by W E Johns
‘Your wife is dead,’ said Fritz, rather lamely, presumably to open the conversation.
‘Yes, my wife is dead,’ replied Miskoff, in a queer matter-of-fact voice.
‘Have you been to look for Vostov?’
‘Not yet. There were other things to do. I have been to borrow a spade to bury my wife and ask a widow she would take care of the child. I am going to take the child to her now.’ Miskoff looked at Biggles. ‘Who is this man?’
‘A friend.’
‘So.’
‘What will you do when you have taken the child?’ asked Fritz, who was translating to Biggles as the conversation proceeded.
‘I shall wait here for Lieutenant Vostov to come. Then I shall kill him. Then I shall burn my house to the ground and take to the forest.’ Miskoff spoke in a voice without passion. He might have been talking of killing a mouse.
‘Can you live in the forest?’
‘I know of a cave. It was his.’ Miskoff pointed to the bear skin on the wall of the house. ‘Now it will be my home until I die. No one will find me there.’
‘Tell him I’d like to talk to him if he is willing,’ Biggles told Fritz.
Fritz, having put the question, replied. ‘You must wait until he has taken the child to the widow. He will come back.’
‘Very well.’
Miskoff went to the house, to reappear with the boy, who he led away by the hand.
Biggles sat down on a tree stump to wait. ‘I have a feeling this isn’t true,’ he said to Fritz, as he lit a cigarette. ‘It’s hard to believe there is such misery in the world. The things men do to each other! Miskoff talks as if he was a man of some education.’
‘I think so. You see what the treatment here has done to him. It will be the same with my uncle if he is left here. I’m sure you will agree that whatever he may have done against you he does not deserve that.’
‘No man does,’ stated Biggles.
They had to wait for nearly an hour before Miskoff returned. He came straight to them. He still showed no signs of emotion.
‘Now I am at your service,’ he said in a flat, even voice. Fritz had to translate this, of course.
‘I will tell you why we are here; then you can tell us if you are willing to help us,’ answered Biggles, speaking through Fritz, who acted as interpreter with such fluency that the three-cornered conversation lost little by repetition. It went like this.
‘We have no boat,’ continued Biggles. ‘We came here in a plane which we have hidden in the rushes on this side of the water. Do people use the path that runs between the rushes and the forest?’
‘Except on rare occasions, when it may be used by a hunter or a fisherman, it is used only by me,’ was the reply. ‘The Cossack patrol has no reason to go past this house. But when I have left here after killing that son of Satan, Vostov, the patrols will be everywhere looking for me.’
‘Vostov has an escort.’
‘I shall kill them all. When they do not return to prison a search will be made for them. I shall put bodies where they will not be easy to find.’
Biggles looked at Miskoff askance. ‘You really intend to kill Vostov?’
‘Certainly. He has made my life a hell — and others’ too. He has much blood on his hands. Now his shall be on mine.’
‘If you kill him they’ll kill you.’
‘First they will have to catch me, and I am as much home in the forest as the bears and the wolves. And they do catch me, what have I to live for? I have lost my wife, and the boy who was a son to me, on the same day. All I had left in the world when I came here was my wife. By their treatment of her she is dead. That calls for revenge.’
Biggles drew a deep breath. ‘I can understand how you feel. Couldn’t you get away from Sakhalin now?’
‘I have no desire to leave. Such hopes died long ago. There is only one purpose left in my life and I have told you what that is.’
‘Would money be any use to you?’
‘Nothing would be any use to me now.’
Biggles went on to explain, in as few words as possible, the purpose of his presence on the island. ‘Since you have spent so much time in the prison, can you suggest in what part von Stalhein would most likely be? Have you by any chance seen him?’
‘It is possible. I do not know. I have never heard of him by name.’
‘Then how could you have seen him?’
‘On his way to work. Everyone who can walk must work, either at the saw mill in the forest or at the coal face.’
‘Would it be easier to reach him when he is outside or within the walls of the prison?’
‘It would be difficult to get into the prison. Many soldiers live within the walls, as well as the prisoners.’
‘I suppose the soldiers guard the prisoners when they are outside?’
‘Always. They carry loaded rifles and shoot at anyone who runs. In all the time I was there only one man escaped. He was so tired of life that he ran hoping to be shot, as the quickest way of dying. Many bullets were fired at him, but by a miracle not one struck him. He fled to the mountains. What happened to him after that I do not know. He never returned to the prison. Other prisoners have talked of doing the same thing, but it requires nerve.’
‘What are the actual conditions inside the prison? How many prisoners are there altogether?’
‘The number varies as some die and new ones come. Usually there are about a hundred. There are some women in a different part of the prison. They have to do the cooking and cleaning.’
‘How are the men arranged?’
‘Except for those in solitary confinement they live in large cells of ten men each, eating and sleeping there. Each cell is exactly the same, long and narrow. At one end is a door, and at the other an iron-barred window overlooking a central courtyard. A high thick wall encloses everything. Sentries patrol the top of the wall day and night. Beyond the wall there is a moat, not very wide but full of deep mud. One man, in a fit madness, ran up the steps leading to the top of wall and jumped off. He disappeared into the mud and was never seen again. Only one bridge crosses the moat, at the gate, which is always guarded.’
Biggles looked at Fritz and grimaced. ‘That doesn’t sound too good. But there, with the sort of people they have here a prison that was easy to get out of wouldn’t be much use. Fritz, ask him what is name of the governor.’
Fritz did so.
‘Colonel Kerennin,’ he informed, repeating the name Miskoff had given.
‘What sort of man is he?’
‘The sort of man you would expect in an appointment where promotion goes by brutality. A drunken bully without mercy who soaks himself with vodka to drown his conscience. His anger falls on everyone, and includes his own soldiers. He carries a sword and strikes people with the flat of it when he is in the mood.’
‘I wonder somebody doesn’t bump him off,’ growled Biggles, to Fritz. ‘Ask Miskoff if he could take us to place where we could see the prisoners working. Before we can do anything we must know where your uncle is, and what he is doing.’
Fritz put the question and answered: ‘Yes, he could take us to such a place, but it must be soon, because after he has killed Vostov he will go to his cave in the mountains.’
‘When would be the best time?’
‘To see the prisoners who work at the mine the best time would be at daybreak. The prisoners work every day. He can take us to a spot from which, without being seen ourselves, we could see the prisoners march past. He says he sometimes stands there himself to count how many of those he knew when he was in prison are still alive.’
‘How far away is this place? I mean, how long will it take us to get there?’
‘Half an hour.’
‘Then how about meeting here tomorrow morning a little before sunrise?’
‘Yes. He says he will be waiting,’ answered Fritz, having put the question.
‘Is there any chance of our being seen by people living in the other houses?’
After a brief conversation with the Russian Fritz said: ‘As you are working against the prison you need have no fear of them. They all hate the soldiers. They would not give you shelter for fear of losing their lives, for the punishment for helping a prisoner is death. But they would not betray you.’
‘Can we help Miskoff in any way? We could bring him some food if he would take care to put it where it would not be seen by anyone.’
‘He says it is a long time since he tasted tea or sugar,’ translated Fritz.
‘He shall have some. And, if he wishes, some biscuits.’
‘The only cereal he has seen in years is black rye bread.’
‘All right. We’ll bring the things when we come in the morning.’
‘They would help him to live while he is in hiding after killing Vostov,’ informed Fritz. ‘He has a good supply of dried fish.’
‘Very well. We’d better be getting along. Tell him we shall be back here in the morning.’
Fritz did so, and with that they set off on the return journey to the machine. Looking back they saw the Russian walking slowly towards the empty shack.
‘A strange, strange man,’ said Biggles.
‘No. I would say he is typical of his type,’ answered Fritz. ‘I have met some of these Eastern Russians. They don’t think as we do. They have no fear of death. I suppose their environment has made them what they are.’
‘That goes for everybody,’ asserted Biggles. ‘This meeting with Miskoff may not be all to the good,’ he went on pensively, as they made their way through the gathering gloom. ‘True, the fact of our getting to know him has been helpful — so far; but if he kills Vostov while we are still here there’s bound to be a hue and cry that won’t make our task any easier. I suppose it would be no use trying to persuade him not to kill Vostov? Pre-meditated murder is never justifiable.’
‘He wouldn’t listen,’ declared Fritz. ‘To him the killing of Vostov would not be murder as we understand it. It would be normal behaviour. In his eyes he would merely be a coward if he failed to do what has become a solemn duty. You can see that the death of the man, who he has reason to hate, is the one object left in his life. The only alternative would be for him to kill himself.’
‘Why is he so keen to use a messy tool like an axe?’
‘He has no other weapon.’
‘Well, since he has offered to help us I suppose we can’t complain. In any event it isn’t for us to judge him, anyway.’
It was dark by the time they reached the Otter, to find the others in a state of acute anxiety over their long absence.
Biggles told them the reason for it.
CHAPTER 7
WHAT ONE MAN CAN DO
THE stars were dying one by one before the advance of the ever-conquering dawn when, the following morning taking with them the promised provisions. Biggles Ginger and Fritz, set off for their rendezvous with Ivan Miskoff, the grief-stricken Russian now bent on revenge.
As a matter of detail Biggles had intended taking only Fritz with him, but Ginger had pleaded to be allowed to go with them, arguing that it would be wise, in case of accident, for another member of the party to see all that Miskoff could show them, and possibly act as a messenger between Biggles and those who were remaining behind. To this Biggles had agreed.
The usual precautions were taken as they made their way under a slowly lightening sky along the track, with the forest still in inky darkness on their left and the silhouettes of the mountains beginning to take shape. The air was keen with a touch of frost in it.
They found Miskoff waiting in the dim half-light, his axe on his belt, for, as he had told Fritz, ex-prisoners were forbidden under pain of death to possess firearms — not that it was normally possible for these to be obtained. To Ginger he presented a pathetic spectacle as he stood by a mound of freshly turned earth, at one end of which had been erected a rough wooden cross, obviously the grave of the woman who, by sharing his solitude, had made existence bearable.
He accepted the groceries with a short word of thanks and hid them under a tree, covering them with fir needles. Then, raising a beckoning finger he strode off into the forest on a line parallel with the shore of the estuary. It was clearly a way well known to him, for although he wound a sinuous course through the trees he seemed never at a loss for direction.
A walk of some twenty minutes brought them to within the reek of wood smoke, and presently the source of it could be seen through the trees; another poverty-stricken dwelling such as the one occupied by the man leading them. He made a detour round it. Later, two others were passed in the same way. An occasional glimpse between the trees revealed that the estuary had been left behind and that they were now following the river itself. It was not very wide, perhaps thirty yards, with the rushes, except for small groups, having given way to mossy rocky banks. It did not look very deep except at some ominous-looking pools. Occasionally a gravel bottom could be seen. In such places the water ran swiftly. There were bends where the banks had been undercut, presumably by the spates when the summer sun thawed the frost-bound ground at higher levels.
They were still in fir forest, which seemed endless, although there were a few patches of birch. The ground on their side of the river was becoming more rugged, ridged rather than undulating, with tiny ice-fringed rivulets feeding the main stream. Reaching the top of an escarpment Miskoff stopped. He spoke not a word, but with an outstretched finger indicated all that words could have conveyed.
Before them, not more than a quarter of a mile away, on a flat eminence from which the trees had been cleared, stood a grim, grey stone building of massive proportions. It looked what it was. A prison. The prison of Onor. The forbidding gateway, with its great double doors closed, faced them. From it paths radiated out like the spokes of a wheel. Some ran directly to the edge of the forest, where a tangle of freshly lopped branches showed that trees were being felled. One, broader than the rest apparently from constant use, ended some way off at a collection of wooden buildings with stacks of squared timber adjacent. This, clearly, was the sawmill to which Miskoff had referred. Another broad track struck diagonally down a gentle slope to disappear round a shrub-covered shoulder of earth. Taking the landscape as a whole a more dreary scene would have been difficult to visualize.
Biggles nudged Fritz and pointed: ‘Ask him where that track leads.’
Fritz put the question and replied: ‘To the mine and the railway.’
Biggles looked surprised. ‘Railway? I didn’t expect to find a railway here.’
After another short conversation with Miskoff Fritz explained: ‘It’s only a very narrow-gauge one, with small iron trucks which sometimes come to take the coal and timber to where they are required.’
Miskoff resumed the march, now keeping well inside the forest for it was daylight. He walked with an assurance which made it clear he was familiar with his surroundings. For a time they lost sight of the prison. When next they saw it, as they returned to the river, it was away to their right and their view was from a different angle.
The reason why Miskoff had brought them to this particular spot was not apparent. The track to the face of the opencast coal workings, having rounded the shoulder of the hill, had dropped to the level of the river, which it followed for a little way, on the opposite bank, of course, at a distance of not more than thirty yards from where they stood. It then turned away again towards the workings. And this was not all. Close at hand was a chaos of rocks, piled up as if they might have been the result of a landslide. With weeds and young trees sprouting from the cracks between them this made an ideal spot from which to watch the track. By a signal Miskoff indicated this was the intention, so choosing their places, where there was no possibility of being seen, they settled down to wait.
‘Ask him which is the best way of crossing the river, because it looks as if we shall have to, sooner or later,’ requested Biggles.
Fritz obliged. ‘There is a ford in front of us. Also there is an old wooden footb
ridge lower down. We didn’t see it as we came here because of the detour we made in the forest.’
Presently Miskoff spoke again in a low voice to Fritz, who passed on the information.
‘He says my uncle may not be working at the coal. He may be at the saw mill. But if he goes to the mine, from here we shall see him. We must wait. It will not be for long. This is about the time the prisoners pass.’
This information turned out to be correct, for had only been in position for a few minutes when round the shoulder of the hill, from the direction of the prison, marching along the track came a ‘crocodile’ of human beings. There was no difficulty in distinguishing between the prisoners and their guards, for, of course, they walked apart, and the guards carried either rifles or whips. All wore uniforms: the guards, a dark grey military service dress, and the prisoners, work-stained dungarees, black with yellow stripes, which made them conspicuous and was obviously intended to mark them for what they were should they escape. They walked in a double line. Some of the men carried tools. Ginger counted them and made the number twenty-nine. There were twelve guards armed with rifles, and two with whips, which they cracked from time to time as they were herding cattle. ‘Who are these prisoners?’ Biggles asked Fritz.
Fritz replied. ‘Most of them are habitual criminals.’
Biggles nodded understanding. Nothing more was said as the miserable cavalcade approached that part of the track nearest to them. The men marched in silence. The only sound was the steady plod of their feet on the muddy track.
It now seemed to Ginger, as he watched through a cranny, that it was not going to be easy to pick out von Stalhein even if he was there. Not only were the prisoners all dressed alike but they were similar in other respects. Their hair was long and their faces unshaven. Many wore rough beards which, with their hair, left only a small part of the face exposed. As Ginger’s eyes ran over them he found it hard to believe that the immaculate Prussian officer could look like one of these miserable wretches in any circumstances; and he had, in fact, decided that he was not there, when he noticed a man who walked with a limp. He remembered that von Stalhein limped slightly from an old wound. He stared at the man. The thought that this filthy creature might be the man they sought shocked him. There seemed to be a slight resemblance, notably in the upright figure.