Curtain of Fear (30 page)

“Put it back,” he whispered severely. “Whatever else we have to do there can be no justification for theft.”

“Be your age!” she retorted. “To carry on, the Legion needs the sinews of war. Besides, I've a use for some of it myself.”

Getting to their feet, they slipped quietly out of the box. Under a light in the corridor she paused for a minute to extract
enough notes from the wallet to make up two thin wads each amounting to one thousand Koruny, before thrusting it into her bag. When they reached the entrance the doorman was standing just inside it. After a quick look round to see that they were not observed, she said to him:

“You know the girl who's hat I am wearing, don't you?”

“Yes,
Slečna
he replied at once, giving her the old, respectful form of address. “She's a regular here.”

“Good.” Fedora smiled, pressing one of the wads of notes into his hand. “She told me you were to be trusted. But we've had trouble with that old, bald waiter. Tell her that I dare not leave her hat behind, as it might be used as evidence that she helped us. It would be safest too if she didn't come here for a while. When she comes for her hat, please give her that money and ask her to buy another with it.”

The doorman nodded. “Very good,
Slečna
. I'll see to that.”

“Thanks; and this is for yourself.” Fedora held out the other thousand Koruny.

“No, no!” He shook his head. “You're on the run. You need it more than I do.”

“Take it, brother, please.” She tapped her bag. “We have plenty; and it may enable you to help someone else.”

He smiled, and took the money. “All right, then. Good luck,
Slečna
. And may every one of those dirty Coms rot in hell forever.”

With a quick “Good night” to him they hurried out into the now dark street, and Fedora said, “I'm afraid we've got a long walk ahead of us.”

“In that case we had better keep a look-out for a taxi,” Nicholas suggested.

“That's right; and we'll tell the man to drive us to the Berkeley.”

“I'm afraid I don't get the joke,” he said a little huffily.

She squeezed his arm. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pulled your leg, but you do rather ask for it by continuing to assume that Prague is not very different from London. The taxis are few and far between here; and if you do see one for God's sake
don't hail it. All the drivers are kept on a string by the police. They have to put in a report about every job they do, giving a description of their passengers, where picked up, and where put down. It is all part of the universal check-up which enables the Coms to find out about people's private lives; and, of course for anyone on the run to take a taxi to their intended hide-out is as good as ringing up the police to ask them round in the morning.”

There was no moon and the streets were not very brightly lit; but they could see a good way ahead, as there was practically no traffic and very few people about. The latter fact added to the danger of their being challenged; for, as Fedora told Nicholas, the police spent most of their time at night calling on pedestrians to produce their identity cards. For them, with no cards, such a challenge would have spelt disaster; so they took every possible precaution to avoid one.

To have hurried would have been to invite trouble, too; so they walked arm in arm at an easy pace, as though they were a young couple homeward bound after some innocent family celebration. But not for a moment did they relax their vigilance, and every time they saw the silhouette of a policeman in the distance they took the next side turning, rather than risk passing near him.

This precaution added greatly to the distance they had to cover, but zig-zagging from street to street they gradually made headway in the right direction. When passing the National Museum at the top end of the broad Wenzeslas Square they had a very nasty moment, as a policeman stepped out from the shadow of the great equestrian statue in front of the building; but Fedora had the presence of mind to pull up at once, wish him good evening, and ask if he could oblige them with the time.

Glancing at a gold wrist-watch, he told her that it was twenty-five to eleven; then asked where they were going.

“Home to bed, of course, Comrade,” Fedora laughed. “And I bet you wish you had the luck to be doing the same thing.”

Ignoring Nicholas, he grinned at her. “I wouldn't mind, if it
was with you, baby. But I go off at midnight, and I've got a girl on ice for then.”

“Give her a smack on the bottom for me,” said Fedora, and with a good-humoured laugh, in which Nicholas joined, the policeman let them go on their way.

To the north-west of the Wenzeslas Square the streets became narrower, and Fedora led Nicholas through a maze of twisting ways until, at the far end of a gap between tall buildings, they glimpsed the river. They had now entered a commercial district in which there were no houses and few shops. It was mainly occupied by wharves and warehouses, all of which were dark, silent and deserted. The streets were ill-lit, and Fedora became uncertain of the exact situation of the building for which she was looking. Twice they crossed a canal which led down to the river, and for some minutes explored noisome alleys and sinister
culs-de-sac
without success. Then, from a pitch-black doorway, a man's voice came low but clear. He said:

“John Huss is dead.”

Fedora halted in her tracks, and replied, “But his spirit lives on in his people and will endure forever.”

Nicholas realised that a password had been exchanged, and knew that it referred to the great Czech pre-Lutheran martyr whose preaching had paved the way for the Reformation. A short, broad-shouldered figure then emerged from the blackness, took Fedora's hand, bowed over it and said in a cultured voice:

“Paní Hořovská, I am delighted to see you again. It is bad news that you are on the run, but you and your friend will be safe here with me.”

“Thank you, Pan Smutný,” smiled Fedora. Then she introduced Nicholas to him as Pan Novák.

Leading them through the doorway, Mr. Smutný bolted it after him, produced a torch and said, “Now follow me very closely, please, because in the building I have installed a number of trip wires; so that should anyone pay me an unauthorised visit they would set off a burglar alarm up in my flat, and give me warning of their approach.”

As they advanced, Nicholas could see that they were in a large and lofty warehouse. Their guide led them upward from floor to floor, but not by a direct route. On each they followed him through narrow lanes formed of stacks of crates or sacks until another broad shallow staircase brought them to a higher floor. At length they reached the top floor, and it seemed that they could go no further; but in a corner, cunningly concealed by a rampart of boxes, hung a light wooden ladder suspended from the edge of a trap-door in the ceiling. When they had climbed it they found themselves in a long narrow hall-way with a carpeted floor and coloured prints hanging on its painted walls. Puffing a little, Mr. Smutný pulled up the ladder, closed the trapdoor, and exclaimed:

“There! Now you need have no more fears. You are at home.”

It was, indeed, with most heartfelt relief that Fedora and Nicholas followed him into his comfortable sitting-room; which, although small, with its handsomely bound books, pictures and
objets d'art
, might well have been situated in a luxury block. Smiling at their surprise, he told them that this flat of his was actually a six-roomed penthouse which he had had built on the warehouse roof in anticipation of the German invasion, and that he had lived there ever since, unsuspected by either the Nazis or the Communists who had succeeded them. No one but a few trusted workmen were ever allowed to handle the goods on the upper floor of the warehouse, and apart from them only a few members of the Legion knew that the penthouse existed. Its only inconvenience was that it was always semi-dark in daytime, as it was essential to keep it entirely blacked out at night, and the only satisfactory way of doing so had been to paint over the windows and the skylights.

Now that Nicholas could see Mr. Smutný properly he found that he was a man of about forty-five with black hair turning grey, intelligent brown eyes, and a fine broad forehead. As soon as they had seated themselves in the armchairs that he pushed forward for them, he went over to a cabinet and produced a bottle of Slivowitz and glasses; but Fedora said:

“Pan Smutný, it is food we really need, if you can possibly produce a meal for us. We have had nothing to eat since early this morning.”

“You poor child,” he exclaimed. “Of course you shall have a meal, and a good one; for I flatter myself that I am no bad cook. But a nip of this while I am preparing something will give you an even better appetite; and I would like to hear just how great the danger was that you have been in. I take it there is absolutely no chance of your being traced here?”

She shook her head. “No. You may be sure that I would never wilfully endanger a friend, and I am quite certain that we were not followed.” Then, as they drank the Slivowitz, she gave him an outline of their exhausting day; but she made no mention of Bilto and gave no reason for being in Prague, leaving him to assume that the police had got on to them as suspected spies soon after their arrival that morning.

Discreetly, he refrained from asking her any questions; and, when she spoke of the whipping she had been given, although his face clouded he showed no surprise. On the contrary, after she had concluded her account, he said quietly:

“You were lucky to have been in their hands for so short a time and to have got off so lightly. The last poor girl that I know of who was rescued from them had to be taken straight to one of our secret nursing-homes. They had jumped on her stomach with their hobnailed boots, and she will suffer for the rest of her life from the internal injuries they inflicted. For you, Paní Hořovská, I recommend a saline bath to take the inflammation out of your cuts, while I am getting you some supper.”

Nicholas raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I know salt heals cuts but surely its application to them is terribly painful?”

“Not when it is applied in the form of a saline bath made up in the correct manner,” Mr. Smutný replied quickly. “It is just a question of balance. When the skin is broken the fluid rushes to the surface, causing pain. If salt is rubbed into the wound it causes the absorption of the fluid, which also causes pain. But the application of salt dissolved in the proportion of a cupful
to a gallon of lukewarm water stabilises the situation, and while soothing the pain helps to heal the wound.”

Fedora hesitated. “I didn't feel too bad after they had treated me, and while we were sitting still in the Moulin Rouge, but our long walk has made my back hot and aching; so a saline bath sounds very tempting. The trouble is that it will be so painful getting my things off and on again.”

“You must not dress after your bath. I can lend you a silk dressing-gown.”

“Thank you, Pan Smutný, but we are very anxious to get out of Prague to-night, and I was hoping that you might be able to arrange it for us.”

“You would be wiser to stay here, as the sort of whipping you have had is liable to give you a high temperature. In fact, from your flushed face I suspect that you have a temperature now.”

“I'm afraid I have. But we must leave all the same if it can possibly be managed. It is of vital importance that we should get back across the frontier by midday to-morrow.”

“In that case I will do my utmost to help you. What are your plans for getting out of the country?”

“I am afraid we can hardly call them plans at the moment,” Fedora confessed. “They are no more than ideas on which I am pinning our hopes. Do you know a barman at the airport named Jirka?”

Mr. Smutný nodded. “Yes, slightly. Anyhow, I know quite a bit about him, and that he is one of our key men in operating the ‘funnel'.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“No; but I can find out, and get in touch with him if you wish me to.”

Fedora sighed with relief. “That's just what I do wish. I came to you because you are so high up in the Legion that I felt sure you would know about the ‘funnel', but I couldn't be certain that you would be able to get hold of anyone at short notice who is connected with working it. As far as I know, the ‘funnel' offers us the only chance of getting out of the country
within the next twelve hours, and Jirka told me this morning that, given a few hours' notice, he might be able to fix it for us. We had no means of reaching the airport after we left the Moulin Rouge, and anyhow, as Jirka does the first shift in the morning, we couldn't have contacted him till then. Will you please get a message to him asking him to do his best; then, if possible, get us out of Prague while it is still dark to a barn, or some place where we can doss down for the remainder of the night, within easy walking distance of the airport.”

Mr. Smutný reached for the telephone and after a short wait got his number. Then he talked for some minutes in cryptic phrases that sounded to his listeners as if he was conducting some complicated commercial transaction. When he put the receiver down, he said:

“So far, so good. I was speaking to a friend of mine, Pan Lutonský. He owns a small hotel now called the Soviet Worker-Hero Air-Mechanic, near the airport. He will go to see Jirka, who lives nearby, and then telephone me about your prospects.” Mr. Smutný smiled at Fedora and added, “Now I will go and cook you some supper. In the meantime, if you are to face further exertions to-night, I feel more strongly than ever that you should relax for a while in a saline bath and have some soothing ointment put on your cuts.”

Nicholas said tentatively, “Someone will have to put the ointment on; so if you'd like me to I'll help you get out of some of your things, and generally act as lady's-maid.”