The days passed, but the treasure seekers came no nearer to their goal; the fire had calcined all the ironwork, just as Prince Shulimoff had meant that it should. Fifteen successive winters had completed the work of locking the bolts and nuts into a rusty partnership that it was impossible to sever.
Rex wrenched and hammered, much to the annoyance of the Duke, who feared that the ringing clang of the iron might betray their hiding-place to some passing peasant. With his great strength, Rex levered whole sections apart, so that the rusty mass became more tortuous than before, but it seemed that the task was hopeless. None of the pipes or cylinders gave forth the tiniest brilliant or seed pearl.
Simon endeavoured to persuade Rex that someone had been before him, and that the treasure was no longer there, but he would not have it. He wished to remove the iron sheeting from the walls, piece by piece, and would have done so had not the Duke, on the fifth afternoon, called him into conference.
“My friends,” said De Richleau, as they sat on the floor by Simon’s bedside. “The time has come when we must once more make a plan; after tomorrow our provender will be exhausted. Simon’s leg is far from well, but at least, with care, he will be able to travel without danger. Rex is rested, so, also, am I. Have you any suggestions to offer?”
“Rakov,” said Simon. “If he values his skin he’ll hand over his horses and sleigh. We could take him with us, part of the way—make certain that he doesn’t let us down.”
De Richleau nodded. “I had thought of that, but Marie Lou says the man has a family—we could hardly get his sleigh without their knowledge, and we cannot take them all!”
“Got to take a chance, someway,” said Rex. “It’s that or holding up some other farm—why not Rakov’s?”
“We shall have Rakov as a hostage,” added Simon. “Make him tell his wife that if the police chase us we’ll—er—do him in!”
De Richleau smiled. “An excellent plan, my dear Simon. Let us then take our chance tonight.”
“What’s the hurry?” Rex wanted to know. “We’ve eats enough for another day.”
“True, but you would not have us start empty-handed on our journey.”
“Not on your life. What’s the matter with Rakov’s place; we fed him five days—he can feed us ten. Let’s fill up there.”
Simon tittered into the palm of his hand as his quick eyes took in the gaunt face of the peasant lashed to the furnace in the far corner. “Think we need a slimming cure, eh?”
“Don’t be a mutt, Simon,” Rex laughed. “I didn’t mean feed us as we’ve fed him, but honest, I want another day here.”
“You still persist in your idea that the jewels are hidden in this room?” asked the Duke.
“I certainly do. If I can’t get ’em by tomorrow night, I’ll throw my hand in. What’s the harm in another day? Simon’s going fine and dandy. Once we quit this place who know’s where we’ll land up; let’s take the extra night while the going’s good.”
Simon nodded, quickly. “Um. Lots in what you say. Let’s sit tight another day.”
“As you will,” the Duke agreed. “Since you have solved the problem of supplies, I have nothing against it.” He stood up. “I think perhaps it is time I gave friend Rakov a little exercise. His life has grown more precious in my eyes!”
Rex walked over to the window, and gazed thoughtfully into the garden. He idly fingered the round stumps of the iron bars that projected from the cement casement. They were the bars that Prince Shulimoff had sawn through on the night of his escape, fifteen years before. “I think,” he said, “I’ll take a walk. I’ve got a hunch that a little exercise would do me good.”
“Surely, Rex, to show yourself is an unnecessary risk,” the Duke protested. “If you must have exercise I would rather that you expended your energy on the old iron. There seem to be several quite nice pieces that remain unbroken.” He looked with distaste at the mass of rusted metal along the wall.
“Nope—this child’s for the open-air today.” Rex picked up his automatic, and also an extra one that had been taken from the agent of the Ogpu. “I’ll be careful,” he added reassuringly. “You bet I will. I know the risk all right, but I’ve had plenty practice hiding behind nothing, hunting old man grizzly in the Rockies, way back home.”
“Do you intend to be away for long?”
“I’ll be back soon after sundown. That’ll be what …? Round about a couple of hours.” He grinned at Simon and went out.
In the ruined corridor Marie Lou sat, making the most of the late afternoon sun, which streamed through a great rent in the wall.
“Have you come to tell me that you have found the treasure?” she asked, with a little smile.
He laughed, as he sat down beside her. “Didn’t you know?” he asked, in mock surprise. “Tomorrow’s the day I’m showing you where the goods are; all the tinkering so far has been just with the idea of getting you interested.”
“Of course.” She regarded him gravely with her big blue eyes. “You knew where it was all the time, and to think that I did not guess? Poor Marie Lou!”
“Look here, fooling apart, I want to talk to you.” Rex spoke earnestly now, and for a few minutes they spoke together in low tones.
“O.K.” He got to his feet again. “I’ll be back half an hour after sundown, or an hour at the latest. Be a good kid and keep the Duke amused while I’m gone. He’s that jumpy he can’t keep still.” With a wave of his hand Rex disappeared into the ruins at the far end of the passage.
Marie Lou went back into the foundry. Rex was right about De Richleau. In the hour of action the Duke could be relied on to be utterly calm—his self-possession under fire had filled Simon with amazement. Even Rex, whose nerves had all the perfection of bodily fitness and youth, could not exercise the same calm judgment in a crisis. But these days of forced inactivity had played havoc with his accustomed serenity. He paced softly up and down—up and down—the centre of the room, like some powerful caged cat.
From morning to night he was revolving in his mind the problem as to how they could leave this dangerous forbidden territory with speed and secrecy—his brain was stale with it, and the more he thought the less likely it seemed that fresh ideas would come. He knew that, himself, yet he could think of nothing else, and that made him still more nervy and irritable.
Marie Lou drew him outside into the slanting sunlight. “Come and talk to me,” she begged. “You think too much—it is not good.”
He smiled, with something of his old charm. “What would you have me talk about, Princess?”
“What you will. Tell me about Paris.”
“Ah, Paris…” He leant against the wall. “Paris is a hundred cities. There is the Paris of Henry of Navarre, the Paris of the Grand Monarch, the Paris of the Revolution.”
“No, no, tell me of the Paris of today.”
He smiled again. “There also, Mademoiselle—in the one there are many cities. Between the Paris of the old catholic families and the Paris of the American tourists there is a great gulf fixed. Then there is the city of the artists, and the city of the night-life. There is the Russian colony, and the bicycle-racing world of the bourgeoise. But I, myself, have not been to Paris for many years.”
“But why, Monsieur?” she exclaimed, in astonishment. “Surely Paris is the one city in the world in which to live?”
“Perhaps—I am not sure of that—but like yourself, for many years I have lived in exile.”
“Tell me about this, Monsieur.”
“It was in ’96, Princess; for us who preserve the loyalties of our birth, there is still a king of France. When I was a young man I was an ardent Royalist. In those days there was serious hope of restoring the monarchy—hopes which I fear are now for ever dead. I was deeply implicated in a conspiracy to bring about a coup d’état. I do not grumble at the penalty, it only makes me a little sad at times that I cannot return freely to the places which I love.”
“Freely? you say, Monsieur; you do then at times
go back?”
“Yes, at long intervals—but it is a risk that I am not prepared to take so readily now that I am an older man. Besides, it is impossible for me to stay in the houses of my friends without bringing a certain risk on them too, and in the public places, where my world gathers, I should be recognised immediately.”
“That is sad, Monsieur. Where then do you live?”
“I have a villa in Italy, where I stay sometimes in the winter, and an old castle in Austria, but I do not care to go to Austria now. Since the War, all my friends there have lost their money. Oh, it is pathetic—all those dear, charming people, so hospitable. They never thought of money, and now they have none, they think of nothing else. Most of my life is spent in London now.”
“Tell me of London. Is it true that there is always fog?”
De Richleau laughed. “By no means, Mademoiselle. On a May morning London can be as charming as any place in the world. We will take a walk down Bond Street one day, you and I!”
“Do you know the King of England and the Prince of Wales?”
“I have the honour to be known to His Majesty, also to the Prince.”
“Tell me about them, please.” She looked up at him with large grave eyes. He began to talk to her of Windsor and Balmoral—then Ascot and Goodwood—the yachting week at Cowes, days in the Leicestershire country, hunting with the Pytchley, summer nights on the gentle river that flows by Maidenhead—of the spires and courts of Oxford, and the beauty of the English country lanes in autumn, of all the many things he had come to love in the chosen country of his exile; and in the telling, for an hour, forgot the peril that beset them in the land of snows.
The shadows lengthened, the red ball of the sun dropped behind the trees, the bitter cold of the Siberian night chilled them once more.
Rex returned safely, a little less than an hour after dusk. He would say nothing of his excursion, but seemed strangely elated. They had their frugal meal, Simon’s wound was dressed, and the miserable Rakov exercised; then they turned in for the night—perhaps their last night in shelter and security for many days.
In the morning Rex was up with the first streak of dawn, and systematically began to wrench and break the only pieces of rusted machinery that were not obviously solid; even the Duke, knowing that they were to move that night, and in a more settled frame of mind, lent him a hand. The furnace had been gutted long ago, and the slabs of stone prized up from the floor; every inch of the walls had been tapped for a hollow note, but each sheet of metal gave out the same dead sound. They worked without ceasing, except for a brief snack at midday, until four in the afternoon, and then at last Rex confessed himself defeated.
“It’s no good,” he declared in disgust. “Somebody’s beat us to it, maybe years ago. Perhaps he’s dead and buried with the stones still on him, but they’re not here. If only the old bum had told me what place he really did put ’em before he died on me.… Sorry, Marie Lou,” he added, hastily. “I forgot the prince was your father!”
“No matter, Monsieur,” she smiled. “We can only think of people as we knew them; to me, the prince was nothing but a wicked old man—he was always malicious, often drunk and cruel, and I used to dread his visits here.”
De Richleau glanced through the window. “In an hour,” he said, “it will be dark; we should lose no time, but make immediately for Rakov’s, that we may drive all night and put many miles between us and Romanovsk.
“We’ll put some miles between us and Romanovsk all right,” Rex laughed suddenly. “Listen, children. I’ve been keeping something up my sleeve since last night. You know I took a walk?”
They all looked up at him, eagerly. “Go on,” said Simon.
“Well, I had a hunch, and a darned fine hunch too; what do we want to monkey with a horse and sleigh for, when we’ve got a thousand aeroplanes sitting doing nothing within a mile?”
“You’re not serious, Rex,” protested De Richleau.
“I certainly am. I went out yesterday to take a look-see. One batch of those four-seater fighters is parked a whole half-mile from the barracks, and there’s only one sentry on every block of hangars. If we can nail him we’ll get a ’plane and be away before the guard turns out.”
“What about the—er—electric fence?” asked Simon, dubiously.
“I’ve thought of that—it isn’t higher than my chin. I’ll pitch you over one by one.”
“But yourself?” asked Marie Lou.
“Don’t worry about me. I wasn’t the big boy in the pole-jumping game at Harvard for nix. I’d clear that fence with my hands tied.”
“It’s a ghastly risk.” The Duke shook his head. “To touch that fence is instant death. Besides, will there be petrol in the ’planes—enough to carry us any distance?”
“Now there you’ve got me. It’s on the cards they empty all their tanks at night, case of fire, but there’s a pump to each row of hangars. If we take the end ’plane we should be able to fill up before we start. What d’you say?”
“I think the immediate risk is far greater; there is the fence—a sentry to overcome—the possibility that even if we succeed so far, we may be surprised by the officer on his rounds—and then the uncertainty about petrol. In our original plan we had only the Rakov family to deal with. Of course, if your plan was successful, its advantages are immense.”
“Sleigh won’t take us far,” said Simon, “and I’ll tell you—I think Rakov’s wife will go to the police, in any case, if she sees us tonight.”
“Are you certain that you can handle one of those ’planes, Rex?” asked the Duke.
“Sure, fundamentally they’re not all that different to the ordinary types. The wing rake’s to give them added speed, and the helicopter’s to let ’em get up and down in a confined space—but if you can drive a Buick you can drive a Ford.”
“Mademoiselle.” De Richleau turned to Marie Lou. “Your freedom and perhaps your life, also, depend on this decision. What is your view?”
“I think that Monsieur the American has had the great idea. In Rakov’s sleigh we are almost certain to be overtaken. If we are caught it will be death for us all. Let us face death now, then. At least we have the wonderful prospect that we may get right away.”
“I agree with you entirely,” said the Duke. “I did no more than state the dangers, that the position might be clear. It is decided then—we make our attempt by ’plane.”
There was a murmur of assent as he produced his map and spread it on the floor. “Where do you propose to make for, Rex?”
“Due westward would bring us to Latvia or Esthonia.”
“True.” De Richleau took a rough measure with his pencil. “But that is nearly eighteen hundred miles. Surely we cannot cover so great a distance?”
“Not in one hop,” Rex agreed.
“I hardly think we can hope to land, find petrol, and proceed again. All air-parks are naturally barred to us.”
“That’s a fact. Where’s the nearest frontier?”
“Mongolia.” The Duke put his finger on a yellow patch. “Just under a thousand miles.”
“I reckon I ought to be able to make that. I’ve done London to Cannes in one hop before now. That’s over six hundred miles.”
“But Mongolia,” said the Duke, “is a terrible place. We should land somewhere to the north of the great desert of Gobi, free from our enemies, perhaps, but faced with starvation and thirst in a barren land.”
“India,” suggested Simon. “That’s British.”
“Fifteen hundred miles, my friend; besides we could not fly the Himalayas, and even if we could we should probably be shot by the tribesmen on the other side.”
“What of Finland?” said Marie Lou. “That looks to be nearer—thirteen hundred miles, perhaps?”
“Nope.” Rex shook his head quickly. “Too far north—we’d sure run into blizzards this time of the year. Might get lost and forced down in the Arctic, and that’d be the end of the party.”
“Persia and Georgia
are about equidistant—some sixteen hundred miles,” the Duke went on. “But I do not fancy either. Perhaps it would be best to make for the Ukraine.”
“But that is Soviet,” Marie Lou objected.
“True, my child, nevertheless it is a separate country to Russia proper. If we were forced to land we might receive diplomatic protection there, and the frontier is only thirteen hundred miles. It has the added attraction that if the petrol does not give out, and Rex can make a superhuman effort, we might do the few hundred extra miles into Poland or Rumania, which would mean final safety.”
“I never knew Russia was so big before,” groaned Simon.
“I don’t reckon the Ukrainians’ll exactly ring the joybells,” said Rex. “I’ve always thought they were pretty tied up with the rest of the Bolshevist bunch.”
“They preserve at least a measure of independence,” argued the Duke. “Not much, but possibly enough to serve our purpose.”
“O.K. by me,” Rex agreed. “What’s the course?”
“Dead south-west.” The Duke folded up his map. “It is dark already. Let us be going.”
“What’ll we do with this bird?” Rex jerked his head at Rakov.
“He shall carry our knapsacks. Later we will tie him to a tree, and if he is lucky someone will find him in the morning.”
Their preparations were soon made; Rex was the last to leave the foundry which he had come so many thousand miles to search for the jewels of the Shulimoffs. It was with the greatest reluctance even now that he tore himself away.
In single file they crossed the garden; Simon put up a better performance than they had hoped with the rough crutches that they had made for him, but their progress was slow. It took them over an hour to reach the death-dealing fence.
They decided that it was better to allow the camp to settle down for the night before making their attempt. Simon lay stretched out on his furs in a little hollow they had found—the journey had tired him sorely. Rex spent a considerable time searching for a tall sapling that would bear his weight. At last he found one to his liking and made several practice jumps, sailing high into the air. They divided their last tin of sardines and a packet of stale biscuits. Rakov was tied securely to a tree, and at last they decided that it was time to start.
The Forbidden Territory Page 19