hearing his name Nicholas looked round automatically, beckoned the boy over to him and said, "Yes, I'm Mr. Novk."

"Thank you, sir," replied the boy. "The car you are expecting has called to pick you up."

CHAPTER IV.

THE BLACK LIMOUSINE.

Nicholas was not expecting any car. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the boy that there must be some mistake. He had actually opened his mouth to do so, but he closed it again. Suddenly his brain had ceased its panic groping among a maze of possible courses to pursue, and clicked. The page supposed him to be Bilto, and the car was the one that had been sent to collect his cousin.

As the boy turned to recross the Palm Court, Nicholas followed, his mind once more down to earth. If he could get rid of the car, that might upset all the arrangements for Bilto's journey. Swiftly he began to a.s.sess the possible results of such a stroke.

Since Bilto had no idea of the place at which he was to board the aircraft he could not have himself driven to it in a hired car; and he had made it clear that he maintained only the most tenuous contact with the Russians. It was possible that he had been given a telephone number for use in an emergency, and might ring up when he got really worried by their failure to collect him. If so the check to his leaving would be only a temporary one. But it seemed more probable he would a.s.sume that the Russians had postponed the hour of his departure for good reasons of their own, and do nothing. He might even think that they had refrained from picking him up because they had discovered that he was being watched; in which case the odds were on his abandoning all thought of his journey and endeavouring to save his bacon by a swift return to Harwell.

"Would you mind, sir?" It was the waiter who had come hurrying after Nicholas with his unpaid bill. Flushing with embarra.s.sment, he fished in his pocket, found that he had not enough silver, so had to give the man a note. The waiter was short of change, and with a muttered apology went off to cash it, leaving Nicholas standing awkwardly in the middle of the great room.

Although he had decided that the chances were against Bilto trying to make contact with the Russians, there remained the possibility that they would get in touch with him. To get him safely out of the country was, for them, obviously a matter of immense importance. As soon as it became known at the Soviet Emba.s.sy that the car had come away without him a number of people would be near having heart attacks.

That thought did not come to Nicholas from any belief in the stories that Soviet officials who failed in their undertakings were promptly recalled and sent to Siberia, or, at best, reduced to the status of the lowest manual workers. He regarded such tales as dirty capitalist lies. But he did believe that every member of the Communist Party considered it a sacred duty to carry out any task with which he was entrusted, so he felt certain that everyone concerned with Bilto's journey would move heaven and earth to see that he accomplished it according to plan.

It followed that, unless the reason he gave for sending the car away was a really plausible one, the driver would refuse to accept it, or if he did, return quite shortly with some bigger shot bent on making a personal investigation; or again, someone would ring Bilto up, with the result that the car would once more be sent post-haste to collect him.

By now Nicholas felt himself morally pledged to prevent Bilto from leaving England, but-short of turning him over to the police, which he felt he could not possibly bring himself to do-it seemed that there was small hope of succeeding unless the Russians could be headed off from him. While striving to think of a story likely to have that effect he stared with unseeing eyes across the Palm Court, quite oblivious of the fact that his gaze appeared to be riveted on a pretty girl who, as she was sitting with her fiance, found his attention far from welcome.

She was spared further embarra.s.sment by the waiter returning with Nicholas' change. As he tipped the man, he gave him a swift glance and thought to himself, 'I wonder what you would do if you had an old friend upstairs, and knew him to be about to go over to the Russians with our latest atomic secrets?' From that it was only a step to picturing the scene if suddenly he shouted to the band to stop, seized the microphone of the first violinist and announced his own situation. 'Ladies and gentlemen, at this very moment there is a car outside the hotel with a Russian secret agent in it. I should like your advice how ...'

With an inward shudder he recognised the symptoms of hysteria, and jerked his mind back to the necessity of immediately settling on a plan. Again, he would have given anything for a little time in which to think things out; but he dare not delay. At any moment Bilto might ring down for his bag to be fetched, and learn that the car had already come for him. For that matter, it was quite possible that he was now on his way down in the lift. The thought that Bilto might yet get to the car first and be driven off in it spurred Nicholas to action. Striding forward, he entered the hall.

The page was waiting for him there, and handed him over to a junior hall-porter. After giving the revolving outer door a thrust, the man followed him through it, indicated a car standing about a dozen yards to the left of the entrance, and made to accompany him down the broad steps.

With a murmured, "I am not leaving yet," Nicholas waved him back. He had no idea what course events were likely to take in the next few moments, but he now had his wits about him sufficiently to realise that it might later prove extremely awkward if a witness had stood by and listened to whatever was said.

As he walked quickly down the steps he was toying with the idea of saying that Bilto had changed his mind and gone back to Harwell; but he suddenly saw that if he made a statement of that kind it would imply that he had been let into this highly-dangerous secret. To establish his bona fides and allay fears that he might betray it, he would then have to disclose that he was Bilto's cousin; and he felt most averse to 'giving hostages to fortune' by letting anyone know that he had been made accessory before the fact to Bilto's intended treachery.

The car was a large, rather old-fashioned, black limousine. Still fearing that Bilto might emerge from the hotel behind him, Nicholas hurried across the pavement. He had covered more than half the distance, and was still groping for a plausible line to take without involving himself, when inspiration came to him.

He would say that Bilto had been seized with a slight heart attack, and while in no actual danger would certainly not be fit to travel for the next few days. In order to carry conviction, and at the same time provide an adequate cover for himself, he would pose as the hotel doctor. Having implied that Bilto was a complete stranger to him, he would add that when called in to such emergency cases, he often had to see to alterations in his patients' arrangements, then politely enquire if there was any message he could take back.

The bonnet of the limousine was pointing away from him, so he saw its driver only as a broad-shouldered man wearing a flat, chauffeur's cap. But he did not give the man a second glance. His attention at once became concentrated on the figure of a woman seated in the back. The car's interior was unlit; so he could see only that she appeared to be young, was dressed in black and had fair hair. On catching sight of him, she leaned forward and threw the door open. As she did so, the light from the nearest street lamp fell full upon her face.

Its thinness showed up her high cheek-bones, and its pallor was accentuated by the fact that she wore no lipstick; but she had a good chin, broad forehead and well-s.p.a.ced eyes. They were green, and in the left one there was a slight cast. She was not wearing a hat, and her hair, which hung loosely to her shoulders, was of so pale a gold as to appear almost silver.

For a second he caught a rather startled expression in her eyes; then he blurted out, "I'm sorry to say I have bad news for you. It is not a matter for serious concern, but just one of those sudden things that are quite unforeseen. Had it occurred earlier I would have telephoned to save you the trouble of coming, as the car will not be..."

Her brows drew together in a frown, and suddenly she cut in: "What on earth are you talking about, Mr. Novk?"

At her words Nicholas' plan to pose as the hotel doctor went up in smoke. Breaking off in mid-sentence, he wondered for an instant how she could possibly know who he was, then jumped to the conclusion that Bilto must have told her about him and mentioned having invited him to dinner that evening. Silently but profoundly, he cursed Bilto for having involved him in this unsavoury and dangerous affair. But his wits were working quickly. He saw that the only thing he could do now was to fall back on the story that at the eleventh hour Bilto had decided against leaving England, and fearing trouble, had asked him to break the unwelcome news to his Russian friends.

"The fact is ..." he began a trifle hoa.r.s.ely. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a man who had just halted under the near-by street lamp to read something in an evening paper. A cold shudder went down his spine at the sudden thought that the loiterer might be a detective who was keeping the Russians under observation. While seeking a way to put matters so that his words should convey nothing incriminating if overheard, he muttered: "I'm sorry to upset your arrangements, but there's been a bit of a hitch."

She gave him a long, queer look; then, just as he was on the point of continuing, exclaimed, "So that is why you have no hat or coat! No matter; all that concerns me is that you are here! I had expected you to be ready to leave at once, and if some hitch has delayed you in getting your bags packed, that is unfortunate. But it cannot be allowed to alter our arrangements. Everything you need can be provided for you. Please get in."

Subconsciously he noticed that the slight foreign lilt in her voice was overlaid by an American accent. But once more his brain was whirling. She did not know who he was, after all. Like the page, although for a different reason, she believed him to be Bilto. Evidently she had never met Bilto but had been given a description of him, and it was his likeness to his cousin which had misled her. Dare he revert to his plan of posing as the doctor? No; since she believed him to be Bilto, she would not swallow that. She would think that Bilto had got cold feet at the last moment and was himself acting a part in order to provide a reason for wriggling out of his engagement. Believing she had seen through his imposture, she would challenge him, then do her utmost to persuade him to change his mind again. Protests and an argument would ensue. She might use threats. The loiterer would overhear it all, and if he was a detective....

Evidently she, too, had noticed the man, as after a quick glance in his direction she again cut into Nicholas' racing thoughts. Leaning towards him, she said in a low, urgent voice: "Whatever has happened this is no place to discuss it. Get in; we can talk on the way."

With the suddenness of lightning illuminating a dark landscape, her words clarified his mind. For him to let her drive him off was a certain means of depriving Bilto of the car. Better still, instead of her returning to the Soviet Emba.s.sy at once to cause consternation by reporting that Bilto had failed them, as long as she continued to believe that he was his cousin no endeavour would be made to get in touch with the real Bilto.

Scrambling into the car, he took the seat beside her. She tapped on the front window with the end of a fat little umbrella, the chauffeur started up the engine, and they drove off.

Nicholas' exhilaration at this sudden solution to the problem of how to upset Bilto's departure was short-lived. He had hardly sunk into the well-sprung cushions of the elderly limousine before he became uncomfortably aware that he was now faced with several others. When she asked him about the hitch he had mentioned, what story was he to tell? Sooner or later he would have to disclose his real ident.i.ty; what explanation was he to give for having fooled her like this? At latest, when they reached the airfield the game would be up; how could he delay their arrival, and thus increase the probability of having sabotaged all chances of Bilto's being flown abroad that night?

To his relief while the car rolled down Southampton Row the girl did not ask him any questions; so he a.s.sumed that the only thing that really mattered to her was doing her job of picking him up. Whatever the cause of her silence, he was grateful for it, as it gave him a few minutes in which to think.

On reaching High Holborn the car turned west along it, and by the time it entered Oxford Street he had decided on a plan. It was governed by the thought that when the Russians found out how they had been tricked they were going to be very angry people; so it would be asking for trouble to let her take him either to a private airfield, or to some house at which her boss might be waiting to have a talk with Bilto before his departure. Whatever happened, he considered it unlikely that they would do him serious injury; but with such a prize as a leading atomic scientist in view, he felt certain that they would not hesitate forcibly to detain him, so as to prevent his further interference, until they had managed to get the real Bilto away.