“Ner”—Simon shook his head—“it’s an awful wrench, but I’ve decided to cut it out—I’m going home.”
Richard smiled sympathetically. “I know just how you must feel, old chap, but you’d hate it here after a bit, and I suppose it’s mean to be glad about it, but I should miss you terribly.”
“I know,” Simon smiled sadly. “What about Marie Lou, is she coming with us in the car?”
“Oh no, I can’t risk having her mixed up in this. She’s got a perfectly good English passport now, thank God, and she leaves the country in the proper way.”
“Look out,” whispered Simon, as the door handle rattled.
Like a flash Richard had crossed the room and opened the door leading into Valeria Petrovna’s bedroom. “Ten o’clock,” he whispered, as he disappeared. A minute later he stepped out into the passage through the other door of Madame Karkoff’s room.
Chapter XXV
The Caves of Death
Rex sat on the floor of the cell with his long legs stretched out in front of him, his back propped against the wall.
“What o’clock d’you reckon it’d be?” he asked suddenly.
De Richleau was hunched on the bench, his elbows on his knees. He did not trouble to look at his watch, but answered listlessly: “About six, I think.”
“Cocktail time again,” Rex yawned, “and still no cocktails. Wouldn’t it be just marvellous now to be in Paris hearing the ice tinkle in the Ritz bar.”
“I would prefer London,” said the Duke, seriously, “and a decanter of the special sherry at the Mausoleum Club.”
“Aw, hell, what’s the use—when d’you think they’ll get busy with their rotten trial?”
“I have told you before, my friend, I do not think there will be any trial. One fine morning we shall be led out into the yard and put up against a brick wall—that is, unless Simon can arrange something. You may be sure he’s doing everything he can.”
“Well, if he doesn’t make it snappy I guess he’ll miss the bus. We’ve been in this joint ten days now, and it’s six since they handed him his cloakroom check.”
They lapsed into silence again. The strain had told on them heavily. The sound of footsteps in the corridor at any but the usual hours when they received their meagre ration might herald the approach of the end. Each night as they dropped into an uneasy sleep they marvelled that they had survived another day, and wondered miserably if, on the morrow, they would hear the sinister order “Get your things together”, which in a Bolshevik prison is the inevitable prelude to a firing-party.
During their first days of imprisonment they had investigated the possibilities of escape, but the prison at Kiev was run on very different lines to the one at Tobolsk. Here, the prisoners were visited at regular hours during the day. They never saw their fellow captives except during the short period when they were exercised each morning, and then a squad of Red Guards were always lounging near with loaded rifles.
Their cell was searched night and morning; instead of an ordinary door it had a strong iron grating, and as a warder was always stationed in the corridor he could see what they were doing as he walked up and down. They had soon decided that escape without outside help was impossible.
The presence of Yakovkin was the only thing that served to cheer their desperate situation. The man had been born on the Plakoff estates; as a youth he had been one of the old Prince’s huntsmen. Many a time had he ridden behind the Duke, and once by his quickness and courage he had saved De Richleau from the tusks of an infuriated boar. Surreptitiously he showed them every kindness that he could, and managed to smuggle extra food to their cell.
The tramp of feet sounded on the stone flags of the passage. A sharp command, and a file of soldiers halted outside, the warder unlocked the barred gate of their cell, and the officer beckoned them to come out.
They obeyed quietly; there was nothing else to do. They were marched away, each with a Red Guard on either side, down the corridor, up a broad flight of stone stairs into an office on the upper floor. A few clerks were busy with files and papers. For some minutes they remained standing there, then they were taken into an inner room.
De Richleau smiled slightly as he recognised Leshkin seated behind a heavy table. The Kommissar looked more like a great red gorilla than ever. His low forehead, small eyes, and great protruding jowl sparsely covered with hair, all lent to the resemblance.
“You may go,” he ordered the guards sharply. He smiled slowly at the Duke.
“So we meet again, and for the last time, Mr. Rich water.”
“That causes me no concern, since I set no value on your acquaintance,” the Duke murmured.
“Last time we met you alluded to an acquaintance that you did not possess—I refer to Stalin!”
“It pleased me to amuse myself by frightening you a little.”
“It is you who will be frightened tomorrow morning.” The big man nodded heavily.
“I trust not,” the Duke replied evenly.
“That we shall see—at least, the firing squad will do so—I shall be comfortably in bed. It was for that reason partly that I thought to have a last look at you tonight.”
“Well, if you’ve done looking, I guess we’ll get back to our cell,” said Rex.
“Not yet.” Leshkin sat back and lighted a thick black cigar. “To you, American, I wish to talk. You came to Russia for a purpose; with the aid of this man here and the little Jew you reached your destination. There is a possibility that I might save your life.”
“Now that’s real kind,” Rex grinned.
“You have not the Shulimoff jewels upon you,” Leshkin went on. “You have been searched; but you know the secret place of hiding. No man would take such risks as you have done if he did not. Perhaps you foresaw that you must be captured and left them in that place; perhaps you hid them a fresh time when you came to earth in the aeroplane. Where are these jewels?”
“What a hope you’ve got! D’you think I’d tell you if I knew?”
“Why not, young man? In prison you must remain—but that is better than the cold earth tomorrow.”
Rex shook his head. “I guess you’ve got me all wrong. I wouldn’t let on to you, not if you offered me the Woolworth Building.”
“Accept this proposal, Rex,” said the Duke, suddenly.
“Not on your life I don’t. If we’ve having a party tomorrow we’ll have it together and get done with it. This bird would do me in anyhow in a fortnight’s time.”
“You’re young, Rex,” urged the Duke; “with myself it is different. Accept this offer.”
Rex smiled. “No, there’s nothin’ doin’.”
“So you are obstinate, American?” Leshkin puffed out a cloud of smoke. “Well, you have had your chance—that is all, I think.”
“I demand a trial,” said De Richleau sharply.
“Frightened a little after all?” Leshkin’s small eyes came back to the Duke’s face.
“You boast that Russia is a civilised country—to shoot us without a trial is murder. Let us be tried, and executed if we are found guilty.”
“There will be no trial, because you have no official existence, either of you. That ceased when you went outside the laws laid down for tourists in the Soviet.”
“Then I wish to be prepared for death by a priest of my own religion,” replied De Richleau. “I ask for a postponement of execution till after Sunday in order that I may have time.”
“Time, eh?” Leshkin scowled. “Time for the little Jew to help you to escape—that is what you wish, is it not? Let me tell you, then: Do you think that I, Leshkin, would let him do what he has done to me, and do nothing? … Stalin did not know the truth when he listened to Madame Karkoff; he did not know that men … eight men of the Ogpu, had been killed. I had to go to Moskawa to arrange; had it not been for that you would have been dead a week ago. The decision regarding Aron is now reversed … he will be arrested tonight, and with you tomorrow when the time comes, and I …�
�� he chuckled suddenly: “I shall be in bed in the hotel!”
The Kommissar spoke with such quiet enjoyment that neither Rex nor the Duke doubted the truth of his statement. It was a terrible blow to them to know that their last hope of help was gone, and Simon, whom at least they had believed to be out of danger, was to be re-arrested. Nevertheless De Richleau was a great believer in the old proverb that “while there is life there is hope”, so he persisted.
“I am not ready to die—give me time.”
“So you still think God will help you when men will not?” sneered Leshkin. “I am surprised that a man like you should believe these effete superstitions. What is death, after all, but a cessation of activity?” He leaned back and touched the bell.
“Remove the prisoners;” the Kommissar ordered when the guard appeared, and to the officer he added in a lower tone: “The orders for tomorrow morning stand.”
They were marched down the broad staircase again, and this time across a yard into another block of buildings. Then they were locked into a bigger cell than the one they had previously occupied.
“This’ll be the death house, I reckon,” said Rex, looking round at the bare stone walls. “Sort of condemned cell.”
“Probably,” agreed the Duke. “I fear that there is little hope for us now. I wish, though, that you had accepted his offer about the jewels.”
“Oh, nuts,” exclaimed Rex, irritably. “Even if I’d been willing to quit I don’t know where the damned things are.”
“If you’d insisted on being taken to Romanovsk, that would have meant another ten days of life at least—some opportunity of escape might have presented itself.”
“Don’t you believe it. They know us too well by now to take any chances. They would have hooked a dynamite bomb on to my pants. D’you think he was giving us the straight talk about Simon?”
De Richleau nodded. “I see no reason to doubt it. I was delighted when he was released, but I was surprised. After that night at Romanovsk I felt that, in spite of anything that Madame Karkoff might attempt, it would be certain death for all of us if we were caught. Personally I am glad that we are spared the mockery of a trial.”
“We certainly bumped off those bums at Romanovsk all right,” Rex agreed, “but I’m damned sorry for little Simon.”
“Do not distress yourself too much about him. He is a philosopher, and for the first time he is really in love—the last week of his life has been spent with the woman of his desire. He will be arrested tonight and shot tomorrow at dawn … he will step from the pinnacle of happiness into darkness and will not suffer disillusion. If you must think tonight, think of all the pleasant things that have happened to you, and tomorrow morning try to recreate in your mind the pleasantest episode of all.”
At eight o’clock the evening inspection was carried out, and Yakovkin came on duty. They were pleased to see him, because they had feared that he would remain at the other cells. He brought them their frugal evening meal, a single bowl of greasy soup and a hunk of bread apiece. In addition he brought them on his own account a couple of handfuls of dried plums.
They ate the sorry mess in silence, and then sat talking for a long time in the darkness. Both looked up with surprise when the gleam of Yakovkin’s lantern showed at the door of the cell.
“Quick,” whispered the gaoler, “I have much to say.”
Rex and the Duke rose immediately to their feet, and Yakovkin spoke in a hoarse whisper: “There are friends outside who arrange for your escape. Shubin tells me of this today … I would not believe him, thinking it a trap, but I have now spoken with them also—a woman and a man. Take this …” he thrust a marlinspike into De Richleau’s hand. “Shubin arranged for your transfer to this cell. Raise up the flagstones in the left corner there; beneath them is a tunnel leading to the sacred caves. Quickly to work, and I will be back.” He left them as silently as he had come.
“Give me that toothpick,” said Rex, with sudden animation.
“Thank God,” breathed the Duke, “a woman and a man … Valeria Petrovna and Simon.”
Rex was already on his knees levering up the heavy slabs of stone. It was true—there was a tunnel hollowed out underneath. Ten minutes’ frantic work and he had the opening clear.
Yakovkin rejoined them; he gave the Duke a big ball of twine and an electric torch. “Take these,” he whispered, huskily; “the caves run for many versts, twisting and turning, one upon another. If you are lost there it will be death … you would starve before you could get out.”
“Which way are we to go?” asked the Duke.
“To the left and to the left and to the left,” Yakovkin answered. “That will bring you to a great hall with many passages. Take that which is second to the right of the altar; after, once to the left again. You will come out in the cellars of the old fort. Outside your friends wait you with a car.”
“To the left three times … the second passage on the right of the altar … after that once to the left again,” De Richleau repeated.
“Tie the twine to a stone where the tunnel ends,” Yakovkin went on. “Unroll it as you go—thus, if you lose your way, you can work back to the beginning and start again.”
“Good,” said the Duke. “Yakovkin, how can I ever thank you for this help?”
“I would have done as much before, Barin,” said the man, simply, giving the Duke his old title, “but without Shubin I could do nothing.”
“Will you not get into serious trouble?”
Yakovkin shrugged. “A month or two in prison, perhaps, Barin—that is not much for one such as I … for the sake of our youth I would do that, but I must tell you also that I have been well paid.”
“I’m glad of that—if we get away I’ll send you through the consulate a token of my gratitude from London.”
“Do not delay, Barin, I beg—you have far to go before the dawn. Look, your comrade is already waiting.” Rex was half-buried in the tunnel.
De Richleau took Yakovkin’s horny hand. “I shall not forget,” he said.
The kazak withdrew his hand quickly and kissed the Duke in the old fashion on the left shoulder. “The heart of Russia is ever the heart of Russia,” he murmured, cryptically, and De Richleau followed Rex feet foremost into the hole.
The tunnel was no more than six feet deep, and as it ended Rex dropped with a thud from the ceiling to the floor of the cave.
“Look out,” he called, and was just in time to save the Duke from an eight foot fall.
De Richleau had the torch and Rex the ball of twine.
“Where’ll we make this fast?” the latter asked.
“You have the marlinspike,” said the Duke, “dig it firmly into the earth and tie the end to that.”
“No, that’ll be handy for a weapon,” Rex objected. “Here, this’ll serve—show us a light.” An ancient stone coffin lid lay at their feet. Rex prised it up, got the twine underneath, and tied it firmly. “O.K.” he announced.
The shaft of light from the Duke’s torch pierced the thick, heavy darkness. The cave had the hot, dry atmosphere of an airless room when the central heating has been left on. They proceeded slowly along the passage, shining the torch to either side, fearful that they might miss the turning in the thick, hot gloom.
They found it easily, not more than twenty paces from the start. The passage opened into a wider, loftier cave.
“Holy Mike! What’s here?” Rex exclaimed, as the beam of light played on the wall. It was a gruesome sight—a long row of silent figures stretched away into the blackness on both sides. Each wore the same grey gown corded at the waist… each face was bearded … and in each beard the gums drew back into a horrid grin, showing rows of yellow evil teeth.
“It is only the monks,” said the Duke, quietly, as he walked on. “There are thousands of them buried here… I was brought to see them as a boy.”
“I guess you might have given me the wire,” Rex protested.
“I’m sorry; they are a terrifying sight, I su
ppose. Some property in the soil together with the heat, mummifies the bodies.”
“Well, I’ll say I’m glad I didn’t make this trip alone—they’d make any feller’s flesh creep. Why, they’ve got hair and skin and all.”
“Have you never been to that church in Bordeaux—St. Michael, I think. In the crypt they have some bodies preserved in a similar manner, but only a small number.”
“No—only time I was in Bordeaux I was figuring how quick I could get to Biarritz to join a platinum blonde I knew. … Gosh, it’s hot down here.” Rex drew his hand across his face, which was wet with perspiration.
“Yes, stifling. Never mind, it is the road to freedom. Here is our second turning.” De Richleau steadily advanced.
They entered another long gallery of the catacombs—more rows of grinning heads were ranged along the walls, casting weird shadows in the flickering light.
“How long have these guys been dead?” Rex asked.
“Two or three hundred years some of them, perhaps more.”
“Would you believe it? Well, it’s the weirdest sight I’ve ever seen. You’d think they’d all crumple up and fall down.”
“No, they’re propped against the wall, and they have little weight.” De Richleau stopped for a moment and tapped one on the chest. The parchment-like skin stretched tight across the bones gave out a hollow sound. “They are little more than skeletons, only dust inside. The wire, too, that is stretched along the line helps to keep them in position; see, there is one that has toppled over.” He pointed to a grotesque bowing figure some distance away that hung suspended from the wire. The head had rolled off, and when De Richleau shone his torch on it, it showed a strange grinning mask, gaping through eternity in the darkness at the ceiling of the cave.
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