Curtain of Fear

by Dennis Wheatley

  By now Nicholas needed no telling that he had got himself into the very devil of a mess; but, anxious as he was to get out of it, he decided that his unsupported account of the trick he had played was unlikely to prevent his being carried off as a prisoner; so it would be better to spare his friends further embarrassment and save his breath for a more favourable occasion. In an attempt to comfort Igor he said:

  “Thanks for the good wishes. I quite see that you and Judith couldn’t have acted in any other way. I’ll be all right. Don’t worry about me.” Then he followed his blonde captor out into the hall.

  As they reached the front door Rufus took his arm and spoke to him in the firm but friendly manner that he might have used towards a naughty boy. “Now, Mister Bilto, you’re not goin’ to give us any trouble, are you? Comrade Hořovská, she’s often driven this old bus, so for the rest of the way she’ll be doin’ chauffeur while you sit in the back with me. I jus’ wanta warn you, though, that if we pass a copper don’t you start nothin’; ‘cause in situations like that there isn’t no time for argument. I’d havta hit you real hard at the very first sign you meant to holla, and I don’t wanta have to do that.”

  Nicholas had just begun to toy with the idea of sitting quiet until the car was brought to a halt by traffic lights, then giving Miss Hořovská a swift back-hander to keep her from grabbing hold of him, wrenching open the door and making a bolt for it. Now it was clear that no situation was likely to arise in which the conventions of chivalry would be outraged by his hitting a woman. It was equally clear that the chances were extremely slender of any profit being derived from administering a quick slap to Rufus. Contemplating these obvious truths somewhat ruefully, Nicholas got into the limousine, the negro followed him, the girl took the wheel and they drove off.

  Resigned now to being taken to some Russian or Czech official, Nicholas could only hope that he would prove a superior type of man, who would not become violently vindictive when he learned how his people had been tricked. In the meantime he endeavoured to console himself with the thought that the longer he kept up his imposture, the less likelihood there was of their getting Bilto away to the continent that night.

  As they turned back into Kilburn High Road his thoughts reverted to the Sinznicks, and it was with considerable dismay that he ran over in his mind again all that had happened at their house. In retrospect it had a most unpleasant resemblance to the stories he had so often heard in his youth about the sort of thing that went on in the countries controlled by the Nazis.

  At first he was inclined to suppose that the thought had come to him only because it so chanced that the Sinznicks were Jews; for no midnight visitors could be less like the smart, uniformed thugs of the Gestapo than the ash-blonde girl and the ebony-skinned negro. Yet the fact remained that their behaviour had been on the traditional lines of Hitler’s secret police. There had been the same unwarranted intrusion into the privacy of a home, cynical disregard for the feelings of its occupants, and reduction of them to frightened onlookers by means of threats, the resort to violence and, finally, the removal of a friend of the family against his will to an unspecified destination.

  On consideration, Nicholas decided that the methods employed by the cloak-and-dagger people of every nation were probably much the same, and it was the fact of his having been kidnapped in the heart of London which made the whole thing so fantastic. Then another moment’s thought told him that this could never have happened had not the Sinznicks meekly played the part that had obviously been expected of them, and his musings turned from the broad unsavoury picture as a whole to the mental attitude that Igor had displayed.

  Although it had transpired that the new periodical was to be financed by the Communist Party, and Judith had shown anxiety about that, Nicholas knew Igor too well to believe that he had been influenced by either money or self-interest. The crux of the matter lay in his statement that he saw no hope of progress for the things they believed in except through keeping in with the Party. What he had really meant was that he had come to the conclusion that his own interpretation of the Marxist doctrines, which were the very breath of his life, could not be brought to more than a very limited public without the aid of Russian money. Therefore, although he was not a member of the Party, to secure that aid he had become subservient to it, and had accepted its discipline to a degree that had caused him to place its interests before his natural desire to protect a personal friend.

  With something of a shock it recurred to Nicholas that less than an hour before, when he had been seeking some acid test to apply to his own dilemma, he had rejected all but the one fundamental concept—that a man should place the safety and well-being of the people that he knew and loved before the furtherance of any abstract ideology, however convinced he was that its acceptance would ultimately benefit all mankind. It was, in fact, in the belief that he might give Igor, Judith and a few score people like them, as well as Wendy and himself, a better chance of escaping a horrible death in an atomic war, that he had stolen Bilto’s passport and then impersonated him.

  Igor’s conduct showed that on this question of ethics their views were diametrically opposed, and Nicholas had a great respect for Igor; so he began to wonder if after all he had allowed sentiment to warp his judgment. Yet the thought had hardly come to him before he dismissed it, becoming once more fully convinced that he had acted rightly, and that a better world could not be built by debasing individuals to a level at which they were ready to sacrifice their personal loyalties when ordered to do so.

  At the bottom of Kilburn High Road, instead of continuing on down Maida Vale, the car turned south-west in the direction of Paddington. It was a part of London that Nicholas scarcely knew, and although he endeavoured to memorise the way they were taking he soon found it hopeless, owing to the irregular nature of the succession of mean streets through which they passed. Presently they entered a broader thoroughfare that he thought might be Ladbroke Grove, then after two more turns they pulled up outside a two-storied house standing in its own small garden.

  As he got out, with Rufus again holding him by the arm, he saw that it was typical of the larger houses in that decayed neighbourhood. It had been built to accommodate a prosperous middle-class Victorian family, but all signs of prosperity had long since vanished from it. Beyond a low wall of stucco balusters the light from the nearest street lamp showed a strip of garden that neglect had turned into a dust patch. Only a few weeds struggled for existence round a small fountain that leaned awry in an empty basin. The short flight of steps leading up to the front door were cracked and broken. The paint had flaked in great patches from the walls of the house, giving it a leprous appearance. Its windows were shuttered and no lights showed in any of them.

  The girl leaned out from the driver’s seat and said to the negro, “You take him inside while I put away the car. If anybody wants me I shall be here for about ten minutes; but that’s all, as I’ve got a date to keep up West.”

  Her casual announcement sounded so much like that of an ordinary business girl just about to go off duty that Nicholas was quite taken aback. He wondered vaguely what her date would be like. She certainly did not strike him as a woman’s woman, and although she was not his type he could imagine her extreme pallor coupled with the ash-blonde hair proving attractive to quite a lot of rich, rather jaded, middle-aged men. Had he known more about women he would have realised that her well-worn black coat and skirt were hardly up to the sort of supper and dance at one of the big hotels that he was visualising as her destination; but momentarily the idea that she had a more glamorous life, quite apart from that necessitated by this under-cover work, greatly intrigued him.

  As she turned the car to back it in through a pair of double gates which were already open, the negro drew Nicholas across the neglected garden and round the side of the house. His thoughts now focused on what the next few moments might hold for him. It seemed probable that the person to whom he was being taken, or anyhow someone on his staff, wou
ld know Bilto personally; so the balloon would go up at once. If that proved the case, there would be nothing for him to do but endeavour to modify their anger and use either reason or threats, whichever seemed most appropriate, to induce them to release him right away.

  Should he not be unmasked at once, that would give him the option to carry on his imposture a little, but not very much, longer; as he felt that anyway he must throw his hand in before they took him to the plane, otherwise he might be given into the charge of some unreasoning but highly duty-conscious Comrade, like the Hořovská, which could lead to a frightful scene, or even a struggle, at the airport. He had no intention of risking anything of the kind; so had already decided that in the very near future, if nobody did it for him, he must now play for safety by bringing his imposture to an end.

  The back of the house appeared almost as lifeless as the front, but a few chinks of light showed along the tops of the ground-floor windows where the thick curtains that had been drawn across them did not quite meet the upper part of the window frames. Rufus halted in front of a garden door half hidden by a broken-down trellis. Slipping a hand behind the rotting woodwork, he pressed a concealed button and a buzzer sounded faintly somewhere inside. After a moment the door was opened by a tall young man, with pale blue eyes and a receding chin, who said with a heavy foreign accent:

  “So! At last it is you. We have been much worrying. You are late by half an hour, or more.”

  His words put heart into Nicholas, for they were an assurance that he had not got himself into a mess to no purpose. It was over three-quarters of an hour since they had left the Russell, and evidently Bilto had made no move to find out why he had not been picked up; so the odds against his doing so now were considerable. By this time he might even have panicked and decided to return to Harwell.

  The young man led them down a short passage and into a brightly-lit room. Unlike the outside of the house it was spotlessly clean, but its decoration was uninspiring. Nicholas guessed that it had once been the drawing-room of the house, as it had a big bay window facing the garden, and arch-shaped recesses with shelves which might once have held ornaments on each side of the fireplace. Now it was in use as an office, and had the bleakness associated with bureaucracies whose expenditure is limited to essentials. The walls had been distempered off-white, the floor was covered with linoleum, the recesses and mantelpiece held rows of files, and the furniture, which consisted only of a desk, a large bare table and a set of stiff-backed chairs, was of the type which can be obtained very cheaply second-hand.

  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.”