Cause for Alarm (19 page)

But that has very little to do with your letter. To be honest with you, darling, I’m a little worried. Not, I hasten to say, by your decision about Spartacus. I have enormous faith in your judgment and good sense. If you feel that you would be better out of Spartacus, then get out of it with all speed. But as for the rest of it; I’m not going to pretend that I even begin to understand what you’re driving at. Mysterious is a mild word for it. I can quite easily remember what father talked about when we arrived home after we had agreed to make honest folk of one another. Easily, because your replies to the
poor dear were so stupid that he asked me at breakfast next morning whether we proposed to get married before or after you had been psychoanalysed. I can’t, I’m afraid, see what possible connection there could be between the Rome-Berlin axis and machine tools, but I’m quite prepared to make allowances for a little mystery. I seem to remember doing a little research for you into the surface tension of gum. You probably have that in mind
.

No! what worries me, Nicky, is what you decided to omit from your letter. With you, my love, I never attempt to read between the lines. But I
do
sometimes read
under
the lines. You have a habit of crossing out words you don’t like and writing over them the words you do like. Your crossing out is very inefficient on the whole and usually, by holding the paper up to the light, I can read the rejected words. So that when I read you have committed yourself to doing something
“
foolish
”
and find that the word has been put in to replace a scratched out
“
dangerous
,”
you can understand how I feel
.

It is true that
“
dangerous
”
might have been the wrong word, but it couldn’t have been so hopelessly wide of the mark or you wouldn’t have put it down at all. Besides, taken in conjunction with the rest of your letter (what, by the way, was that
“
bit of an accident
”
you were so airy about?) it seems to me that it may very well have been the right word, but that you were anxious not to alarm me
.

I don’t want to be silly and hysterical about it, but whatever it is you’re doing, Nicky, do take care. Not that I’m such a fool as to think you won’t take care. It seems to me that feminine exhortations of that sort must always be rather irritating. But
do
take care. And, since you
have
decided to leave, come back to me as quickly as possible. Must you wait for so long before resigning? I suppose you’ll have to give a month’s notice, and that means that you won’t be home until the end of June. Quite apart from the fact that it’s very
lonely here without you, I am consumed with curiosity. Write to me again very soon
.

My love to you, darling, and bless you
.

Claire
.

I had an idea that most poetic justice was pretty crude
.

From Alfred Pelcher, Esq., to myself.

W
OLVERHAMPTON
,
April
19.

Dear Mr. Marlow
,

    
Congratulations! It’s a fine piece of news and, as you say, the price is quite the best we have been able to get so far. Mr. Fitch, who asks me to add his felicitations to mine, tells me that, according to the specifications you have forwarded to him, the total cost of modifications will add about thirty shillings to the works cost of each machine. Your own personal estimate probably told you that. It is, I must say, a most
“
ingenious
”
arrangement
.

Mr. Fitch will be writing to you concerning the way in which the financial details are to be handled and other matters, but I thought that I should like to send you this personal word of congratulation. It is a splendid start. Now we must see if we cannot
“
repeat the dose
.”
What do you say?

Yours sincerely
,       
Alfred Pelcher
.

From Maggiore Generale J. L. Vagas to myself.

C
ORSO DI
P
ORTA
N
UOVA
,       
M
ILANO
,       
April
20.

My dear Mr. Marlow
,

    
I am anxious to have a chat with you on a matter of some importance. I should be pleased if you could spare time to dine with me at my house to-morrow. Shall we say at
eight o’clock? Perhaps you would be good enough to telephone me if you are
unable
to come
.

With kindest regards
,       
Yours sincerely
,       
J. L. Vagas
.

From myself to Maggiore Generale J. L. Vagas. By hand.

H
OTEL
P
ARIGI
,       
M
ILANO
,       
April
21.

My dear General
,

    
I am afraid that I cannot dine with you to-morrow. May I remind you of our conversation on the subject of future communications between us?

Yours very truly
,       
Nicholas Marlow
.

From “J. L. Venezetti” to “N. Marinetti,” Poste Restante, American Express, Milano.

M
ILANO
,       
April
21.

Dear Sir
,

    
I should not have requested an interview unless the matter were of vital importance. It is imperative that I see you at once. Will you please let me know by return of post when and where I can meet you. I leave the time and the place to your selection
.

Yours faithfully
,       
J. L. Venezetti
.

From “N. Marinetti” to “J. L. Venezetti,” Poste Restante, Wagon-Lits-Cook, Milano.

M
ILANO
,       
April
22.

Dear Sir
,

  
I shall be driving a dark-blue Fiat limousine at about 35 km. per hour along the Milan-Varese autostrada at about
10.45
on Sunday night. I shall stop only for a car drawn up at the side of the road facing Varese and about 25 km. from Milan and showing two rear lights close together
.

Yours faithfully
,       
N. Marinetti
.

I
T WAS
Zaleshoff who had made the arrangements for the meeting between Vagas and myself. I had received his proposals with some amusement.

“Blood and thunder,” I had commented.

He had frowned. “I don’t know about the thunder, but if the Ovra gets on to the fact that you’re meeting Vagas, it’ll be your blood all right.”

“Where’s the Fiat coming from?”

“I’ll fix that.”

“But why on Sunday?”

“Because there’ll be a procession here on Sunday afternoon.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“You’ve been under surveillance practically ever since you came here and since that beating up they gave you, you’ve had two of the guys on your tail. Did you know that?”

“Yes, I’ve seen them. They hang about opposite the office all day.”

“Before you can meet Vagas you’ll have to get rid of them. This procession’ll make it easy.”

“How?”

“You’ll see. You write that letter.”

I had written it.

Waiting to be blackmailed is an odd experience. I could not help wondering how Vagas would set about it. What line would he take? He had, hitherto, been all amiability. There was even a sort of oily charm about him. Would he shed his amiability or would the charm intensify, a velvet glove to enclose the mailed fist? I amused myself by speculating.

There was about those days I spent in Milan a curious air of the fantastic. That I had regretted the mood of bitter resentment that had led me into agreeing to carry out Zaleshoff’s plan, goes without saying. Yet, such is the mind’s ability to adapt itself to an idea, the thought that I might back out of the whole business occurred to me only as a sort of protest, an unexecutable threat. And I had decided to resign from Spartacus. That was the important thing. It was, perhaps, that decision more than anything else that determined my attitude. I was shortly to leave Milan. The fact lent a disarming air of impermanence to the situation. In two months or so I should be home and then I really could get down to the business of getting a good job. What happened between now and then seemed of secondary importance. I no longer identified myself with Spartacus. As I had told Claire, I had no conscience about the company. I had, with Vagas’ assistance, secured a valuable order for them. That was that. All I had to do until the time came for me to leave
was to see that their interests were adequately protected. If the opportunity presented itself I would secure still more business for them. That was all. In point of fact, it was no less than I should have done if I had been remaining with them. But my attitude was different, it was qualified. I had a sense of being independent, of being to some extent on holiday. This business of Zaleshoff’s was, I felt, almost in the nature of a game. That I did not know the rules of it was, no doubt, just as well for my peace of mind.

Since the night I had spent in his office, I had seen Zaleshoff practically every day. At first his mood had been one of lip-smacking anticipation. Everything, he assured me repeatedly, was prepared. It was only a question of waiting for Vagas to begin to turn the screw. Then, as the month wore on without any sign of life from Vagas, his jubilation gave way to gloomy forebodings. He became irritable. Several times I was tempted to abandon the whole thing and twice threatened to do so. On both occasions he offered exasperated apologies. My admiration for his sister’s forbearance increased daily. Yet, to a certain extent, I could understand his anxiety.

“I’m beginning to think,” he declared gloomily on one occasion, “that it was a mistake to cook those Spartacus figures.”

“You know darn well I wouldn’t have given him the correct ones.”

“Very likely. But he’s probably gone to the trouble to check the first lot and found that they’re phoneys. He probably thinks you put one over on him to get that Ordnance Department contract and has written you off as a bad investment.”

“How could he check them?”

“How should I know? But it’s the only thing that can have happened. How else can you explain this silence? He’s got
all the stuff he wants to blackmail you with. Why doesn’t he get on with it?”

“Perhaps he’s waiting until I send in this month’s figures, sort of lulling me into a sense of false security.”

“Maybe. I hope you’re right. This waiting is getting on my nerves.”

That much was obvious. The reason for it puzzled me. I myself was conscious of a sense of anti-climax, almost of disappointment; but I was intrigued by his attitude. Why should the situation get on his nerves to so absurd an extent? For me it was no more than a somewhat sinister game. For him it looked like a matter of life and death importance. A great many of the things which Vagas had told me were, no doubt, lies. But, in one thing, at least, he had, I felt, told me something approaching the truth.

Over our coffee one evening I worked round to the subject. It was fairly easy to do. His despair had been more than usually extravagant. I awaited an opening. Then:

“I admit that it’s all very irritating. But, for the life of me, Zaleshoff, I cannot see why you should take it so much to heart.”

“No?”

“No.”

“You don’t think that the peace of Europe is something that a guy can get anxious about?” His tone was almost offensively sarcastic.

“Oh yes. The peace of Europe, to be sure! But if we could get down to Mother Earth for a minute.…”

“Mother Earth!” His voice rose angrily. “Mother Earth! Say, listen, Marlow. It pains me to have to tell you this because, dumb cluck that you are, it would be just as well if you didn’t know it: but you, Heaven protect us, happen to be of some importance at the moment. Say, have you ever had a suitcase to unlock and a bunch of odd keys in your hand?
There’s just one key that fits. None of the others matters a curse. They’re keys but they’re not
the
key. Well, it’s like that now. And you’re
the
key.”

I was a little irritated by his manner. “What about leaving out the metaphors and trying plain English?”

“Sure! In plain English, the Germans are doing their damnedest to drive a wedge in the Anglo-Italian Mediterranean accord. They’re out to preserve the Axis. Without it they can’t make another move in Eastern Europe. And they’ve got to make that move. You know what old man Aristotle said. The tyrant who impoverishes the citizens is obliged to make war in order to keep his subjects occupied and impose on them permanent need of a chief. Italy’s sitting pretty now. She can play off Germany against France and England. But that’s only because she’s got a stake in both camps. The Axis is just as vital to her as it is to Germany. If once she gets into a position where she has to become a dependency of the City of London, she’s done. They’ll finance her heavy industries, choke her with credits until the lira is so sick it can’t stand. Then they’ll tie a ribbon round Mussolini and give him to the Germans as a Christmas present. Italy’s strength in the south is the Axis in the north. It’s only mutual distrust that is going to counteract the identity of interests between Germany and Italy. For some crack-brained reason you, Marlow, are in a position to turn their suspicions into downright distrust. And you ask me why I’m anxious!”

“And I still do ask you why
you
are anxious.”

He knitted his brow, a man driven to exasperation but restraining himself with an effort. “Do I have to go over all that again?”

“I think,” put in the girl, “that what Mr. Marlow is getting at is what the heck it’s got to do with you.”

He drew a deep breath. “I’m an American citizen,” he began impressively, “and …”

“I know,” I put in furiously; “you’re an American citizen
and you think that us men of goodwill ought to get together and co-operate to save the peace of Europe. I know. I’ve heard it all before. But it still doesn’t answer my question. Vagas warned me against you. You knew that he might, didn’t you? And you thought you’d take the sting out of that warning by letting me see that you’d expected it. But what you don’t know is that he told me that you and your sister were Soviet Government agents. What have you got to say to that?”