A Dangerous Language

by Sulari Gentill

  Rowland and Clyde rarely left Kisch’s side, wary of any attempt to lure one or both of them away. Alcott and his men seemed always close at hand, watching and waiting for any relaxation of the guard around Egon Kisch. On Armistice Day, however, Rowland slipped back to the First Class decks to see his mother, who was affected this year, as she was every year, by a melancholia she did not understand. It was as close as she came to allowing herself to admit she’d lost a son in the Great War. She held onto Rowland, and convinced herself again that he was the brother he so resembled.

  Rowland, for his part, did not deny her that comfort and he kept his own grief to himself. The thought of Wilfred standing alone at the dedication of the memorial in Melbourne churned in his gut. He’d promised he’d be there, he’d wanted to be there. He didn’t know how he was going to explain this choice to Wilfred.

  On a whim, because his mother was reluctant to let him go, and perhaps because the idea was so abhorrent to his Aunt Mildred, Rowland escorted Elisabeth to the Tourist saloon to meet Egon Kisch. The thrill of being introduced to a dangerous spy seemed to shake the sadness which pressed upon her.

  “Where is your poppy, Herr Kisch?” she asked noting that the journalist did not wear one.

  “My dear lady, I am an opponent of war. I cannot commemorate it.”

  “We commemorate the fallen, not the war, Herr Kisch.”

  “No, it is a fair point,” Kisch said before Rowland could step in. “I commemorate the fallen by opposing war and Fascism, Mrs. Sinclair.”

  “I believe you’re here to agitate against Germany, Herr Kisch.”

  “Not at all, madam. I am here to agitate for Germany, against the Nazis into whose hands she has fallen. Against the Fascists who are a threat to the peace of the world.”

  “But how do you suppose we oppose the Nazis without a war, Herr Kisch?” Elisabeth’s grey eyes were clear and sharp. “They are, after all, Germany’s elected government. We can hardly send them to bed without supper!”

  Egon sighed. “I am not sure, dear lady. But I know this: one cannot prevent war by closing one’s eyes to the persecution of one’s fellows. That is not the way to peace.”

  Rowland was a little surprised by the clarity and confidence with which his mother debated the journalist. Having never heard her speak of politics before, Rowland found himself somewhat fascinated. His father would never have tolerated Elisabeth having opinions on the subject. Perhaps she’d just become accustomed to keeping them to herself, and her sons, having never heard them, had made the mistake of assuming they didn’t exist. In her calm logic, her sceptical conservative argument, he heard Wilfred, though he doubted his brother would ever have given Egon Kisch a hearing. Perhaps Elisabeth Sinclair’s willingness to do so was due to the fact that she’d been living with Communists for much of the year.

  Kisch made his case passionately but gently and with respect. For that he had Rowland’s gratitude.

  “Do not mistake me, Herr Kisch. I do not like war any more than you. I sent two sons to the Great War.” She reached for Rowland’s hand. “Aubrey and his brother Wilfred both answered the Empire’s call and I thank God they both returned. But we are all British. We do what must be done.”

  Egon glanced at Rowland but said nothing, sensing the fragility behind Elisabeth’s conviction. Instead of arguing further, they took tea and talked of shipboard activities and gossip. Elisabeth told Egon of the as yet unsolved case of the Pyjama Girl and shared with him her theory of the crime. She spoke also of her great friend, a poet, who, like Egon Kisch and the governor-general, was a Jew.

  “Will you be leaving the ship in Melbourne tomorrow, Herr Kisch?” Elisabeth asked as she prepared to return to First Class.

  “I fear not, Mrs. Sinclair.”

  “It does seem a shame to come all this way, and never set foot on Australian soil.”

  Egon sighed. “I am assured, madam, that that will not be the case. By the time the Strathaird reaches Sydney, Kisch will be free!”

  “Well, if that is the case, Herr Kisch, you must join us for dinner. That would be splendid, wouldn’t it, Aubrey?”

  A Mrs. Joan Rosanove came aboard from a launch as the Strathaird neared Port Melbourne. She demanded to see her client, whom, she informed the captain, the crew and the man in question, was Egon Kisch. When given access to the journalist, she explained that she was his counsel in the case against Mr. Carter, the captain of the Strathaird.

  Rowland watched the interview unobtrusively, recording it in his way. The barrister was striking, exuding a natural confidence in the law and her ability to navigate it. In strong lines, he sketched, capturing the strength and poise of her presence as she explained the legal process to Kisch. Her focus remained on her client and she ignored Rowland entirely. She explained that once the Strathaird was moored, a Justice of the Peace would come on board with a Mrs. Jane Aarons who would declare before him that she had met the journalist years before to establish Egon Kisch’s identity for legal purposes. Without telling him directly what to do, or asking whether he actually knew Mrs. Aarons, the barrister made it clear that it was imperative Egon recognise her in return. Mrs. Rosanove would then appear in the Supreme Court of Victoria to demand a decree nisi and the discontinuance of Kisch’s detention on board.

  When the liner moored, Rowland realised why the barrister had taken the precaution of boarding early via launch. The Strathaird was circled by small boats manned by anti-Fascists with banners and flags bearing slogans demanding the release of the political prisoners of the Third Reich. Young activists raised their oars chanting “We want Kisch”. Although no person or delegation was permitted on board to see Egon Kisch, visitors eager to shake his hand boarded by claiming they wished to see one of the other passengers named in the manifest. The liner was inundated. Among the visitors were Members of Parliament, Senator Arthur Rae and Dr. Maloney M.H.R.; the Kisch Defence Committee; and the President of the Australian Railways Union. The Strathaird was plastered with stickers declaring “Kisch Must Land!” With the journalist surrounded now by so many friends and admirers, Rowland and Clyde could relax. The atmosphere on board was revolutionary and, as meetings were organised, they were pushed to the side.

  They farewelled Stanley Quinlan who disembarked to return to the Mallee with tales of his brush with a spy. He charged Rowland and Clyde with “looking out for his little mate” as he set off down the gangplank.

  “Rowly!” Edna and Milton pushed through the crush of excited people towards them. Rowland grabbed the sculptress’ hand and they fought their way out of the heart of the crowd, finding a quiet place behind the stairs to the upper deck.

  “Well, comrades, you did it!” Milton said, shaking their hands and clapping their shoulders jubilantly.

  “Not quite,” Rowland said. “We missed the congress and Egon still can’t disembark.”

  “The papers are full of the ‘Raging Reporter’,” Milton replied. “And Griffin got back in.”

  “Who’s Griffin?”

  “The other delegate, from New Zealand. He was banned too. But he came in anyway.”

  “How?”

  “He caught another boat and got into the country wearing horn-rimmed glasses. Apparently they make you unrecognisable. He’s currently the most wanted man in Australia!”

  Rowland’s mind flickered to the Pyjama Girl whose killer remained at large. And yet it seemed it was a man preaching peace for whom the police were hunting most earnestly.

  “Banning Kisch and Griffin has turned them into celebrities,” Milton continued. “This is bigger than the congress would ever have been!”

  Edna embraced them both. “We can go home now. This is all over finally.”

  “If Mrs. Rosanove is successful in getting Egon released,” Clyde cautioned.

  “I say, isn’t this a happy reunion.” It was Alcott’s voice.

  Rowland looked up. Alcott leant over the bannister, smiling, but his eyes glinted furiously.

  Edna gasped as she
recognised him.

  “Don’t be too smug, Sinclair. Your man hasn’t got off this barge yet. I promise you he won’t.”

  “We’ll let the courts decide, shall we,” Rowland said, placing his arm protectively around Edna. He could feel her shaking.

  “You could always have your tart start shooting people again.”

  Rowland flared, reaching up and grabbing Alcott’s collar.

  Clyde seized Rowland’s shoulder before he could pull Alcott over the bannister. “Don’t, Rowly. He’s trying to get you thrown off the ship. Let it go, mate. We’re not finished.”

  A pause, and then Rowland released Alcott and stepped back. Alcott straightened, adjusting his tie which had been reefed awry.

  A cheer as the crowd responded to Kisch.

  “It’s over, Alcott,” Milton said coldly. “Egon Kisch is here, Australians want to hear him speak. Whatever the hell you and your band of Fascists were trying to do, you’ve failed.”

  “Fortunately, Isaacs, the Commonwealth of Australia is not yet in the hands of Stalin, and your Bolshevik mongrel friends are not welcome. If Mr. Menzies fails to keep him out, I assure you there are good men who will step into the breach.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Clyde murmured. “Rowly, we need to speak to the police.”

  “Yes, perhaps you should do that.” Alcott’s lip curled. “I’m sure they’d be happy to learn what exactly you’re doing on the Strathaird. Perchance they’ll deport you as well.”

  “Perchance I’ll just let Rowly deck you,” Clyde snarled.

  “Sinclair, Jones… I wondered where you fellas had got to!” Arthur Howells elbowed his way through the crowd towards them. He shook their hands warmly. “Egon said you’ve been watching his back.”

  Rowland glanced back at the stairs. Alcott had disappeared in the moment they’d looked away. He told Howells that the men who had attacked him were on board.

  “Someone stabbed you? You didn’t say…”

  “To be honest, Bluey, I didn’t think it was related to Egon or the congress,” Rowland said a little sheepishly.

  Howells’ brow rose, but he didn’t pursue the matter. “The problem is that the powers that be are well aware that Egon’s friends wish to come on board and are consequently very reluctant to sell tickets for the journey to Sydney at this stage. We’re trying but I don’t know that we’ll be able to get anyone else on board if the courts don’t release Egon.”

  “What are you going to do if they don’t?”

  “Well the next stop is Sydney. We’ll appeal to the Supreme Court of New South Wales and, given that New South Wales customarily makes a point of disagreeing with Victoria, we stand a good chance.”

  “That’s it?” Rowland asked sceptically.

  “Don’t fret, comrade. There’s a groundswell of support for Egon, and with it contributions to the cause. We’re briefing King’s Counsel. We’ll get this bloody ban overturned.”

  Rowland glanced at Clyde. “So we’re staying.”

  Clyde nodded. “Looks that way.”

  “No!” Edna protested. “Henry Alcott nearly killed you once, Rowly. He’s dangerous. Can’t someone else—”

  “We’ll be all right, Ed,” Rowland said calmly. “Henry and his chums only take on a man on his own. We’ll make sure that none of us, including Egon, are ever alone.”

  “Surely you can organise someone to help.” Edna appealed directly to Howells.

  Howells shook his head. “There are a hundred blokes who’d happily stand between Egon and the Fascists but we can’t get them on board.”

  Rowland took the sculptress’ hand, aware that she had been deeply shaken by seeing Alcott again. “We can’t leave Egon on his own, Ed.”

  Edna bit her lip. “No… of course not.”

  “Hopefully we’ll all disembark tomorrow, but if not, it’ll only be a couple of days until we make port in Sydney.”

  Milton too was distressed. The danger to his friends was exacerbated by the fact that he could do nothing to help. Without a ticket he would have to leave Rowland and Clyde to deal with Alcott and his cronies as best they could.

  That evening, the case being heard at the Supreme Court of Victoria was adjourned to recommence the next day. On board the Strathaird the party continued with Egon Kisch as the guest of honour. The visitors to the ship from shore remained. Impromptu speeches were the order of the day or more accurately the night.

  They all watched the dawn together from the open deck. Howells found them again and assured Rowland that Egon Kisch would be surrounded by friends and protectors until the ship left port. “Go get some sleep, comrade. Once we’re gone it’ll be up to you and Clyde.”

  32

  BANNED NOVELIST

  To Take Legal Action

  EGON KISCH’S ALLEGATIONS

  MELBOURNE, Monday

  Allegations that passengers on the Strathaird had made it unpleasant for him when it became known that he would not be permitted to land in Australia were made by the celebrated Czechoslovakian novelist and lecturer, Herr Egon Kisch, when he reached Melbourne on the liner today.

  Shortly after the vessel had berthed, Herr Kisch consulted a barrister and there is a possibility of his commencing legal proceedings as a result of imputations which, he alleges, have been made against him personally by the Commonwealth authorities who were responsible for having the ban placed upon him.

  National Advocate, 13 November 1934

  Rowland woke with Edna curled beside him. Having escaped the commotion of the open decks to the cabin, the four of them had talked into the early hours, exchanging accounts of the days since they parted, until, exhausted, they’d all fallen asleep.

  Unsure of the time, Rowland lingered where he was, watching the sculptress sleep. In time her dark lashes fluttered open. At first, she simply stared at him, trying to remember how she’d come to be lying beside him. Then slowly she smiled. “We must have dropped off.”

  Rowland checked his watch. It was nine in the morning. Clyde stopped snoring and stirred in the bunk above them. Edna looked for the shoes she’d kicked off the night before.

  Rowland rubbed his chin, wondering if they would beat the crowds to the shaving basins this morning. “I’m looking forward to having a private bathroom again,” he murmured. “If I could bribe that flaming judge to overturn this ban I would.”

  “It’s all been worthwhile whatever he decides,” Milton said cheerfully. “The papers have really picked up on Kisch and Griffin since the ban. Fisher’s done an excellent job with publicity.” The poet retied the cravat of which he had divested himself at some point the previous evening. “Not all the coverage has been in favour of them, but our men won’t come and go unnoticed. Now tidy yourselves up and we’ll see if your mother is back from shore leave.”

  Rowland smiled ruefully. “She would have been delighted to see you. But I’m afraid Wilfred took her and Aunt Mildred off the ship not long after we made port—I expect he wasn’t thrilled with the idea of his mother sharing a ship with Egon Kisch.”

  “Wilfred? Did you speak to him?” Edna asked gently.

  “No, I didn’t know he was coming. One of the stewards told me after the fact.”

  “Did he know you were on the Strathaird too?”

  “Yes, he left me a rather blunt note.”

  “Oh Rowly…”

  He placed his arm about her shoulders. “It’s all right, Ed. Really. I’ll deal with Wil once we sort out the rest of this mess… He might have calmed down a little by then.”

  Consciously, in an attempt to take Rowland’s thoughts from this new rift with his brother, they returned to the conversation during which it seemed they had fallen asleep: the as yet unsolved murder of James Kelly.

  “The culprit’s got to have something to do with Parliament House,” Milton declared as he washed his face in the small hand basin. “Kelly died and I was run down there.”

  Rowland buttoned his waistcoat. “Actually I’ve been thinking about th
e razor in the Lamson tube—the one that ended up in the prime minister’s office.”

  “What about it?”

  “What if it wasn’t intended to threaten Lyons? Suppose the killer simply placed it in the tube to get rid of it?”

  “Surely there are better places to dispose of a weapon,” Edna said, running Rowland’s comb through her hair. “He had to know it would be found.”

  “That’s true, but putting it in the Lamson tube did buy him time.”

  “What are you saying, Rowly?”

  “Well, the killer would only need to get rid of the weapon immediately if there was a chance he’d be caught with it—if he was there when the police arrived.”

  “Hiding?” Clyde tried to pinch the crease back into his trousers.

  “Maybe not.” Rowland turned to Milton. “When you found the body, Milt—”

  “There was the guard!” Milton exclaimed, following Rowland’s line of thought. “The Commonwealth Police security guard, or whatever he was!”

  Clyde stopped. His brow furrowed. “Hold on, wasn’t that guard’s name Smith?” He looked at Rowland. “I know every crook calls himself Smith but—”

  Realisation then, finally and suddenly. “Yes,” Rowland slammed his fist on one of the upper bunks, frustrated that he’d not seen it sooner. “It was him.” Rowland had recognised only one of the three men they’d encountered in Fremantle as one of his attackers. Another had seemed familiar… but it was not from the attack, though he’d not realised that till now. That man had been the peace officer at Parliament House. Smith. “Confound it! How did we not recognise him?”

  “We did,” Clyde said. “We just didn’t place the bastard.”

  “Are you saying one of the policemen actually killed Mr. Kelly?” Edna asked.

  “Perhaps. At the very least, he helped the man who did.” Rowland turned back to Milton. “You said he arrested you…”

  “He handcuffed me and then went into the building to telephone for help.”

  “He might have placed the weapon into a Lamson tube then, knowing full well parliament wasn’t sitting. He probably thought he had time to retrieve it from the prime minister’s office before Lyons returned.”