Curtain Of Fear Part 3

The only sure way of evading such an unpleasant possibility was to leave the car before it reached its destination. As a first move to ensure his being able to do so, Nicholas turned to the young woman at his side, and asked: "Are you taking me direct to the airfield?"

She shook her platinum-blonde head. "No. My part in this ends when I have delivered you at a certain address."

"Where abouts?"

"That, it is not necessary for you to know. But as you had to leave your hotel without your baggage, it is fortunate that you have to go to this place before catching your plane. They will be able to provide you there with a suit-case and things for your journey."

Nicholas considered this for a moment. The phrase 'catching your plane' implied there was no aircraft waiting specially to fly Bilto out from some secret airfield, but that a place had been taken for him on one of the regular night services to the continent. That cheered Nicholas a lot. If his delaying tactics worked, by the time circ.u.mstances made it necessary for him to confess to his imposture it would be too late to collect Bilto with any hope of getting him on his plane. Feigning annoyance and anxiety, he said: "There is more to it than having had to leave my things behind. As I told you, something quite unforeseen has happened, and if I could have got your Chief on the telephone I should have asked him to put all arrangements for my journey off until to-morrow. In any case I cannot possibly leave London without seeing a friend of mine."

"My orders about you do not permit of any deviation."

"I can't help that. I learned by chance that my going may bring this friend into danger; but that can be avoided provided I tell him what to say should he be questioned. I have been trying to get hold of him for the past four hours without success, but he was expected home by half-past eight, and it must be well after that now."

"You can write him a letter before leaving. I will undertake to see that it reaches him within an hour or so."

"It is not the sort of thing one can explain in a letter. I must see him personally."

"I am sorry, but to get you away safely is a matter of great importance. We cannot afford any delay which might cause you to miss your plane."

"What time does it leave; and from where?"

She shrugged. "I wouldn't know. Anyway it's not my business."

Nicholas took a firmer tone. "Mine is to do my utmost to see that my friend does not get into trouble on my account. If you refuse to take me to his house, when we stop at the next traffic lights I shall get out."

After a brief silence, she asked. "Where does your friend live?"

"In Cricklewood."

"That is quite a way, isn't it?"

"It's not very far in a car. We are already going more or less in the right direction. If we turn north at Marble Arch it's only about ten minutes' run up the Edgware Road."

"By the time you have seen your friend and we get back to Hyde Park we shall have lost half an hour."

"Well, the people who have fixed my trip must have allowed some margin; and there is always a certain amount of hanging about at an airport. If need be, the person you are taking me to see must forgo any idea of a cosy chat in his house and come to the airport with me; then he can say what he has to say on the way there."

"Do you absolutely insist on this?"

"I do. Otherwise I'm getting out when we have to pull up at Marble Arch; and we'll be there in about two minutes."

"All right, then. What is the address?"

"Number fifteen, Lister Road, Cricklewood."

Leaning forward, she slid open the gla.s.s panel and spoke to the chauffeur. Then, as she sat back, she remarked, "Somehow, that address is familiar. I feel sure that I recently wrote to someone there. Ah! I remember now. It is that of Igor Sinznick."

He turned to look at her in astonishment. "How very extraordinary that you should happen to know the person living at the one address I gave you, in such a vast place as London."

"It isn't really." Her voice held a warmer note. "Not when you remember that all three of us are members of a very small political minority. In the case of Mr. Sinznick and myself the circle is still further narrowed, because we are both writers."

"May I know your name?" he asked.

"It is Hoovsk. I doubt if you have ever come across it, though. I'm not a novelist. I sell a short story or an article now and again, but most of what I earn comes from translating Czech into English and vice versa."

Her name and slight accent told him that she was a Czech herself, which suggested that the Russians were making use of their Czech underlings to handle this affair; but the idea did not strike him as at all surprising seeing that Bilto was a Czech and they had planned to fly him to Prague. Glancing at her again, he enquired: "Do you know Igor well?"

"No. I have met him only a few times at literary parties and more recently at the flat of a mutual friend. I wrote to him because my friend told me that he was about to start a new monthly, and I hoped to interest him in my articles."

It was on the tip of Nicholas' tongue to say that one of his objects in coming to London was to discuss the new monthly with Igor. Just in time he remembered that he was supposed to be Bilto; so instead, he asked to which periodicals Miss Hoovsk contributed; but he listened only perfunctorily to her answers. The car had now turned up the Edgware Road, and with secret satisfaction he was contemplating the further development of his plan.

He felt that once he had persuaded his companion to drive him to the Sinznicks' he had got over the worst hurdle; for instead of having to leave the car prematurely as the only alternative to getting himself into a packet of trouble, he now stood a good chance of detaining it for quite a long time. His intention was to leave Miss Hoovsk sitting in it outside number fifteen Lister Road, until her patience was exhausted and she came in to fetch him. Still posing as Bilto, he would then say that he had suddenly been struck with qualms of conscience at the thought of betraying the country that had given him asylum from the n.a.z.is. That would provoke an argument in which she would use every line she could think of before resigning herself to leaving him, and facing the anger her report would arouse in her boss. Nicholas reckoned that by the time she reported, he would in any case have thrown Bilto's programme out by an hour, and, with one proviso, for very much longer. The proviso was that he could get the Sinznicks to abet the continuance of his imposture, as the Russians would then continue to believe that Bilto had left the Hotel Russell and, having gone sour on them, was spending the night at Cricklewood; and he felt sure that the Sinznicks would do anything within reason that he asked.

As the car entered Kilburn High Street his sense of humour was suddenly tickled by the thought that, although he would have to borrow things for the night from Igor, he had got himself a free ride all the way from Russell Square to Cricklewood, which would have cost him at least six shillings in a taxi. But next moment a new thought struck him, which made it look much more likely that he would be an extra six shillings down before the night was out.

The appalling responsibility which had been thrust upon him that evening would not be lifted simply by having kept Bilto out of the Russians' hands for a few hours. His knowledge and abilities would be just as valuable to them to-morrow or next week, and within a day or two, at most, they would know how they had been fooled, have got in touch with him again and be making fresh plans for getting him away to Prague. Somehow he must be persuaded to give up his idea of leaving Britain. Nicholas saw that as soon as Miss Hoovsk had left him to report, he must return to the Hotel Russell and have it out with Bilto. If arguments failed threats must be used; but by hook or by crook, as a first step, he must be got back to Harwell.

Nicholas had gone only so far with his intensely-worrying preoccupations, when on reaching Brondesbury Park Station the chauffeur slowed down and asked to be directed. A few minutes later they entered Lister Road and pulled up in front of number fifteen. It was a rather dingy, but solidly-built, semi-detached house in a row typical of the houses that, during the reign of Edward VII, had spread like a rash over the old-world gardens and small estates which had previously been the princ.i.p.al feature of London's inner suburbs. The conflicting sounds of two radios tuned in to different stations shattered the twilight peace; but otherwise a respectable quiet reigned in the short street. Murmuring "I'll be as quick as I can"-which was a flat lie-to Miss Hoovsk, Nicholas got out, walked up the short gravel path and rang the bell.

The door was opened to him by Igor, a short, fat, cheerful Jew wearing thick-lensed gla.s.ses. Shaking Nicholas warmly by the hand, he pulled him inside and called to his wife. "Judith! I think you have won your bet; he has had his hair cut."

Nicholas was too deeply absorbed in his own affairs to take much notice of this somewhat strange greeting; and shutting the front door quickly behind him, he followed his host into the sitting-room. The two were about the same age, and their histories had a certain similarity, as their fathers had come to England in the same year and both had married London-born girls.

Igor's father had been one of the original Russian-Jew a.s.sociates of Trotsky, and later had been made a member of Arcos, the Bolshevik trade mission which, early in the 1920's, had taken offices in the Strand and reopened Anglo-Russian relations after the breach caused by the revolution. An ardent Marxist in his early years, the excesses of the revolution had shocked his sensitive nature, and he had abandoned the 'Comrades' in favour of making permanent his a.s.sociation with a pretty Whitechapel Jewess. Yet, like so many of his kind, he could not see that the rapings, burnings, and butcherings by the mobs were the inevitable outcome of his gospel, and he had continued in the belief that had not power corrupted men like his old leader, Communism would have turned Russia into a Utopia. Igor had inherited his father's ideas and, like Nicholas, believed that whenever possible Russia should be aided in her efforts to spread Communism through the world. They had met during the war as inmates of the same labour camp for conscientious objectors.

The sitting-room was in its usual state of chaos. It was also used as a work-room by Igor, for dressmaking by Judith, and as an extra spare bedroom when, with their boundless generosity, they had taken in more lame ducks than they could otherwise accommodate. As Nicholas entered it he saw with relief that there was no man or woman with a pathetic, half-apologetic face, preparing to make up a shakedown on the divan, there to-night. But before he could get out a word of what was on his mind, Igor had swept a pile of books from a chair, pushed him down into it, peered into his face, then exclaimed with a happy laugh: "I am sure Judith was right. The reason for your having neglected to answer so many of the questions in my letters for this past month is that you have fallen in love. You have begun to take trouble with your hair, and never before have I seen you sporting an expensive silk handkerchief."

It was true that for Wendy's sake Nicholas had recently begun to take a little more thought for his appearance, and the handkerchief in his breast pocket was a present from her. As he glanced down a little self-consciously at its quietly-patterned silk, he realised how for the first time in weeks her image had been blotted from his mind for one whole waking hour. It now returned with redoubled vividness; and as he acknowledged Igor's innuendo by a half smile and a nod, he again cursed Bilto, this time for having been the cause of his leaving Birmingham and so quarrelling with his beloved fiancee.

At that moment Judith came in from the kitchen, carrying a tray with coffee and a cake upon it. She was the thin type of Jewess, with a high-bridged nose and large intelligent eyes. Like her husband, she wrote articles and made speeches; in addition she spent several hours every week handing peace propaganda, and other Communist-inspired literature, to women and girls as they left their factories. This accounted for the untidiness of the Sinznicks' home, the unpunctual and indifferent meals, and the usually grubby condition of their three children, who, although healthy, were shockingly neglected. But her husband would not have had things otherwise; and being much the more fanatical of the two, it was she who carried them over the bad patches when he grew despondent and was tempted to soft-pedal his Marxism, in order to sell some of his articles to the Pink press because it paid better than the Red.

Setting down the tray, Judith gave Nicholas a quiet smile, and said: "I am so glad for you, Nicky. For a man of your age to be without a woman is not right; and for a long time now I had been hoping that you would find a nice girl to take care of you. Do tell us all about her?"

"I will," he replied quickly, "but later on. There's something much more pressing I've got to talk to you about. It is typical of Igor that he should have noticed my new tie, but not that I arrived here without a hat, coat, or suit-case. The fact is I am in a bit of a difficulty and I want your help."

Igor's eyes grew round behind his thick-lensed gla.s.ses, and he breathed apprehensively. "Is it that the police are after you?"

His reaction was due to the fact that although he and his wife were both British born, neither of them was of British blood and more than half their friends were aliens; so they had never come to accept the average British citizen's view of the police, as the unbiased and unbribable guardians of law and order. Instead, the continental belief that all policemen were spies and bullies was still held by them, and as they spent a good part of their lives frothily denouncing the British Government, they were never quite free from an uneasy feeling that sooner or later the police would pounce upon them.

"No," said Nicholas. "It's not the police; and I don't quite know how to explain, really. Will you forgive me if I don't attempt to for the moment? You see, this mess concerns a cousin of mine named Bilto more than it does myself, so I am not altogether free to talk about it."

"That is your cousin the scientist, isn't it?" remarked Judith. "The one you told us about two or three years ago, when he returned from the United States to take up an appointment at Harwell?"

Nicholas had hoped that they had forgotten about Bilto and his connection with atom bombs, as for the sake of everyone concerned he felt that the less near the truth their speculations led them the better; but he nodded and continued.

"That's right. Well, certain people are very anxious to talk to him; but he doesn't want to talk to them. He is a bit older than I am, but we are very much alike and might easily be mistaken for one another by anyone who had only a description of one of us to go on. To-night he asked me to impersonate him for a few hours while he ... Nicholas hesitated then continued rather lamely, "... er, while he got away quietly to the country. I agreed, and let myself be driven off in a car that had been sent to fetch him."

He paused for a moment, and Igor said quickly, "Go on; what happened then?"

"I had no idea where she was taking me, and I was afraid that I might find myself in trouble when ..."

"Who d'you mean by 'she'?"

"The girl who was sent in the car to fetch Bilto. She is waiting for me outside. As a matter of fact ..." Nicholas was about to add, 'it seems that she is an acquaintance of yours. Her name is Hoovsk'; but his sentence was cut short by the shrilling of the front-door bell.

He had not been in the house more than three minutes, and he had counted on at least ten before Miss Hoovsk lost patience to the point of coming to rout him out; but at this hour it seemed unlikely to be anyone else, so there was no time left for him to elaborate his story. Seizing Igor's arm with one hand and Judith's with the other, he gave the astonished couple a slight shake and said hurriedly: "That will be her! I made her bring me here, but she's expecting me to go on with her. I'm not going. I shall tell her I've changed my mind. But she must continue to believe that I am Bilto. Is that clear? I'm going to send her away, but she must go thinking that it's Bilto she's left behind. That's terribly important. For G.o.d's sake don't let me down."

"Of course we won't," Judith a.s.sured him, and Igor gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder before going out into the narrow hall.

A minute later Igor reappeared. Throwing open the sitting-room door, he said in a slightly fl.u.s.tered voice, "Judith! This is an unexpected pleasure. You remember Comrade Hoovsk?"

The tall ash-blonde remained standing in the doorway. Nicholas could see her better now. Her lack of lipstick made her thin face so pale that it might have been that of an invalid, but her green eyes were full of life and extraordinarily compelling.

Judith gave her a quick look of surprise, then smiled. "Why, yes. We have met several times at Mr. Kolin's. Please come in and join us. We were just about to have some coffee."

The young woman shook her head. "Thank you, Mrs. Sinznick, but I'm afraid I can't stay now."

Igor stepped past her and spread his arms wide, as though to usher her into the room. "Oh, come; this is the first time you have been to our house. We shall be quite offended if you will not take some refreshment."

"Another time, perhaps. My business is with Mr. Novk."

"Then why not discuss it here? If you wish, Judith and I will leave the two of you together."

Ignoring him, she turned impatiently to Nicholas. "You were with Mr. Sinznick quite long enough to give him the warning you spoke of. Every moment is now precious. Please come with me at once."

Nicholas gave a quite pa.s.sable impression of embarra.s.sment by shifting from one foot to the other and lowering his glance at the floor, before he said in a low voice, "I'm sorry; but I don't think I can."

"Why not?" Her brows drew together in a frown.

"Well, the fact of the matter is ..." he hesitated artistically. "I've changed my mind."

The Sinznicks glanced in silence from her to him and back, then uneasily at one another, as she snapped, "It is no good telling that to me. You must tell it to the person who sent me to fetch you."

He shook his head. "You can quite well do that for me. I'm sorry to have taken up your time for nothing, but there it is." Then, feeling that even at the risk of the Sinznicks' guessing the truth about Bilto he ought to do his best to detain her as long as possible, he attempted to lure her into an argument by adding, "I have decided that it would be morally wrong to take the step I contemplated."

"I don't care what you have decided." Her voice was harsh. "You are coming with me."

"I'm not," he countered firmly. "I am staying here."

"You are wrong about that." For the first time she smiled, showing good teeth, but her green eyes remained as hard as pebbles. Taking a pace forward into the room, she half turned and waved a hand towards the doorway. "I had an idea you might try to double-cross us; that's why I brought Rufus in with me."

Only then did Nicholas become aware that the chauffeur had been standing behind her in the semi-darkness of the hall. It was the first time he had seen the man face to face. He was a powerfully-built negro, well over six feet two in height. His white teeth flashed in a grin as he held up his right hand for Nicholas to see. Folded back over the knuckles there gleamed the five-inch blade of a cut-throat razor.

The girl with the ash-blonde hair said in a matter-of-fact tone, "You are quite a good-looking man, Mr. Novk. It would be a pity if I had to tell Rufus to spoil your face for life. I think you had better come quietly."

CHAPTER V.

THE PERSISTENT NEGRO.

Nicholas was not a coward, but the idea of fighting a big negro armed with a naked razor made his flesh creep. His vivid imagination instantly conjured up pictures of fingers being half severed from his hands as he strove to protect his face, then of his cheeks, lips and nose gashed to the bone and pouring with blood. Yet the alternative had suddenly a.s.sumed a very frightening aspect.

From the moment he had stepped into the limousine he had realised that if he did not get out of it before it reached its journey's end he might find himself temporarily a prisoner. The idea of having to spend the weekend in a coal-cellar while they got the real Bilto away had been bad enough, but now he was seized with a foreboding that if he got into the car again he would be letting himself in for something very much worse.

This threat to slash his face to ribbons was a terrifyingly-clear indication of the lengths to which they were prepared to go, rather than be disappointed in their hopes of getting Bilto behind the Iron Curtain. It could therefore also be taken as fair warning of the danger to which he would be exposed once they became aware that he was not Bilto. If they were prepared to disfigure and abduct a scientist from whom they expected so much, rather than allow him to go back on his word, what might not their rage lead them into doing to someone who had deliberately jeopardised their chances of getting him abroad at all?

In a matter of seconds Nicholas decided that here-in the Sinznicks' house, with them to aid him and neighbours who could be brought swiftly on the scene by cries for help-he would stand a much better chance of getting away uninjured than if he allowed himself to be taken to some place where circ.u.mstances might render escape impossible.

The door of the room opened inwards and at the moment stood wide. Nicholas was near its edge, the negro was still in the hall, and the pale-faced girl just inside the room. Both Igor and Judith were further back, behind a small table on which the latter had set down the coffee tray.

In one swift movement Nicholas seized the door-k.n.o.b with his left hand, thrust out his right fist, and flung himself forward. His fist caught the Hoovsk girl in the chest. With a gasp she went over backwards. The door crashed to, shutting Rufus outside.

The key was on the hall side of the lock. Nicholas had had no chance to transfer it. With his shoulder pressed firmly against the door panel, he kept a tight grip on the k.n.o.b with one hand, while with the fingers of the other he sought frantically below it for a bolt. There was none. He knew then that once the negro threw his weight against the door it would be impossible to keep it shut for more than a few moments. Desperately he called to his friends.

"Quick, Igor! Help me to hold this door. Judith! Open the window as wide as it will go, so that I can get out that way!"

He was still shouting when the door shuddered under the first impact of Rufus' heavy body. At the second, Nicholas' feet slithered and the door was forced open a few inches. By straining every muscle he managed to get it shut again. Igor had answered his appeal by grasping a four-foot square, open bookcase that stood near the door. He was clumsily slewing it round so that it would block the entrance.

With a loud thump Rufus' shoulder hit the door again. The shock temporarily threw Nicholas off his balance. The door gaped open, but he flung himself at it and was in time to prevent Rufus getting more than a foot in.

Igor was still struggling with the bookcase. Over his shoulder Nicholas caught a glimpse of Judith. She had not moved. "Judith!" he gasped. "For G.o.d's sake get the window open!"

Still she did not move. She did not even seem to hear him. Her features expressed distress, but her big eyes held a look of resignation, and they were riveted upon her uninvited visitor.

The girl had staggered to her feet. Two bright spots of colour flamed in her thin, pale cheeks; her green eyes were blazing. For a moment she stood there panting, then she sprang forward and seized Igor by the shoulder. Pulling him back, she cried: "This is none of your business! Keep out of it, or I will see to it that you have cause to regret your interference."

The door strained and creaked. Suddenly Rufus withdrew his foot and it slammed to. Nicholas guessed that the negro was about to make another charge. Swinging round, he put his back against the door and planted his feet firmly against the plinth of the heavy little bookcase that Igor had dragged from the wall. He could now see the whole room. Judith had still not moved, but stood with drooping shoulders on the far side of the table. The Hoovsk girl was glaring at Igor, and he was staring at her uncertainly with his full-lipped mouth hanging a little open.

Sweating and panting from the strain of holding back the door, Nicholas no longer had breath enough to shout, but he gasped: "Igor! Igor! What's come over you? Don't you see what they mean to do to me? Dial 999! Ring up the police!"

"No! No!" Igor exclaimed, a look of consternation coming over his fat face. "Not the police!" Then he waved both his arms in a helpless gesture, as though he was experiencing a nightmare and realised the futility of attempting anything except; to shake himself awake.

When Nicholas had slammed the door in the negro's face he had counted on his friends taking his place at it and blocking it for the few minutes which were all he needed to reach the street by way of the window. Their failure to give him the help he had expected now rendered his situation desperate. Between him and the window stood the girl. He could not possibly hope to reach it without her either tripping or clinging on to him, and the second he took his weight from the door Rufus would come charging through it. The negro, whirling that terrifying razor, would be upon him before he could even free himself from her, let alone get the window open and scramble out of it. At the thought of the razor he instinctively flattened his back against the door still more firmly, and strained every limb to the utmost, expecting at any moment to have to resist the shock of the two hundred pound human battering ram on its other side.

For the past half minute there had been no sound outside in the hall. Nicholas took the brief silence for the lull before storm, and tensed his muscles. Suddenly they went slack, his mouth fell open, and his eyes started out of his head. The other door of the sitting-room had been jerked open. The negro had come round through the kitchen, and now stood there grinning at him. Taking the razor from the pocket of his chauffeur's coat, he folded it back over his hand.

Igor took a faltering step forward and cried, "No, no! Please! He is my friend."