Curtain of Fear (12 page)

Suddenly Nicholas found his tongue. “It's a lie! A flat lie! I've never so much as laid a finger on her.”

She continued to look straight at him. “You need not be ashamed of admitting it because you knew I had no option. Everyone here realises that there are occasions when a woman Comrade is proud to submit to things which are personally distasteful to her if they are rendered necessary by her work.”

“Are you suggesting that I made you sleep with me against your will?”

“That first night at Marlow you made it quite clear that if I wouldn't, you meant to break off our association; and you knew perfectly well that the importance of maintaining it left me no choice.”

Her voice was coldly indifferent, but her expression gave him the idea that she was laughing at him. Then he realised that was owing to the small cast in her left eye which, in the strong light, he could now see again.

“Damn it, I've never been to Marlow,” he burst out. “I've never even set eyes on you until to-night.”

“It is unnecessary to pursue the matter further,” Vaněk declared with a smile of approval at the pale-faced girl. “Before
I sent for you, Comrade Hořovská, he was endeavouring to persuade us that he was Professor Nicholas Novák, Bilto's cousin. That is why he so stoutly denied his relations with you.”

“I see,” she returned his smile. “I knew already that he'd got cold feet and was trying to wriggle out of going to Prague. I expect Comrade Abombo has told you that we had to bring him here from Cricklewood against his will. He is more of a fool than I thought him, though, to try such a silly stunt as this. No family resemblance could be close enough for a girl to have any hesitation about identifying a man she has slept with.”

That was the very point which was making Nicholas wonder if he was not living through some evil dream. Bilto and he were certainly very alike, but there was ten years' difference in their ages. The girl's eyes showed no sign of weakness and, even had she been nearly blind, it seemed utterly incredible that she could mistake a man she had never seen before for one with whom she had been having an affair over many months.

“It is settled, then!” Vaněk gave Nicholas a belligerent look. “You are Professor Bilto Novák, and I shall send you to Prague.”

“I am not!” Nicholas protested angrily. “And even if I were, what would be the use? I left the hotel with only the things I stand up in. All Bilto's notes—or mine, if you insist that I am Bilto—are still there in his luggage. What good would an atomic scientist be to anyone on the other side of the Iron Curtain if he had left all his data behind?”

Vaněk waggled his pince-nez with a knowing look. “Ah, but you carry most of your knowledge in your head. If you still prove recalcitrant when you get there, our friends will find ways to extract it. But come! We have already wasted a further ten minutes disposing of your wicked lies. Time is now short, and to guard against trouble at the airport, we must give you special treatment. Comrade Abombo, go and tell Comrade Lubitsch that we have a reluctant passenger. Ask him to get his things together and come here as quickly as possible.”

“What d'you mean to do?” cried Nicholas in sudden apprehension.

“To give you a small injection.” Vaněk's gold tooth flashed
in a brief smile. “Nothing that will upset you seriously. You will be quite well again to-morrow; but for the next few hours it will make you feel as though you were drunk, and slow up the action of your brain.”

Nicholas' face went a shade whiter. Swiftly he took stock of the situation. The negro had left the room. Vaněk was well on into middle age and of frail build. The tall young man did not look as if he had much stamina. It seemed hardly likely that the girl would be capable of going very much to help them in a rough-house. It was three to one, but now or never. He clenched his fists.

“Stay where you are!” Vaněk had noticed Nicholas' gesture and guessed his intention. In one quick movement he stepped back to the side of his desk and thrust a hand behind him into a half-open drawer. When the hand appeared again it was clutching a pistol. Pointing the weapon at Nicholas, he said:

“You will achieve nothing by resorting to violence. I am a good enough shot to stop you with a flesh wound, so we should still be able to send you to Prague. Keep your hands by your sides—unless you prefer to go as a stretcher case.”

Short of risking a bullet, there seemed no reply to that, so Nicholas did not attempt one. No words could have expressed the mixture of anger, exasperation, fear, doubt and indignation that seethed within him; so he remained silent while Vaněk turned to the girl:

“Comrade Hořovská, as he left without any luggage we must provide him with a suit-case and enough things to make a show. Go upstairs and collect what is necessary from the wardrobe room. While you are there pack a case for yourself as well.”

Nicholas happened to be looking at her. He sensed rather than saw the blood drain from her face. It could hardly have gone paler, but the line of her eyebrows became more clearly defined, and by comparison with her cheeks, her lips became quite pink.

“A … a suit-case for myself,” she stammered. “But why, Comrade Vaněk … why?”

“Because I wish you to go with him,” Vaněk replied quietly.

“No! Please!” she gasped. “I have a date. Someone I promised to meet at half past ten up in the West End.”

“You are not down in my book for any assignment. Has something arisen unexpectedly in connection with one of your cases?”

In three quick strides she came round the end of the table to within two feet of her chief, and said in a low, urgent voice, “Comrade Vaněk, this is a private matter, but it means a very great deal to me. I have always …”

Tilting back his head, he looked at her through his pince-nez and said severely, “I am amazed, Comrade Hořovská, to hear you use such bourgeois expressions. For those of us who have dedicated ourselves to the creation of a Workers' World State, there are no longer ‘private matters'. It is most distressing to me to learn that you are still subject to the type of weakness you suggest, and I must strongly recommend you to discipline yourself.”

“I'm sorry, Comrade Vanék.” She began openly to cringe. “Of course I realise how anti-social such emotions are, and I assure you that I would never allow anything of that kind to affect my Party-consciousness. But … but is it really necessary for me to go to Prague?”

“Even were it not, I should send you there now,” he declared with the harshness of a fanatic. “It would be a fitting exercise for you in subordinating all thoughts to the priority of politic endeavour. But it
is
necessary. Experience has taught us that when cases such as we now have on our hands travel accompanied by a woman there is less likelihood of awkward questions being asked. I had intended that Konečný should go with him as his courier. Now someone who can at the same time act a nurse-mistress-secretary role will be more suitable, and in view of your intimacy with him.…”

At that instant Nicholas leapt forward and grabbed at the pistol in Vaněk's hand.

For the past two minutes the girl's unexpected reluctance to accept an order had diverted the attention of both Vaněk and the thin young man from their prisoner. Nicholas had watched
the pistol gradually slew away from him and downward till it was pointing towards the floor. Seizing his chance, he attempted to snatch it, but the force of his spring made him overshoot the mark. Instead of his fingers closing on the weapon they met round Vaněk's wrist.

The Czech jumped backwards in an endeavom to jerk free his hand, but only succeeded in pulling Nicholas after him. For a moment they stood a foot apart with their arms thrust out sideways, both fearful that the gun would go off and wound them.

“Quick, Konečný! Seize him! Seize him!” Vaněk cried in Czech, and the thin young man threw himself at Nicholas from behind. But Vaněk was no match for his younger antagonist. Before Konečný could come to his help Nicholas hit him hard in the stomach and at the same moment gave his wrist a violent wrench. He groaned, doubled up, and the pistol fell with a dull thud on the floor.

Nicholas had no time to turn; he could only throw his body to one side as Konečný came at him. The young Czech had aimed to grasp both Nicholas' arms and hold them fast behind his back, but the movement frustrated his intention. He succeeded only in catching hold of Nicholas' left elbow, and the wrench he gave it swung Nicholas round towards him.

As Vaněk staggered away, retching and gasping, the two younger men closed. The Czech was slightly the taller, but Nicholas was more sturdily built. For some twenty seconds they remained almost motionless, striving for mastery; then Nicholas broke the other's hold. Stepping back a pace, he clenched his fists and lashed out with all his strength. His left thudded into the Czech's ribs and his right took him squarely on his receding chin. Clutching frantically at the air, he went over backwards.

Panting from his exertions, Nicholas looked swiftly round. Vaněk was now leaning heavily on his desk, still trying to get his breath back. The girl had picked up the gun, but she was not pointing it at him. As his glance met hers he saw her eyes flicker towards the passage. It looked as if his swift double victory had taken her so much by surprise that it had robbed her
of the initiative to hold him up, and she was now counting on the sounds of the struggle bringing prompt help. Praying that by the time she recovered her wits it would be too late for her to use the pistol, Nicholas made a dash for the door.

Konečný lay sprawled in the way. The blow to the chin had dazed him but not knocked him out. He was rolling his head from side to side and making futile movements with his arms. It was the worst possible luck for Nicholas that as he sprang forward Konečný should have rolled right over. Instead of his right foot landing firmly on the floor it came down on the calf of Konečný's leg. It twisted under him and he fell in a heap on top of his victim. Konečný, still only half-conscious, and believing that he had again been set upon, let out a shout, struggled up on to his knees and struck out wildly. The sudden hunching of his back threw Nicholas against the table, he struck his head a sharp blow on its edge, reeled with the pain and tumbled over sideways.

Vaněk had now recovered sufficiently to re-enter the fray. Dodging out from behind his desk, he ran at Nicholas and kicked him savagely in the ribs. Already off balance as Nicholas was, the kick sent him right over. His cheek and shoulder hit the floor on the far side of Konečný, and his feet flew up into the air. As he wriggled over Konečný's still squirming body Vaněk came at him again, but this time he saw the kick coming and managed to grab the Czech's ankle. Heaving himself over, he brought the older man down on top of him, and as he fell used his free hand to strike at his face. The blow was little more than an upward jab, but it landed on Vaněk's mouth, cutting his lip badly.

The attack by Vaněk had lasted long enough for Konečný to get back some of his wits. Regaining conscious control of his limbs, he ceased to flail them blindly, dragged himself free of the other two and grabbed Nicholas by the hair. Nicholas twisted free, again hit him under the chin, then kneed Vaněk in the stomach. Gasping for breath, his eyes watering from pain, bruised, shaken and half winded, he struggled up between them into a half-kneeling position. Konečný had fallen back with his mouth hanging loosely open and Vaněk now lay face downwards
on the floor making horrible animal noises. Instinctively Nicholas realised that he need fear no more trouble from either of them. Swaying as though slightly drunk, he pulled himself to his feet and lurched towards the door.

But the delay caused by his having tripped over Konečný proved fatal to his chance of escape. Vaněk's first shouts had alarmed the house, and even the few moments occupied by the recent melée on the floor had been sufficient for several people to reach the scene of the trouble.

As Nicholas made his second attempt to reach the doorway, a hard-faced middle-aged woman appeared blocking his way. Close on her heels came Rufus and a big blond man with china-blue eyes. They were followed by another, very fat woman, wearing a check apron, and an elderly man with a drooping moustache, whose hands were black with printer's ink.

In a matter of seconds Nicholas was surrounded. Several people struck him at once, and he was temporarily too exhausted to do more than ward off the most savage blows. Fortunately for him, the good-natured Rufus saw that he was incapable of serious resistance, so thrust the others aside and pushed him into a chair; then, more in sorrow than in anger, proceeded to read him a lecture:

“Mister Bilto. Didn't ai warn you not to start nothin'? What for d'you wanta go actin' so an' gettin' you'self hurt? They tell me that way down in your heart you's one of us, an' it's all wrong for us proletarian-ideologists to go gettin' at cross purposes. 'Tain't sense for you to pretend you's not you'self and don' wanta go to Prague no more. That's where duty calls you; an' doin' our duty is what qualifies us to be equal members of one great big happy family. Yes, sir, we must all do that if we's to see the fine new Communist world that Comrade Stalin is workin' so hard to create for all the poor simple folks who can't create nothin' for themselves. Now Comrade Stalin, I reckon he'd be mighty hurt if he knew how you been behavin' this evenin'.”

“Oh, go to hell!” groaned Nicholas, sinking his aching head between his hands. But he could not shut out the babble of
voices that now filled the room. Most of them were using Czech, but he caught snatches of English and German. The hard-faced woman was dabbing with a handkerchief at Vaněk's cut mouth. The fat one, whose apron suggested that she had come from the kitchen, was fussing over Konečný. The big fair man and the old fellow with the drooping moustache were asking the Hořovská girl for details of the trouble. Then, after a minute or two, Vaněk was helped back into the chair behind his desk, and he called for silence.