Curtain of Fear

by Dennis Wheatley

  Before his hand was half way there he remembered that he had not had time to thrust it back before the bough hit him, so had stuffed its muzzle into his trousers’ top; but it was not there either. It had been knocked or jerked away during his fall from the van. Hastily he began to search about for it among the bushes.

  Barely half a minute had elapsed since the van crashed, but already muted sounds of commotion were coming from it. There was a banging on its doors, a dull thump and a loud creak as a concerted effort was made against them. The lock was not strong enough to withstand the weight of a dozen bodies. With a rending noise the doors burst open and out tumbled the mixed crowd of men and women.

  At the sound, Nicholas looked up. He saw that one of the guards had been thrown head-first against a tree-stump, and was lying there either dead or unconscious. The other was on his feet and had drawn his gun. He was shouting at the crowd tumbling from the van to stand back and put their hands up.

  From the front of the van a small figure scrambled down, and limped painfully away into the undergrowth. It was the boy who had acted as guide to the police when they had raided the barn. But no guards came running from the driver’s cab, so Nicholas felt confident that, if any of them had been riding there, the crash had put them hors de combat. It looked now as if only the survivor from the tail-board stood between the whole crowd of prisoners and their freedom; and his back was turned to Nicholas.

  Frantically Nicholas resumed his search for his lost gun. If only he could find it, he could take the remaining guard in the rear; without it he was as helpless as the others, for, had he approached, the rustle of the undergrowth would have given warning in ample time for the man to turn and shoot him. On hands and knees he groped around beneath the bough from which he had dropped, turning his glance swiftly from side to side, but his desperately searching eyes were not rewarded by the glint of sunlight on metal.

  Suddenly a single shot rang out. Jumping up, Nicholas looked anxiously across the bushes. The peasants were all bunched together just outside the doors of the van. In the second rank he caught sight of Fedora’s pale face beneath his silk handkerchief. In front of it a wisp of blue smoke was curling up. Covered by the people in front of her she had got Kmoch’s little automatic out of her satchel-bag and fired between them.

  Her bullet had hit the guard in the thigh. As he staggered the peasants launched themselves at him in a body. It was only as they surged forward that Fedora was fully revealed to Nicholas with the wisp of smoke curling up in front of her. The guard’s gun went off once. A woman screamed and fell. Before he could fire again the rest of them were upon him. He was seized, struck, scratched, kicked, borne to the ground and trampled upon. One moment he had been a fine powerful young fellow; the next he was a torn and broken body with not a flicker of life in it.

  As Nicholas ran forward several of the crowd ran at the other guard, who had been knocked unconscious against the tree-stump. Sova was the first to reach him, and pulled his pistol from its holster. The rest seized the helpless man and treated him in the same way as they had his comrade. Like a pack of ferocious wolves they worried and milled round him, until his body was grotesquely twisted and his face an unrecognisable mass of pulp.

  When Nicholas reached Fedora she was pushing the pistol back into her bag. Her green eyes were brilliant with fever and her voice a trifle hoarse as she cried:

  “Nicky, by all that’s wonderful! Wherever did you spring from?”

  In a few brief sentences he told her; and waving aside her praise for his having brought about the release of the captives, he added quickly:

  “We’ve got to get away from here, and the sooner the better. When the van fails to arrive the police will send a motor-cyclist to find out what has happened to it; then the whole bus-load of them will return, and probably more. They’ll be searching every inch of these woods in an endeavour to round up their escaped prisoners.”

  She nodded. “You’re right! But they must have been taking us into Prague. That is a quarter of an hour’s run from here. They’ll give the van ten minutes’ grace, then they’ve got to send someone out and he’ll have to find the nearest telephone before he can report. We should have three-quarters of an hour clear, at least, and the airfield can’t be much more than a mile away. We should easily be able to reach that pub, the Soviet Worker-Hero Air Mechanic, and go to earth there before the hunt gets going.”

  “All the same it would be asking for trouble to remain with this crowd a moment longer than we have to.”

  “I quite agree; but you must allow me long enough to have a word with the Sovas. All these poor people have now forfeited everything; yet some of them may be foolish enough to go home in the hope of being able to collect their most precious possessions before the Coms arrive. If they do that they will be caught for a certainty, and now that police have been killed in this affair, sent to the uranium mines to work there till they die. Their only hope is for them to abandon any thought of returning to the hamlet, and disperse as quickly as possible. I must warn them of that.”

  “Of course,” Nicholas agreed. “To see tragedy overwhelm a little community like this is positively heartbreaking. Do your utmost to advise them how best to act. A few minutes either way are not really likely to make any difference to us. While you are talking to them I’ll have another look for my gun.”

  He was still hunting about unsuccessfully among the undergrowth when he heard a shot. Looking up, he saw Sova stagger and fall. Fearful that by some awful trick of fate another policeman had unexpectedly arrived upon the scene, he dived for cover; but he was soon aware that no one else had done so, and no more shots followed.

  Coming out from behind the oak tree, he approached the crowd which was now gathered about Sova’s body. Fedora emerged from the crush and came to meet him.

  “What happened?” he asked. “Did that gun go off by accident.”

  “No,” she said sadly. “He shot himself. When we were cooped up in the van I heard him say that he couldn’t bear it, and meant to commit suicide at the first opportunity.”

  Nicholas frowned. “But why? He was only in for a year in the mines then, and he looked a strong, healthy chap. He ought easily to have survived it.”

  “It wasn’t that. It was shame. Did you see that boy who brought the Coms on us? That was the Sova’s son. For Pan Sova the thought that he, and his wife, and his pastor and all these other people had been betrayed by his own flesh and blood was too much. He couldn’t face life any longer.”

  “What a frightful thing!” Nicholas said in a low voice. “The boy must be either mental, or a positive little fiend, to do a thing like that.”

  Fedora passed a hand over her eyes and sighed. “No; he is not abnormal. That sort of thing is happening in some household every day now. The Coms get the children young and poison their poor little minds. You remember what Pan Smutný was saying last night about so many teachers for a long time past having ridiculed the Commandment which says ‘Honour thy Father and thy Mother …’ Well, this is the logical extension of their atheism. The children are taught that loyalty should be given only to the State. They are encouraged to distrust and spy on their parents, and to report any of their secrets that they can ferret out. That boy will get a medal for this; a nice bow of bright red ribbon with a portrait of Comrade Gottwald, or Stalin, attached.”

  “By God, he’ll get us too, unless we’re quick!” Nicholas exclaimed. “He was on the box with the driver, and he wasn’t badly hurt in the crash. I saw him run off into the wood. By this time he may have found a patrolman on the road. Unless we get away from here in double-quick time we’ll find ourselves back in the bag.”

  As he spoke he took Fedora by the arm and began to hurry her further into the depths of the wood. Turning her head, she shouted a warning to the crowd round Sova’s body that his son had got away and might bring the police on them again at any moment, then she let Nicholas draw her with him towards the denser thickets.

  When they
had gone some distance Nicholas queried the direction they were taking, but Fedora said she felt sure they could not be far off the mark. Shortly afterwards she was proved right, for they came to the edge of the wood and from there could see a large aircraft, about a mile away, slowly sinking towards the airfield.

  Beyond the wood were some fields, then another screen of trees. They could not see the road, which lay some way to their left, but its position was marked for them by a line of telegraph poles, and they could have seen the top of any vehicle that was coming along it. The road was empty and, now that the aircraft had gone down behind the tops of the trees ahead, nothing in the whole landscape stirred.

  Again there came upon Nicholas that sense of peace, so bound up with the countryside on a still, sunny Sunday morning. It seemed difficult to believe that less than half a mile behind them they had left still warm bodies that had been terribly mutilated, a suicide, and a dozen or more families who, without a moment’s warning, had been rendered homeless and, now destitute, were about to be hunted as criminals. Had he been alone he might almost have thought it an evil dream, but Fedora’s presence and her pitiful state were concrete evidence of the brutalities enacted during the past half hour.

  Had there been no raid, and had Sova driven them as arranged in his country cart to a spot near the airfield, her fever might have abated, or at least have been kept in check by the aspirin she had taken. As it was, the savage handling she had received from the policeman, whom she had attacked in desperation, the ride in the dark van with a herd of frightened pushing people, and its crash, had all contributed to worsen her condition. A glance was enough to show that she was running a dangerously high temperature. Her eyes held an unnatural light, and as she walked she was gasping for breath.

  They crossed two fields and reached the trees, which proved to be on the edge of a smaller wood. As she jumped a small ditch that ran just in front of them she stumbled up the opposite bank and fell. Nicholas helped her to her feet and, much concerned about her, said:

  “I think we had better rest here for a while. It can’t yet be eleven o’clock and we haven’t got to be at Lutonský’s till twelve, so we have lots of time.”

  “All right,” she agreed, half collapsing on the grassy bank. “Just for a few minutes; but we mustn’t stay long. Once the police learn about the wrecking of that van hordes of them will be sent out here to scour the countryside; so we shan’t be safe until we have gone to earth at Lutonský’s inn.

  Sitting down beside her, he drew a deep breath. “Yes; this morning’s business was a frightful bolt from the blue, and in getting away we’ve had all we can expect of fortune. If we are caught again we’ll never get that ’plane. Have you any idea what time it arrives at Frankfurt?”

  “It is roughly an hour and a half’s flight, so we should be there about half-past two.”

  “Good. Then allowing an hour for arguing our way past minor officials, we should be able to get through to London between half past three and four.”

  “Oh, no. London is about another two and a half hours on, and we may have to go via Paris or Amsterdam; so I don’t think we can expect to get in before six, anyhow.”

  “As far as we are concerned I should think we’ll be lucky if we get back to-morrow. I meant get through by telephone.”

  She turned to stare at him. “Telephone? Who to?”

  “Why, Scotland Yard, of course. To have Bilto arrested.”

  For a moment Fedora said nothing. Her feverish eyes dilated, then she exclaimed, “You’ll do nothing of the kind! I won’t let you.”

  He frowned. “What on earth are you talking about? That is the only possible way of stopping Bilto for certain.”

  “It is not. Once I get face to face with him I can stop him. I’m sure I can. Anyhow I shall move heaven and earth to do so; and I’ll not agree to have Scotland Yard called in unless I fail.”

  Her rasping voice and feverish face made Nicholas think that she was slightly delirious, so he attempted to reason with her calmly.

  “That is all very well. I know you are greatly attached to Bilto. For that matter, I’m very fond of him myself. Neither of us wants to see him get ten years. But there is too much at stake for us to allow our personal feelings to weigh with us in this. Neither of us has passports, so when we get to Frankfurt we are bound to be held up. It might even be days before we can establish our identities and get permission to fly on to London. That is unless you have a contact with some of the American Military Intelligence people there, and can get us specially passed through.”

  “I haven’t. I am not connected with either the American or the British Secret Service. I’ve been working only for the Czech Underground; but they have a headquarters in Frankfurt, and they will fix things for us somehow.”

  He gave her a dubious look. “That is going to take time; perhaps several hours. Then what about money for fares; we have only a few pounds between us?”

  “They will fix that too.”

  “There is much more to it than that, though. How about the air services? They don’t run every few minutes, like tube trains. By the time you have seen your Czech friends the odds are all against our being able to catch a plane that will get us into London this evening.”

  “Then I shall charter one privately.”

  “That will cost a packet. Do you really think the Czech Legion people would be willing to fork out for it? That is, unless you are prepared to explain how urgent it is for us to get to London by blowing the gaff about Bilto to them?”

  “No, I don’t think they would; but, if the worst comes to the worst, I can pay for it myself.” As Fedora spoke she pulled her satchel-bag round in front of her, pressed a hidden spring in its bottom and produced from a secret pocket a fine solitaire diamond ring. Showing it to him, she said:

  “Bilto gave me that. If necessary I’ll cash it in to get the money to charter a private plane.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Fedora. It’s all too sketchy and full of uncertainties.”

  “It is not,” she insisted. “The Paris plane does not leave London Airport till ten o’clock. That gives us nine hours, and the actual flying time between Prague and London is only about four. If we do get held up in Frankfurt for longer than I expect, and we find our margin is a bit narrow, we can wait at London Airport till Bilto turns up, and head him off there.”

  “Good God, no! Now you really are going haywire. That chap Konečný will probably be acting as his courier, and would go to any lengths to prevent your speaking to him. Anyhow, you couldn’t possibly have a show-down with him out there. Having got that far I doubt if he would even listen to you.”

  “In the last event we could call in the police to prevent his boarding the plane.”

  “There is always the chance that we might miss him. I have an idea that there are two night services to Paris, and that one of them goes from Northolt. He might take that.”

  “When we arrive we can find out if the Czech Embassy has booked two seats on the Paris plane. If they haven’t and there is not enough time left for us to catch Bilto before he leaves the Russell, we can motor over to Northolt.”

  “Fedora, the sort of things you are suggesting would make the whole business the wildest gamble!”

  “I don’t agree!” she said hotly. “In the event of a definite hold up, making it impossible for us to land at London Airport before half-past nine, I’ll consent to your telephoning Scotland Yard. But not otherwise. With any luck we should get in between six and seven, and easily be able to catch Bilto at dinner.”

  “I don’t believe there is the least hope of our doing that, and I’ll not risk it.”

  “Yes, you will. I insist on my right to endeavour to make Bilto change his mind.”

  “If we had twenty-four hours to work in, I’d give it you. As it is, I can’t.”

  She was trembling all over as she cried, “I won’t have you rush in and ruin his life, when it still may be possible to make him see sense and go b
ack to Harwell!”

  “Even if we caught him, all the probabilities are against his doing as you wish.”

  “Why?”

  Nicholas felt that he had made every reasonable allowance for what he regarded as wild ideas produced only owing to the feverish state of Fedora’s mind, and he said sharply, “Because he doesn’t love you. He is in love with another woman, and he is expecting to marry her when he gets to Prague.”

  She winced. “That may be true. But he did love me. And I still love him.”

  “Perhaps you do,” he shrugged. “All the same …”

  “It is not a question of ‘perhaps’; it is a fact,” she cut in angrily. “And don’t let any idea about the way I behaved towards you in the barn lead you to think otherwise. What you told me about Bilto yesterday had made me miserable; I was not myself either physically or mentally, and I most desperately needed comforting. That is all there was to it. When I said I thought you were a finer person than Bilto, I meant it. But women don’t love men for their rectitude; they love them for just something that no other man has got. You may be like Bilto to look at, but you are not Bilto and never can be. You are a nice fellow, Nicky, but I’d throw you to the wolves without a second thought if I could save Bilto that way; because it’s him that I love.”

  He nodded. “I quite understand that, Fedora; and I’ve never kidded myself for a moment that you have fallen for me, any more than I have fallen for you. We were just two people who had been through a whole series of acute emotion crises and dangers together, so it was a natural impulse for us to seek security for a while in each other’s arms. Love had nothing to do with it, and it has nothing to do with this other matter either.”

  “It has. I love Bilto, and I mean to protect him from himself as long as there is the least possible chance of my doing so.”