by Ronald Seth
"How do you know that? And don't say you have seen my photograph, because there is not a single photograph of me in existence."
"You are known by everybody to be the fattest man in Gallonia, comrade," Raymond went recklessly on. "And I'm sure no man in Gallonia is fatter than you are."
Since I was much older than the boy, I felt I must say something which might seem to rebuke him for his impertinence.
"Raymond, be quiet!" I said.
Immediately Gombroch turned on me.
"You be quiet, comrade!" he snapped. Then to Raymond, "But aren't you afraid of me, boy?"
Raymond hesitated a little before he replied, and stammered slightly as he did so, as though not quite sure of himself.
"N… no… comrade, I… I don't think so," he said. "Should… should I be?"
"Not if you're a good boy and answer my questions truthfully."
In his attempt to grin, Gombroch looked more like a gargoyle on a cathedral than a human being.
"Comrade, could my cousin sit down, please?" There seemed to be no end to his cheek. (I say cheek; yet it was courage of the highest order, for this monster had been known to order the execution of boys as young as Raymond for offenses of the most trivial nature.)
"Bring two chairs," Gombroch ordered the policeman who was still in the room.
The chairs were produced as if by magic, but Raymond refused to sit on his. He told Gombroch that he could answer questions better standing up.
"Now, comrade," he said. "I'm ready. But you won't forget we've to be at the Central…"
"Has your father ever boxed your ears for chattering?" Gombroch interrupted him.
"I'm afraid so, comrade, many times."
Suddenly the high-pitched voice had a brutal cruelty in it which it had not had before.
"Then hold your tongue and speak only when you're spoken to," he shrilled.
"Yes, comrade," Raymond agreed quietly.
"You come from Kobo-Vazon?"
"Yes, comrade. My father is Anton Maran the far… mer. Sorry, comrade."
"What have you heard about the man who disappeared from the train, the East Europa Express, at Kobo station the night before last?"
"Nothing, except that such a man did disappear."
"How did you hear that?"
"The L.P.R. came to ask if we had seen him."
"And had you?"
"Certainly not. If we had we should have detained him and handed him over."
"I wonder if you would." Gombroch put up his hand and stroked where his chin should have been. "I wonder if you would."
"I'm sorry, comrade," Raymond said equally quietly. "I don't know what you mean, unless you're suggesting we're traitors."
The Monster grinned again. The effect was perhaps even more horrible than before. Suddenly he turned on me.
"You are this boy's cousin?" he demanded.
"Yes, comrade," I answered, my mind cool and alert now that the moment had come. "His father and my mother were brother and sister."
"I guessed some sort of relationship, since you have different names," he said facetiously. "Are you a native of Kobo-Vazon?"
"No. I have lived with my uncle for the last six months, since my sight began to go. He gives me light jobs about the farm, my keep and a little pocket money. But for his kindness I should be destitute."
As soon as I had said it I knew that I had made a mistake, Gombroch leaned forward as far as his great stomach would allow him. Looking at me with those piercing eyes, he said dangerously calmly: "No one in Gallonia is allowed to be destitute."
"He did not mean that," Raymond put in. "He meant if he had not come with us he would have had to go into an institution for the blind."
"Will you be quiet, boy!" Gombroch rounded on him. "He can answer for himself."
"I meant that, comrade," I said, and putting up my hand to my head I went on: "I am in great pain, comrade; sometimes I do not express myself properly on that account."
I was grateful to Raymond for his help. I might have floundered more deeply into trouble but for the help he had given me.
"Your parents?" Gombroch asked.
"Both dead, comrade."
An interruption came from an unexpected quarter. The uniformed policeman sitting on Gombroch's left said: "1 was born in Skoltz and passed my childhood there. Do Arwents in The Circle still make gingerbread men?"
The way in which he fiddled with his pencil and did not look straight at me made me suspect a trap. This was something for which Robert had not prepared me. Was there an Arwents in Skoltz? Was the shop in The Circle? Were they confectioners, or a shoeshop? Had they existed at all? Or had they gone out of business?
This man placed me in a position which, I think, the Monster could never have maneuvered me into. On my answer—for I was certain the policeman knew the right one—rested my fate and the fate of Raymond. He had realized it too. I could hear his breath coming with hissing sounds through his nose. It was the only sound in the deep, hanging silence of the room, it seemed to me.
But I had to answer. I could not sit there saying nothing.
I opened my mouth to speak, but before the sound would come, without a knock, the door of the office crashed open and a booming voice, in such a contrast to the voice of Gombroch, came round it.
"I tell you, comrade, I may forget a face, but I never forget a voice," it was saying. And the next moment the Tortoise, looking more like a tortoise than ever, came swaggering into the room, followed by a policeman.
The effect on Gombroch was amazing. The speed with which he hauled himself to his feet was surprising in one of his size. He seized a heavy wooden ruler from the table and aimed it at the Tortoise. It caught the dwarf's steel helmet with a loud metallic crash.
"Get out! Get out!" he shrieked. "How dare you come bursting in here? Get out!"
And through the commotion, I heard Raymond's whisper: "Yes—but River Street."
When the Tortoise had retreated hastily, loud with apologies, and the room was quiet again, Gombroch subsided once more into his chair and I said to the policeman: "I don't know if Arwents ever had a shop in The Circle, comrade, but they are now on River Street."
"Ah, yes. That was silly of me," the policeman excused himself. He turned to Gombroch, and I thought gave him an almost imperceptible nod. "Yes, it was in River Street."
"My mother always used to say," I added for good measure, "that the gingerbread they make now is not as good as it used to be."
"So you can tell me nothing about the disappearing man, either of you?" Gombroch said.
Raymond shook his head.
"Do you not think, comrade," I said, "that he went back over the frontier?"
"We know he did not," Gombroch replied.
"Is it indiscreet to ask how you know?" I asked.
Gombroch preened himself.
"Not at all, comrade," he answered. "He attacked an army officer on the main road from Tredentz to the frontier, bound him and left him in a small copse by the side of the road. From the position where this happened, and the time it happened, he was clearly moving away from and not toward the frontier."
"Who was he?" Raymond asked.
"Ah, that we don't know," Gombroch replied. "All we know is that the visa on his Dutch passport was a forgery."
"He was a Dutchman?" I said.
"His passport was Dutch, but that means nothing—to the British Secret Service," he said.
Again I felt his steely eyes looking hard at me, as if he suspected something but did not quite know what.
"You know," he began, "those bandages… Oh, never mind! You may go."
"Thank you, comrade," Raymond said, genuinely relieved, and to me: "We have twenty minutes, David. We may just make it."
I thanked Gombroch too and stood up and, with my hand once more on Raymond's shoulder, we made for the door. As we reached it Gombroch called after us.
"Oh, boy!"
"Comrade?"
"You'll be the envy of al
l your school fellows, you know."
"Why, comrade?"
The question in Raymond's voice was not complimentary.
"Why?" demanded Gombroch. "Because you've met the fat monster, Gombroch, face to face… Face to face, boy… and lived!"
And he went off into peals of horrible, high-sounding, shrieking laughter that followed us out into the waiting room, where the Tortoise, apparently unconcerned by his encounter with the chief of the secret police, was filling up the room with his resounding voice.
Even then Gombroch was not finished with us. I heard him call my name and went back to the door.
"Yes, comrade?" I said.
"I hope you realize how fortunate you've been… seeing me before you go totally blind."
"I do indeed, comrade," I assured him, and turned to Raymond.
We hurried through the room as fast as we could and got into the car. Not until we had driven through the gate into the city did we give voice to our relief.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Central Hospital
I was surprised by the wide streets and fine squares of Tredentz inside the walls. It was a well-planned city, and I judged from the style of the buildings that a little less than a hundred years ago the greater part of it must have been rebuilt. Tall blocks of shops, offices and apartments flanked tree-lined streets, while here and there massive old medieval churches and fortresses asserted themselves.
We had been driving for some seven or eight minutes and were stopped by a traffic light when Raymond cut short my admiration of the city.
"I think we're being followed," he said.
"Are you sure?" I asked, and looked in the rear view mirror, into which he was gazing.
"Do you see that long gray limousine behind the car immediately behind us?" he asked. "It has been just behind us for the last three or four minutes, and if those two men are not Gombroch's men, may I never drive a car again!"
"You may be right," I said.
"We'll soon find out," he said, and as the light changed to green he turned across the traffic with his hand on the horn and raced up a busy street, scarcely slowing down as he threaded his way in and out of the cars and buses and shot again over to the right and into a quieter street. There he slowed down, and before we were halfway down it, the gray limousine also turned into the street.
"But why should Gombroch have us followed after he has let us go?" Raymond mused.
"He was not very sure of me," I answered. "Do you remember how he began to say something about the bandages and then suddenly changed his mind and let us go? I believe he was going to say that the bandages were a good disguise."
"Do you think he has any real idea?"
"No. It was just something that struck him. Now he wants to see if I really am going to visit Dr. Paranu. Don't try to shake them off any more, otherwise they will suspect even more. I don't think we have anything to fear. How much farther have we to go?"
"We turn left at the bottom here, then right halfway down the next street, and that will bring us to the back entrance of the Central Hospital. The front entrance is on Karl II Square," he explained.
"Don't go very fast then, Ray," I said. "When we reach the hospital I shall go in alone."
"But I must know if you meet Dr. Paranu successfully," the boy protested.
"No, Ray. You have done all that you have to do," I answered firmly. "You have brought me to the Central Hospital safely, and if I succeed in my mission, you will have made it possible. I shall never be able to thank you, you know."
"I have only done my duty," he said simply.
"Maybe," I told him. "But I'll tell you this, Ray. I have done many dangerous things, and in many I have been helped by others, as you have helped me today. They were all grown-up men, but none of them has shown more courage than you; and that is a high compliment, Ray."
"Thank you, captain." He gave me a quick, shy smile. "I am very proud."
"So you should be. Tell your father how grateful I am, and how proud I am of you, won't you?"
"Yes, captain."
By this time we had reached the hospital, and Raymond stopped the car by the curb, below a broad flight of a dozen stone steps leading up to tall glass swinging doors.
"Shall I help you up the steps, captain?" he asked.
"No, thank you. Leave the rest to me," I replied. "You must return straight to Kobo-Vazon. Perhaps one day, when things here are changed, we shall meet again."
"I hope so, captain."
"Good-by. And thank you all, once again."
"Good-by, captain! And all good luck!"
I got out of the car and waited until he had driven away. Then slowly, feeling step by step, I went up to the doors. As I paused to push them open I glanced around quickly and saw a door of the gray limousine open and one of the two men get out.
I was to be followed into the hospital. Gombroch's men were taking no chances that I should walk straight through and out into Karl II Square.
The glass doors opened into a large hall on the left of which, at a shining, polished desk, stood a porter in uniform.
"Well, comrade?" he said, as I went up to the desk. "What can I do for you? No, I'll tell you. You want to see Dr. Paranu. Right? You'll have to hurry, because he closes his clinic in ten minutes. Josef, take the comrade to Dr. Paranu's office."
Josef was a small, perky boy in a smaller version of the porter's uniform. He was standing by an elevator in the wall facing the porter's desk.
"This way, comrade," he called.
Dr. Paranu's office was on the second floor, and within three minutes Josef had brought me to the door of it, knocked on it and more or less pushed me inside. At the far end was a desk behind which a nurse was sitting, white and crisp in a spotless uniform.
"You're only just in time, comrade," she smiled at me when I went up to her.
"Will Dr. Paranu see me today?" I asked. "I was held up in a police check at the west gate and I have come a long way."
"Dr. Paranu will see everyone who comes in before midday," she said. "Have you a medical card from your doctor?"
"I have this letter," I told her, handing over Dr. Balun's letter.
"Take a seat, comrade." She nodded toward comfortable easy chairs set around the walls. "I will tell you when your turn comes."
There were two women and a man waiting. One of the women had her head bandaged like me, and as they spoke to one another in undertones I understood that the other woman was a friend who had come with her to see the great specialist. This meant only two to go into the consulting room before me, and I hoped no one would come in now, so that I could have an opportunity of speaking to Paranu without having to hurry.
But as I sat down the door of the waiting room opened and, to my surprise, the man I had seen getting out of the gray limousine came in and walked quickly to the desk.
"I'm afraid Dr. Paranu will not be able to see you today, comrade," the nurse said to him. "He has a strict rule…"
The agent pulled his right hand from his jacket pocket and thrust it under her nose aggressively, muttering something I could not catch as he did so.
"In that case," the nurse said, "I'm sure Dr. Paranu will make an exception. Will you take a seat please, comrade."
I must say that I wondered at the apparent stupidity of the L.P.R. agent. Did he really imagine that I did not know he was following me? I could think of no other explanation for his coming in after me so openly. He seemed determined not to lose sight of me, for he came and sat in a chair next but one to mine, picking up a magazine from the table as he passed it.
Twenty minutes went by before I was startled by a buzzer on the nurse's desk and simultaneously the door of the consulting room opening and a man emerging. The nurse went to a hatch in the wall to the left of her desk, opened it, and brought through a sheaf of papers. Removing a card which was attached to the front of it, she gave it to the man who had just come from the consulting room.
"Next Friday," she said. "Will you go
in now, Comrade Devas?"
The waiting man knocked on the consulting room door and passed inside. He was there less than ten minutes, but when the women went in, it was three-quarters of an hour before they emerged, and at last my turn had come.
Dr. Paranu was a short slim man with short wiry gray hair standing up straight from his scalp. He was dressed in a long surgeon's coat, white trousers and white shoes, and looked up from reading Dr. Balun's letter with serious dark brown eyes.
"Please sit down, comrade," he said softly but very clearly, and went on reading the letter.
I glanced quickly around the room and was disconcerted to see, in a kind of alcove, at another desk, a nurse, writing on a card. I had hoped to have Dr. Paranu to myself. I must give him the pass phrase and arrange a meeting. But how should I do that now?
"Remove the bandages, please, nurse," Dr. Paranu said presently.
To the right of the desk was a chair, very like a dentist's chair.
"Will you come and sit here, comrade?" the nurse said, indicating the chair.
With quick deft movements she took off the bandages, and the midday sunlight streaming through the huge window behind the doctor's great carved desk dazzled the eye which had been shut off from light for nearly six hours. The doctor picked up an instrument and came over to me and, when he had adjusted the chair, began to peer at me through it.
His face was quite expressionless as he peered at my perfectly good eye, though he must have seen at a glance that there was nothing wrong with it. I should have to do or say something soon, to tell him who I was, otherwise he would ruin everything by saying that I must be imagining things. But the nurse was hovering near the chair with a tray of instruments, and even if I spoke in a whisper she must hear.
I was getting more and more tense as the minutes ticked by in silence.
At last the doctor sighed, put his instrument in the tray which the nurse was holding and said: "H'm! Interesting! Tell me, comrade, when did you first find that your eye was playing tricks with you?"
Though puzzled, I do not think I have ever seized an opening given me in all innocence, so quickly.