The Forbidden Territory (35 page)

Rex laughed. “My, won’t we throw some party—when we get over there!”

Only Richard turned away disconsolate—not even for a single moment could he cease wondering what had happened to little Marie Lou.

Over breakfast they discussed the situation. De Richleau argued that there was no undue reason for alarm. When Richard failed to put in an appearance she had in all probability gone back to the hotel.

“But just think of her,” Richard explained, “waiting for hours wondering what on earth had happened to us—thinking perhaps that the escape had failed and that we’d all been arrested!”

“Sure,” Rex agreed, “or, like as not, that we were a rotten bunch of pikers, who’d taken her help and quit while the goin’ was good.”

“Ner, she wouldn’t think that,” said Simon. “All I hope is that she hasn’t worried herself into doing something silly—anyhow, I’m going back to get her.”

“No!” Richard looked up quickly. “I am.”

“Well, in any case,” remarked the Duke, “it would be madness for more than one of us to run his head into the noose.”

Simon nodded. “That’s true—and this is my muddle, so I’m going.”

“My dear fellow,” De Richleau protested, “for you it is impossible. You forget your leg—you could never drive the car that distance.”

“Sure—that lets Simon out,” Rex declared, “and since I’m the fittest of you all I guess it’s my party.”

“No,” said the Duke, “it is highly probable that there is another electric fence on the actual frontier, like that which we found at Romanovsk—whoever goes,
you
must stay to help the others over.”

Richard looked round with tired eyes. “Please don’t let’s argue any more. The escape will have been discovered by this time, and all three of you are wanted by the police. I’m not—I’m in Russia with a proper passport—and what’s more, she’s
my
wife.”

His argument was incontrovertible, and ended the discussion. Breakfast was finished in thoughtful silence,
then they strolled out into the meadow at the back of the farm to gaze upon the promised land.

The rhythmic throbbing of the big plane could be heard again, so they took cover in the orchard. This time it was beating back towards the east.

“She’s a bomber,” said Rex, gazing skywards through the branches.

“Um—I bet she’s carrying troops, though,” Simon laughed jerkily. “A couple of pilots wouldn’t be much good if they spotted us and landed!”

“When do we make the big get-away?” Rex inquired.

“Not till tonight,” said the Duke. “That innocent-looking wood has probably got sentries posted in it at every fifty yards if I know anything about friend Leshkin. We must lie low here today. I’ve had a talk with the farmer and I think he can be trusted—in any case I do not mean to let him out of my sight.”

Richard laughed for the first time that morning. “If I make good going, and Marie Lou is still at the hotel, I could be back here in the ’plane before nightfall. I’m feeling much better now. I think I’ll make a start.”

“Before you do that, Richard, I would like a word with you.” De Richleau took him gently by the arm, and led him farther into the orchard.

“Listen,” he went on, when they were out of earshot of the others. “It is quite useless for you to try and take that car, Richard. You will not be able to move it from the shed.”

“Why?”

“Because, my friend, I removed the sparking-plugs before breakfast!”

“What the devil do you mean?”

“Simply that I will not allow any of you to venture your necks in this idiotic way.”

“Look here,” said Richard, angrily. “I’m quite as anxious to get over the frontier as anybody, but you might remember that none of you would be here at all, if it were not for Marie Lou!”

“Thank you.” The Duke’s voice had a trace of
asperity. “If you were not so young, Richard, and I was not so fond of you, I should resent intensely your imputation on my honour. As it is I merely ask you not to be a fool.”

“Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“No, I am certain that you did not—but surely you have the sense to see that you would not get farther than Vinnitsa. The car would be recognised. There is a bullet through the mudguard, and another through the rear window. They would have you in prison before midday.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” Richard agreed, reluctantly, “but I can’t leave Marie Lou in Kiev. God knows what will happen to her. I’ll tell you the truth—I’m in love with her, and I’m half crazy with anxiety!”

De Richleau patted him on the arm. “I understand, my friend. I have known love myself, but in this case you can do nothing. You must be a good fellow and cross the frontier with the others tonight.”

“No, I’m damned if I will.”

“Yes, Richard—I wish it. Hasten to Bucharest and get in touch with the British Consul at Kiev as soon as you can. She is a British subject now, and that will stand her in good stead if she is in trouble.”

“But that will take days. Anything may happen to her in the meantime. She must be frantic with anxiety.”

“Don’t worry, my son, I am going back to Kiev to look after her.”

“You!”

“Yes, and I am the only one of you all who can do this thing successfully. I know the language, the people, the country. I shall buy clothes from this peasant—drive the car as far as the outskirts of Vinnitsa tonight, and then abandon it—walk into the town, and take a fourth-class ticket on the train like any
kulak
; tomorrow morning I shall be in Kiev. If Marie Lou is still at the hotel I will place her under the protection of the British Consul immediately—if not, I will find her for you.”

For a moment Richard was silent—then he turned and faced the Duke. “I say—that’s splendid of you, but I just can’t leave Russia without Marie Lou; let me come, too?”

De Richleau shook his head. “No, Richard. I would rather go alone.”

“Please—? Hullo—what’s that?”

“Only the big ’plane again.”

“No, it’s not!” Richard was peering up through the trees. “It’s a different one—quite different.”

“Well, what of it?”

“But it’s extraordinary. It’s got a note just like my own ’plane. Look! There she is!” Richard pointed excitedly. “By Jove—it is!”

They ran back through the orchard to the meadow where the others were standing.

“Are you sure?” asked the Duke.

“Certain. She’s got the same markings. Look! She’s coming down!”

Above them in the clear blue of the early morning sky the little ’plane was slowly circling towards the earth.

“Say—who’ll this be?” asked Rex, anxiously.

“Marie Lou,” said the Duke.

“Ner…” Simon shook his head. “She can’t fly a ’plane.”

“It must be …” Richard laughed excitedly. “No one but Marie Lou knew about my ’plane and where to meet us.”

The machine was down to five hundred feet now; in a long sweep it curved into the wind and ’planed down towards them.

“Two people in her,” murmured De Richleau.

“Clever kid,” grinned Rex. “She’s squared a pilot to bring her along.”

They began to run across the meadow to the place where the ’plane would stop. “Best be careful,” panted Simon. “We’ll be in a muddle if it’s not her.”

“It is,” shouted Richard. “I can see her in the back.”

In another minute they were crowding round the ’plane and Marie Lou, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright from the swift flight through the early morning air, had jumped to the ground.

Richard could see that despite the colour in her cheeks, her face was drawn, and her eyes swollen by crying. She gave him a long searching look as she said, quickly:

“Richard—what happened? Why did you leave me behind?”

He seized her hands and for a moment could hardly speak, it was such an enormous relief to see her safe and sound. “Marie Lou …” he stammered, “Marie Lou … Simon bungled things, he thought you were going by train … and I was hit on the head, so they brought me with them, unconscious, in the car. … I’ve been through agonies this morning!”

“Oh, Richard,” she gave a little sob. “I thought I should go mad last night. I waited in the aerodrome till three this morning. I was
terrified.
I thought you had been killed or captured—and then when I heard that you had all been seen on the road in the car … I thought … oh, I do not know … it was awful!”

“You heard that—but how?”

“When it seemed that there was no more chance that you should come I went back to the hotel—the lounge was almost in darkness and I ran straight into Valeria Petrovna—she had been walking up and down all night waiting for news.”

“Good God! I wonder she didn’t give you up to the police.” As Richard spoke he followed Marie Lou’s glance, and realised that the tall pilot in breeches and field boots, standing near Simon, was Valeria Petrovna.

Marie Lou nodded. “She was nearly off her head because Simon had left her. One moment she was threatening to have me arrested, and the next pleading with me to let her know where Simon would cross the frontier, that she might see him again. At last we make a bargain—I agree to tell her the place, but she should take me with her.”

“You clever child.”

“No—it was an awful risk—because she might have betrayed you, but I have my little revolver still, and I said that I would shoot her dead if she should try to trick me.”

“What luck that she could fly a ’plane.”

“Yes, her friend taught her—you remember, the tall officer at the air-park in Moscow. But tell me about your hurt—my poor Richard, you look so ill and haggard!”

Richard laughed light-heartedly. “Oh, I’ll be all right now you’re safe. It’s only worry that got me down. We were just fixing up about going back to get you.”

“Oh, Richard!” Marie Lou’s eyes were full of smiles again, then, almost at once, her face grew grave. “But we are not safe—not yet. Leshkin has had all the guards along the frontier trebled, and last night he left Kiev in an aeroplane. He is determined to stop us getting across.”

“Good Lord! I wonder if he’s in the big bomber that’s been sailing up and down. If so, he’s bound to spot my ’plane. We can’t possibly hide it.” Richard turned to Rex.

“Look here, there’s not a moment to lose. We must get out before the Bolshie ’plane comes over again. I’m going to take Marie Lou across right away. I’ll be back for another of you as soon as I can.”

“Okay,” Rex nodded. “Make it snappy, or they’ll get us yet!”

Valeria Petrovna had flung herself into Simon’s arms the moment she reached the ground. He looked at her with mingled love and amazement. She was still dressed in the riding kit she had worn for her part at the theatre. Her make-up had not been properly removed, and little furrows down her cheeks showed that she had been weeping bitterly.

“Simon—dear one—this is terrible, that I ’ave to lose you,” she sobbed, breaking into fresh tears. “An’ last night … oh, it was ’orrible. Did you know that
Leshkin meant to arrest you again? But no, you could not. ’E come to my dressing-room after the secon’ act—’e say that ’e ’as been to Moscawa. Oh, why did you not tell me of those men?”

“What men?” asked Simon, puzzled.

“The men you kill. Eight men of the Ogpu! Oh, you are a lion, my Simon, but Stalin, ’e was furious. Nevaire would ’e forgive that—an’ ’e ’as take back your pardon that ’e give me.”

“It was in self-defence!”

“No matter—you ’ave kill them, that is what Leshkin say; ’e is so ’appy that ’e do not know ’ow to contain ’imself. That is why ’e tell me. Then I leave the theatre—to warn you, just as I am—but when I arrive at the ’otel you are no longer there!” Valeria Petrovna struck her breast passionately with her clenched fists.

“Oh, my dear.” Simon slipped his arm round her shaking shoulders. “That was splendid of you.”

“I was distraught. I do not know what I do. Then, when I ’ave left the theatre, the manager ’e make announcement in the middle of the third act; ’e say that I am ill all suddenly, but Leshkin suspect at once and come rushing to the ’otel like a mad bull. ’Ow I laugh at ’im when ’e find that you ’ave gone already—but ’e find that my car is gone, also, and ’e go mad with rage because ’e think that it was me that ’elp you to escape—but I, myself, do not know what to think.”

Valeria Petrovna burst into a fresh fit of sobbing, then, when she had recovered a little, she went on: “Leshkin question all the police on the telephone from the ’otel—they ’ave seen my car on the road to Birdichy, but you are not alone—there are others, also! Then ’e speak to the prison, an’ ’e find that your frien’s have escape through a tunnel in the ground … ’e is furious—livid—’e order troops to ’old the bridge at Vinnitsa, then ’e rush off to follow you by ’plane, shaking ’is great fist in my face, and ’e swear that ’e would put his foot in the face of that damn’ Jew yet!”

“I’m so sorry—so dreadfully sorry. You must have had an awful time,” Simon tried to comfort her. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rex helping Marie Lou back into the ’plane, and, realising the immediate danger now that he knew Leshkin was somewhere on the scene, he looked apprehensively at the sky-line for signs of the big troop-carrier.

“The suspense! It was ’orrible,” Valeria Petrovna cried. “ ’Ow I live through the night I do not know. I wait … wait … wait in the lounge of the ’otel, praying for news. Then, at last, when I am worn out, the little one arrive! But why did you not tell me that you mean to leave me?”

“You didn’t tell me that you left my friends in prison to be shot—did you?”

“ ’Ow you know that?”

“Doesn’t matter much now, does it?”

“Oh, Simon, I ’ave been wrong about that. I know it! But what would you ’ave me do? I could not save you all!”

He frowned. “If only you had told me.”

“My brave one. You would ’ave run into awful danger to try an’ save your frien’s. It is you I love. I try to save you from yourself!”

“Well, let’s not say any more about it.”

“But, Simon, ’ow could you leave me without one word?”

“Seems I’ve got to leave you in any case—unless you’ll come with me?”

“Oh, Simon—Simon—” She wrung her hands. “ ’Ow can I? Russia is my country. I love ’er, even as I love you.”

Rex stood by the Duke watching Richard wheel above them to gain altitude. The little white ’plane banked sharply and then, straightening out, headed for the Rumanian frontier. It had hardly disappeared above the tree-tops to the south when his quick ear caught the note of another engine. “Look out!” he yelled. “Plane over!”