Curtain of Fear (11 page)

A man had just risen from the desk. He had a thin intellectual face with rather sleepy-looking eyes, short grey hair cut
en brosse
in the German fashion, and he was toying with an old-fashioned pince-nez which hung round his neck on an inch-wide black ribbon. Coming forward, he held out a blue-veined hand, smiled, showing a gold filling at one side of his mouth, and said in crisp English:

“Professor Novák, this is a great pleasure. My name is Vaněk, and although I do not play any public part at our Embassy, I am the principal representative of the Czechoslovak People's Government in this country. Your decision to return to your own land, and give the Communist Party the benefit of your great knowledge in their struggle to bring freedom to the workers of all nations, has filled us all with joy. I feel honoured in having been given even so small a part to play in your return as, shall we say, your travel agent.”

Not liking to ignore the outstretched hand, Nicholas shook it; then, as soon as he had the chance, he said, “Thanks very much, but before we go any further there are certain things I want to explain. This affair has not gone at all as you arranged.”

Vaněk gave a quick nod. “I gathered that something must have delayed you, but nothing matters now that you are here.
I have only to give you the papers for your journey, and we still have just time for a glass of wine together. It is a pity you were held up, as I intended to offer you supper, but I must now deny myself that pleasure.”

Another wave of elation swept through Nicholas. Obviously he had succeeded in so reducing their time margin that they could not possibly get Bilto away to the continent that night, whatever happened now. In addition an idea had suddenly come to him of a way in which, when they learned that their plan had been sabotaged, he might divert their fury from himself to the absent Bilto. He was still hurriedly working out the best way to put over this line of self-preservation when Rufus cut in defensively:

“Ai'd jus' like to say, Comrade Vaněk, that it weren't no fault of Comrade Hořovská's or mine that we're back late. Mister Novák, he insisted that we take him to see some friends of his who live right up out Cricklewood way.”

Seizing on the negro's protest as a good lead for a bold attempt to carry off the situation, Nicholas nodded. “That's true; and since Rufus has raised the matter I'd be awfully grateful if, when I've explained things, he could run me back there. You see, it is with those friends that I have arranged to spend the night.”

“To spend the night!” Vaněk's grey eyebrows shot up. “I do not understand.…”

“No, but I'm trying to explain. I had always intended to go on there after dining with my cousin; and I felt I must look in on my way here to make certain they did not give me up and lock me out. It was only …”

The Czech had been impatiently fiddling with his pince-nez. Dropping them, he exclaimed, “Forgive me, but I am quite lost! Unless I have been completely misled by my subordinates, tonight was the night fixed for your journey at your own wish.”

“Not my wish,” Nicholas took the plunge. “At the wish of my cousin Bilto.”

“Then you, you … ?” Vaněk's face had suddenly gone as white as a sheet.

“I am Professor
Nicholas
Novák, of Birmingham University.”
Nicholas paused a second, then launched out on the distorted version of the night's events by which he now hoped to transfer the wrath to come from his own head to Bilto's. “My cousin rang me up last night and asked me to dine with him this evening. We hold the same political views, so when we met at the Hotel Russell he confided to me what had brought him to London. Then he said that after thinking matters over all this afternoon, he had decided that he couldn't go through with it.”

“You cannot mean this!” The blood had now streamed back into Vaněk's face, and he looked as if at any moment he might have a fit.

Nicholas nodded. “I do. Naturally he realised that you would be very upset, and he felt very badly about having to let you down. But he has definitely made up his mind to remain in England. For him to have to come here to tell you so himself would have meant only a most distressing scene, so he asked me to send your car away when it arrived to fetch him. I went out intending to do that; but we are very alike to look at, and Miss Hořovská mistook me for him, just as you did. There was a lounger who I thought might be a detective standing near the car, and I didn't like to risk explaining to Miss Hořovská in his hearing; so I suddenly decided that the best thing to do was to let her bring me here and explain matters to you myself.”

For a moment the Czech stood there goggle-eyed and dumbfounded, then Rufus' rich voice came like a bomb-shell from behind Nicholas.

“Comrade Vaněk, don' you go believin' that story. It ain' true. No, sir, not a word of it.”

“How d'you know that?” his chief rapped out, instantly recovering himself.

“Ai don' say Mister Novák hasn't changed his mind ‘bout goin'. He told us so himself. He said that very thing. He told Comrade Horovská that he'd decided it 'ud be morally wrong, but …”

“What the devil are you talking about?” Vanék cried in puzzled fury. “Are you telling me that you've seen Professor Novák? The real one—the scientist—I mean?”

“No, Comrade. I mean yes, I mean …”

“He doesn't know what he means,” Nicholas cut in quickly.

“Be silent! Kindly refrain from interfering while I get to the bottom of this,” Vaněk snapped, and having administered this sharp rebuke, swung on Rufus. “Now, Comrade Abombo, tell me at once what you are driving at.”

The negro grinned and pointed a thick finger at Nicholas. “That's him. That's Mister Novák, numbers one an' two. There ain't no other. He said all that ‘bout changing his mind up way out at Cricklewood. He asked us to take him there, but he didn't wanta come along here to see you, like he says. Oh, no! Ai hadta do a lit'le forcible persuadin', by showin' him ma razor, to induce him to do that.”

“He's got an entirely false impression of what happened,” Nicholas protested in a desperate attempt to maintain his own version of the story. “Naturally I could not speak freely about this business in front of my friends, and that led to a misunderstanding.”

“Ai don't misunderstand nothin',” declared Rufus doggedly. “There's only one Mister Novák, an' you'se him.”

Vaněk gave his coloured underling a doubtful glance. As he did so, the tall, thin young man who had opened the back door, and had so far remained a silent spectator of the scene, put in, “There
are
two Professor Nováks. The other writes articles. I have read, not always with approval. But most times yes. He is at heart one of us, and puts his thoughts clearly.”

“Thanks,” said Nicholas, giving him a quick smile. “That's the one I am. My cousin the atom scientist's name is Bilto; mine is Nicholas.”

An awful deep chuckle came from Rufus. “You go tell that to the Marines. If your name's Nicholas, why did that li'tle fat Jew friend of yours out up Cricklewood way call you Bilto?”

“We will soon have the truth of this,” Vaněk declared with a hard stare at Nicholas. “Turn out your pockets. Put their contents on my desk.”

Seeing Nicholas hesitate, Rufus and the thin young man closed in on him. Realising that he had no option, he began to unload
the miscellaneous collection of things he was carrying. The moment he produced Bilto's passport, Vaněk grabbed it, gave a quick look inside and exclaimed:

“Enough! This is all the proof we need. You are Professor Bilto Novák; but for some reason that we shall discover later you have ratted on us, and are endeavouring to escape being sent to Prague by pretending to be your cousin.”

Nicholas shook his head. “No, that is Bilto's passport, but I am not Bilto. He was afraid that when you heard that he had changed his mind about going you might send people to attempt to coerce him. He asked me to take care of his passport as a precaution; because he felt that to be without one was the best guarantee against being hustled into an aircraft.”

“He is … I mean you are very ignorant if you suppose that it is impossible for me to send anyone abroad without his own passport,” Vaněk remarked with a sneer. “Given a little time our experts can easily make good such a deficiency.”

Jamming the pince-nez more firmly on his nose, he began to run quickly through the other papers. Then, after a moment, he said, “What is this? It appears to be a Power of Attorney made out by Bilto Novák in favour of Nicholas Novák.”

“Yes; that's what it is,” Nicholas agreed. “And you could hardly ask for better proof that I have been telling you the truth. How could I come to have that in my possession if I were not Nicholas?”

Vaněk examined the document more carefully, shook his head, and said, “I suggest that you had this made out when it was still your intention to go to Prague. When you changed your mind there was no longer any point in giving it to your cousin. That is why it is still on you, and I regard it as a further proof that you are Bilto.”

“All right, then!” Nicholas cried in desperation. “Let's say I am Bilto, and that I have changed my mind about leaving England. If I refuse to go you can't make me, so the sooner …”

“Can't I?” Vaněk cut him short. “You are quite wrong about that.”

Nicholas caught his breath, then stammered, “But … but,
even if you could, there would be no point in doing so. An unwilling scientist is no use to anyone. Surely you don't mean that you … that if I were Bilto, and didn't want to go, you would send me just the same?”

“Certainly.” Vaněk smiled unpleasantly, showing the gold filling of his tooth. “An arrangement was entered into by two parties. As the representative of one of them I have been given certain orders. A last-moment change of mind on the part of the other party does not relieve me of my responsibility. Besides, this change of mind may be only temporary. In any case, providing it is in my power to do so, I must carry out my orders. Unless you can satisfy me beyond all doubt that you are not Professor Bilto Novák I shall have you put on the plane for Prague.”

“You'll be making a fool of yourself if you do!” Nicholas retorted with rising agitation. “I tell you I'm not Bilto. I swear I'm not. There were other papers in my pockets that you haven't looked at yet, and they will prove it.”

The thin young man had been turning over some of the items that Nicholas had produced, and he remarked, “He is I think right, Comrade Vaněk. For conclusions we must not make jumping. Here three letters are, all to Professor Nicholas subscribed. Also one ticket for season entry to a Birmingham concert series. How could the scientist Professor Novák of Harwell these papers have come by?”

“Exactly!” Nicholas snatched gratefully at the welcome support. “I can understand your having been foxed by my having the Power of Attorney; but the fact is that Bilto was not altogether easy in his mind about what might happen when he got back to Harwell. He thought there was just a chance he had failed to cover up certain indications that when he left he intended it should be for good. That's why, having had this Power of Attorney drawn up, he insisted on my taking it—so that if the security people had got on to him and he found himself in serious trouble, I could take charge of his affairs.”

Now, uncertain and agitated, Vaněk fiddled with his pince-nez. After a moment's thought he said a shade less aggressively,
“You have still failed to explain why, if you are Nicholas, while you had yourself driven to this place in Cricklewood you continued to pretend that you were Bilto, and why you refused to come on here until you were forced to do so.”

Nicholas passed a hand wearily through his red hair. His brain was now so tangled up with the lies he had told that he could no longer think of the best answer to make. At that moment he understood why it was that people under third degree lost the thread of the arguments on which their defence depended, and collapsed. He had an awful feeling that he was going mad; and while he was still groping for a reply that would not hopelessly compromise him, the rich voice of Rufus came again:

“Comrade Vaněk, why are you gettin' you'self all het up 'bout this when it's plain sailin'? This is Bilto, make no mistake about that; otherwise why would his Jew friend have called him Bilto? That's not all, either. How come that Comrade Hořovská mistook him for Bilto if he weren't?”

Vanék turned to him with sudden relief. “Comrade Abombo, you have hit upon the one certain way of settling this question. I should have thought of it before. Find Comrade Hořovská and bring her here at once.”

Rufus shrugged. “Maybe she's gone. She did say somethin' 'bout goin' dancin' with a boy-friend. But I'll go look see if she's still here.”

For the few minutes that Rufus was away, not one of the three that remained said anything. At length the strained silence was broken by his return with the platinum-blonde.

Putting on his pince-nez, Vanék tilted back his head and addressed her rather pompously. “Comrade Hořovská. It is you who until quite recently have been our sole contact with Professor Novák. During the past two years you must have met and talked with him at least half-a-dozen times. Is this the man that you have always known as the atomic scientist Bilto Novák?”

The young woman looked faintly surprised at the question, then she nodded. “Of course it is.”

“Are you absolutely certain?”

Her green eyes were fixed unwaveringly on Nicholas' as she replied, “As I have had to let him make love to me, how could I possibly be mistaken?”

Nicholas returned her stare, and wondered if he really was going mad.

“Thank you, Comrade Hořovská.” Vanék gave a sigh of relief. “What you tell us puts his identity beyond further dispute.”