Curtain of Fear

by Dennis Wheatley

  At the police headquarters they were taken up in the lift to the top floor, and shown into Frček’s long wide-windowed room. Without getting up from his desk, he waved them to chairs and, drawing his black caterpillar eyebrows down into a frown, said to Nicholas:

  “An hour ago a cable came in from London. When it had been deciphered and handed to me, I was much disturbed by its contents. Comrade Vaněk reports that in an endeavour to prevent him sending you here you pretended to be your cousin. Explain, please?”

  “That’s right.” Nicholas rose to the occasion with an apparent confidence that he was far from feeling. “I told you of the importance I attached to putting off my departure for twenty-four hours, and how he refused to listen to me. When he threatened to use force I felt fully entitled to get out of being sent, if I could, by a trick; so I tried to make him believe that I wasn’t the man he thought I was.”

  Frček nodded his broad head. “I see. But surely that was a stupid thing to do when Comrade Hořovská was at hand to prove conclusively that you were.”

  “I suppose it was; but she wasn’t in the room at the time and it was the only line worth trying that I could think of on the spur of the moment.”

  “Comrade Vaněk further reports that you then attacked him, and did your utmost to escape by means of violence.”

  “Well, what about it? Wouldn’t you have done the same if you decided that to remain in England for a day longer was in the best interests of the Party?”

  For a moment Frček appeared to ponder this, then he said heavily, “Once you had stated your case, Comrade Vaněk was the best judge of that. His report fully justifies his having used force, and sent you here as ‘a parcel’.”

  “There I disagree,” Nicholas replied firmly. “But no doubt he considered that to do so was his duty, and since you seem to feel that way too, I withdraw the complaint I made against him. The whole thing was most unfortunate, but it is all over now and here I am in Prague; so it doesn’t seem to me that there is much point in our arguing the matter further.”

  “I am not so sure.” The black eyes bored into Nicholas’. “There is another passage in Comrade Vaněk’s cable which I regard as most disquieting. He says that when, in face of Comrade Hořovská’s positive identification, you admitted that you were Professor Bilto Novák, you then declared that you had changed your mind about coming to Prague, and that if he sent you against your will you would not co-operate with us.”

  “That is not true. What I said was that as I had left all my notes behind at the Hotel Russell I should not be much use here without them.”

  “To say that was to split straws. The loss of your notes could have proved only a temporary set-back. Your principal value lies in your abilities as a nuclear-scientist of the first rank and the information concerning capitalist-imperialist experiments in that field that you carry in your head.”

  Nicholas shrugged. “That may be true; but it was all part of the same business. I was putting up any line that occurred to me, that might have induced Comrade Vaněk to let me remain for another day in London.”

  “You definitely maintain that the postponement for which you wished was only temporary, and that your intention to place your knowledge at the disposal of the Socialist Soviet Republics has never wavered?”

  “I do.”

  “Then you are ready and willing to set my mind at rest by giving me a sample of that knowledge?”

  “Certainly.” Nicholas covered his uneasiness with a smile, while praying that he would be able to fake up enough scientific jargon temporarily to fool this gimlet-eyed, but probably not very educated, police chief. A question followed instantly:

  “Tell me the gross weight of the Dr. Penney bomb that was exploded by the British off Montebello Island?”

  To attempt evasion would have been fatal; in fact the only hope of averting suspicion lay in a quick, direct answer. Nicholas had nothing to go on other than the statement made in the press at the time, that the bomb was a comparatively small one; so he gambled on that and replied: “A little over nine hundredweight.”

  Frček’s round pasty face showed no emotion, but suddenly he shot out, “It was heavier—very much heavier. We had a report from a man who had excellent opportunities for observation.”

  There was no other course open to Nicholas now but a determined bluff. With a contemptuous gesture he exclaimed, “How could anyone judge weight merely by observation! The construction of fission bombs is entirely different to that of the H.E. variety. The old types were packed solid with explosives, whereas the interior of the new ones is mainly hollow to allow for the plunger mechanism.”

  “Our source would make allowances for that.”

  “Perhaps. But would he have done for the new alloy the British are using in the manufacture of these bombs to improve their weight-distance ratio? That has been kept a very close secret.”

  “His grading is very high. I cannot believe that he would be so far out in the estimate he gave us.”

  Again Nicholas shrugged. “If you prefer to accept the guess of a secret agent to the statement of a scientist who assisted in designing the bomb, you must do so. But what object could I possibly have in attempting to deceive you?”

  “I don’t know.” Frček continued to stare at him. “If you are, in time we shall find out. We always do. But at the moment I am not satisfied.” For over half a minute he said nothing, then he went on:

  “I may be wrong—quite wrong; but I cannot afford to take any chances. I will speak frankly to you. The situation here is not altogether as we should like to see it. As a Czech yourself, you will know what a stubborn race we Czechs are. It has proved very difficult to convince a great part of our better-educated citizens that they should give up thinking for themselves and allow the Government to think for them. In quite a different way the rural populations of Moravia, Slovakia and Ruthenia have proved equally non co-operative. It can, of course, be only a matter of time before all sections of the population recognise the benefits of living under a People’s Government, but that time has not yet come. The country is riddled with anti-social movements, and one of my major tasks is to prevent them from receiving any encouragement.”

  Again he paused for a moment, before continuing: “It would be contrary to established policy to inform the capitalist-imperialists governments of your arrival here by a public announcement, so from the beginning we had to deny ourselves any prospect of a broadcast by you to the Czechoslovakian nation; but we had hoped to make use of the considerable kudos that your return brings to the Party, through a small but influential circle. The gathering which is now assembling at the Engelsův Dům consists not only of old Comrades and physicists, but also the senior faculty of the University and numerous other leaders of thought in our communal life. The majority of them are undoubtedly heart and soul behind the People’s Government, but others—well, I regard their loyalty as at least questionable. The sort of greeting speech we expected you to make—one in which you would have affirmed your relief and joy at having escaped from the slavery imposed upon you by the capitalist-warmonger English—might have done considerable good with these waverers; but even a hint that you had not come here willingly, given in private conversation to one of them, would far outweigh any good your speech would do. In no time the grapevine would have spread it all over Prague, and it would provide fresh ammunition for the people’s enemies.”

  “Your doubts of me are entirely unjustified,” Nicholas protested. “But since you have them, why don’t you call off this lunch?”

  “That is what I intend to do. I was explaining only why it is that I cannot afford to take any chances. I felt I owed you that because I still hope that we shall find you to be entirely loyal to us, and I should not like you to think later that I am taking this step without good reasons.”

  Leaning forward, Frček pressed down the little lever on his intercom and said in to it. “Telephone the Engelsův Dům. Tell them that the guests are to be given drinks a
nd light refreshments, but there will be no lunch. Professor Novák was taken ill on his journey here and is not yet sufficiently recovered to attend. It is hoped that he will soon be fully recovered, and that a lunch to welcome him will be given in a few days’ time.”

  Nicholas had been so dreading the possibility of something going wrong at the reception that he had deliberately made his bid to get out of it, and he was now greatly relieved. He reasoned that if Fedora’s desperadoes were capable of undertaking such an elaborate escape plan as the bomb plot, they would easily be able to arrange a less spectacular and less dangerous method of getting her and himself out of the hotel that night. But he was counting his chickens before they were hatched. Frček turned to him and said:

  “In these new circumstances, Professor, I shall be glad if you and Comrade Hořovská will be my guests at lunch to-day here. In the meantime I will issue instructions for a few of the men whom you were to meet at the Engelsův Dům to report here at three o’clock. They will be our leading men in your own field of research. After lunch you shall have a short discussion with them, and that will remove from our minds any doubt at all about your willingness to give us your complete collaboration.”

  Nicholas only just prevented himself from giving a gasp of dismay. It was as though he had been hit hard in the pit of the stomach. The saliva ran hot in his mouth, and he felt the palms of his hands becoming moist. He knew that within five minutes of such a meeting he must be revealed as a fake; and as he was to be detained there until the Czech scientists arrived to question him, there seemed no possible means of escaping it. Desperately he sought a way, but all he could think of was to blurt out:

  “I’m afraid that’s no good. As I’ve told you, I left my notes behind.”

  “You will not need any notes,” replied Frček smoothly. “All I have in mind is that you should meet the men with whom you will be working in future, and exchange with them ideas on a few general principles.”

  “It’s no good, I tell you,” Nicholas’ voice was slightly hoarse. “It would not be at all satisfactory. I must have time to prepare a proper paper, then read it to them and answer their questions afterwards.”

  Frček’s black eyebrows drew together. “Am I to understand that you refuse to hold any preliminary discussion with our scientists?”

  “Yes. For the time being, anyway. All nuclear projects are of great complexity. It is certain that they have been working on totally different lines from myself. Without being taken stage by stage they would not understand.…”

  “It is you, Professor, who do not understand.”

  “In what way?”

  “You evidently do not understand the alternative that your refusal to meet these Comrades will force me to adopt. I shall have to detain you here—or rather in another place, which you may not find very comfortable.”

  Less than twenty-four hours earlier Nicholas would hotly have denounced as a dirty capitalist lie any suggestion that a high official of the Czech People’s Government would use menaces in an attempt to extract information from a scientist unwilling to give it; but the morning’s events had played such havoc with his preconceived idea that he now hardly knew what to believe; so Frček’s threat did not take him entirely by surprise, and he stammered, “You … you mean you will send me to prison?”

  “Yes. You have now made it quite clear to me that Comrade Vaněk was right in his fears that you had changed your mind. I still hope we may find that change to be only a very temporary one. Should you maintain your refusal to meet our scientists, you will go to prison and remain there until you have proved your willingness to give them all the information and assistance of which you are capable.”

  “You can’t make a scientist give of his best unless he is treated decently and his heart’s in his work,” declared Nicholas truculently, in a forlorn hope that by a display of defiance he might yet gain a respite. “To send me to prison is the one certain way of making me dig my toes in and refuse to talk.”

  “About that I don’t agree. We have considerable experience in dealing with stubborn people.” Frček took a sheaf of papers from a drawer in his desk, and began to go through them as he went on quietly, “I will give you a few minutes to make up your mind. You can either accept my invitation to lunch and to discuss atomic matters with our experts afterwards, or I will send you downstairs to await conveyance to quarters very different from those you have been allotted at the Engelsův Dům.”

  Nicholas stood up and walked over to the side of the long room that formed one huge window. It was a lovely May morning, and the spires and domes of Prague glittered in the sunshine; but he stared out at them with unseeing eyes. He knew that he was really up against it, and it did not take him long to decide that only one course now lay open to him. He must do as he had wanted to do from the beginning—tell the truth about himself.

  For a moment he wondered how his doing so would affect Fedora, but it did not seem that whatever he said now could make much difference as far as she was concerned. If he allowed himself to be exposed by the Czech scientists she would be involved in his exposure, and presumably in no worse case than if he anticipated matters by a voluntary confession now.

  The memory of the way in which he had allowed her to involve him filled him with rage at his own stupidity. If only he had followed his own instincts in the first place he might have got a sympathetic hearing, whereas now it was a foregone conclusion that Frček would have put him in prison—anyhow for a time. But that was the whole crux of the matter.

  If he went to prison as Nicholas there would be no point in keeping him there for very long. At the very worst it seemed unlikely that they would give him more than two or three months for having entered the country under false pretences. On the other hand, if he let them put him in, still believing him to be Bilto, they might keep him there indefinitely. He would certainly never be able to buy his freedom on Frček’s terms, and the longer he left it before he declared himself to be Nicholas, the greater would be his difficulty in persuading anyone to believe him.

  The more he thought about it the more obvious it became to him that sooner or later he would have to come clean, as the only possible way of getting out of this ghastly tangle; and that the sooner he took the plunge the better his chances would be of escaping a prolonged spell of detention. Having no further doubts on the matter, he turned about, walked over to Frček’s desk and said in a firm voice:

  “Comrade Frček, I have an admission to make to you. I also wish to apologise for having caused you a certain amount of unnecessary trouble. However, I should first like to assure you that although I am not actually a member of the Communist Party, I have spent most of my life working in close sympathy with its aims. It was here in Prague as a youngster that I first embraced the cause of the workers, and it has been my inspiration ever since. I am a regular contributor to the principal British Left Wing periodicals; I am a member of the Friends of the Russian People and of all the major associations working for the preservation of peace. I know that I have acted wrongly and foolishly; but the fact is that I am not really guilty of anything worse than playing a stupid practical joke, and I feel that on account of my past labours in spreading the doctrines of Karl Marx I am entitled to ask you to take a lenient view of the matter.”

  As he paused for breath Frček asked with a puzzled frown, “What the devil are you talking about?”

  Nicholas stared down into the round, moon-like face. “I was on the point of making a solemn declaration, that while I was doing my utmost to prevent Comrade Vaněk from sending me here I told him the truth. I am not Bilto but his cousin, Nicholas Novák.”

  Frček’s voice came in a snarl. “You didn’t fool Vaněk and you can’t fool me! Is it likely that we should be taken in by such a barefaced lie?”

  “It is the truth,” Nicholas protested.

  “It is a lie!” Frček banged on the desk with his clenched fist. “It is a lie, and an absurdly childish one. You have been identified by t
he woman who Vaněk informs me has slept with you on and off for months, and is still your mistress; so about your identity there can be no shadow of doubt.”

  Nicholas turned and shot a quick glance at Fedora. During the whole interview he had not dared to look at her for fear that Frček might jump to some conclusion from their expressions as their eyes met. She was now sitting with her legs crossed, staring down at the floor. Her face showed no emotion and she appeared to be perfectly relaxed, but one little thing revealed the strain she was under. Her hands were clasped in her lap, and clasped so tightly that the knuckles showed white.”

  “You will gain nothing by looking at her,” Frček snapped. “Her identification of you was positive. Should she go back on it now I should take that only as evidence that she is in love with you. I should not believe her.”

  “I think we can leave her out of this,” Nicholas retorted. He had no obligation whatever to champion Fedora—far from it—but ordinary decency impelled him to do his best for her, and he had thought of a line which he hoped might save her with himself from prosecution on any charge worse than having committed a misdemeanour. Quickly he went on:

  “These are the facts. Bilto did need another night in London to advise a valuable Comrade on the story he had better tell if he found himself implicated. But my cousin foresaw that Comrade Vaněk might not agree to his postponing his journey, so he asked me to do the explaining for him. When I joined Comrade Hoěovská in the car she knew perfectly well that I was not Bilto, but I made her have us driven off and explained to her. Then I was suddenly seized with a silly notion. I have so often been mistaken for Bilto that I thought it would be rather fun to see how far I could carry the deception.”

  “This whole story is a tissue of lies,” Frček interrupted grimly.

  “It is not,” Nicholas insisted. “As a boy, I loved Prague, so I thought it would be intensely interesting to visit it again and see for myself the great improvement in the workers’ status that has taken place here. Counting on my resemblance to Bilto to get me past Comrade Vaněk, I persuaded Comrade Hořovská to let me try out an impersonation of my cousin. We intended no harm, because we believed that Bilto would be following me to Prague to-day, and that when he arrived we would both have a good laugh with people here about my having fooled everyone. Then when I came face to face with Comrade Vaněk, I realised that what I was doing was both liable to be misunderstood and dishonourable. I tried to back out by confessing that I was Nicholas. Comrade Hořovská was not in the room at that time. When she was called in she had no idea that I had abandoned our little plot to get me a free trip to Prague, so of course she swore that I was Bilto. After that no one would listen to me. I tried to get away, but I was overpowered and sent here as ‘a parcel’. It had not been intended that Comrade Hořovská should travel with Bilto; but Comrade Vanék sent her to look after me. When we woke up side by side in the aircraft early this morning, we talked over the awkward situation in which my silly prank had landed us. Then I’m afraid we both became irresponsible again. We could not help seeing the funny side of it. I mean, that even against my will my impersonation had actually got me to Czechoslovakia. So we decided to see just how long I could manage to keep it up after landing. From start to finish the whole of this business has been nothing more than a series of misunderstandings arising out of my original impulse to play a joke on Comrade Vaněk and get sent to Prague without paying for a ticket.”