Red Stefan (14 page)

All this was in his mind as one thought.

He pressed against the door, wondered what Irina had been saying about him, and heard a man say,

“We're not to go in?”

Irina's voice answered him.

“No, no, of course not.”

Another man said,

“I don't see why.”

“Why?”
Irina's tone was sharp. “Haven't I told you why?”

A third man said in a slow, drawling manner,

“Alexis must always be told a thing three times. That is what he calls being thorough.”

The others laughed. There were certainly half a dozen of them.

“I don't see why,” said Alexis obstinately.

“Haven't I told you I'm not sure?” said Irina.

“I thought you said you were sure.” Alexis sounded a little sulky.

Stephen could hear Irina stamp her foot on the snow.

“I am sure in myself—I have told you that! From the moment I first saw her I said to myself, ‘There is something wrong there. Stefan is not the man to marry like that.' And when she could not tell me the name of her village, then I began to think indeed. And when Comrade Petroff told me about the woman he was looking for, I was sure in myself that this Varvara must be the one, so we came here after them. Then, half an hour ago, when I met Vera and she told me she had seen Boris Andreieff at the station and that he said he had lent Stefan his room, I thought at once, ‘Now we have her!' Only we mustn't run any risk. She must be watched so that she can't get away.”

“But still I don't see why we are to wait outside,” said Alexis.

“Alexis never does see anything,” said the man with the drawling voice.

Irina stamped her foot again.

“How many times am I to tell you that it is Comrade Petroff who must identify her? You will wait on the stair and see that she does not go out. As soon as you are there I will go for Petroff. If she is not the woman he is looking for, there is no harm done—we have only paid a friendly call upon our friend Stefan and his wife. If she is the woman, then Petroff can deal with her. She is a counter-revolutionary and a
bourzhui
who has been withholding valuable information from the state.”

“But still I don't see—” began Alexis.

Irina interrupted him furiously.

“Do you want Stefan to break your head? He probably will if he's at home. It might be better for you not to be in such a hurry. He doesn't like being interfered with, you know.”

“If it comes to head-breaking, a bullet can do more damage than a fist.” This was a dry voice that had not spoken till now.

They were armed. It was, of course, to be expected, but it was a death-warrant to any hope of getting Elizabeth away. If he had had a pleasant vision of knocking the conspirators' heads together two by two, chucking them down Boris Andreieff's conveniently steep stair, and carrying Elizabeth off in triumph over their silly prostrate bodies, it did most definitely drop down dead at the realization that these Young Communists were in possession of fire-arms. The young man with the dry voice sounded as if he would have a steady hand. Alexis, of course, could be trusted to miss anything he aimed at.

Alexis was saying,

“But if she is a counter-revolutionary—”

“Oh, go home, Alexis!” said the man with the drawling voice.

“There's no need to get your head broken until Petroff has said what she is,” said Irina. “You stay on the stair till he comes. Once Stefan knows what she is, he will be on our side. He's a good Communist. It is the woman who has deceived him!”

The feet moved on, tramping the snow. The voices became fainter and were lost.

Ten years in the Secret Service trains a man to think rapidly and to make lightning decisions. Before the sound of the tramping feet had died away Stephen knew what he must do. He began to run in the direction from which Irina and her friends had come. Irina would not run. She would go with the men as far as the door of Boris' lodging. There would probably be a little more talk. Alexis would almost certainly delay the proceedings still further. Irina rarely missed any opportunity of holding forth. It might be another five minutes before she would start to fetch Petroff. In any case he had the legs of her and could count on getting there first. He spared no time to wonder what he would have done if he had not known where Petroff lodged. He did know, and the knowledge was to save them.

He came to the house with his part ready conned. Petroff had a three-roomed flat on the second floor. As Stephen knocked on the door, his ears cocked for the sound of Irina's step on the stair behind him, it came to him that this had been the door of Elizabeth's prison. Here she had lived in torment for a year. Here the old woman had bullied and starved her.

A voice shouted, “Come in!”

He opened the door and went in, his mind very clear and angry. The door led directly into a room from which other doors opened, one on either side. In the middle of this centre room was a large table littered with papers. Petroff sat at the table, but he was not occupied with the papers. He had a bottle in front of him and a glass in his hand. The room stank of vodka and the smoke of a rank cigar.

With a beaming smile Stephen rushed upon him and wrung him by the hand.

“Do you remember me, Comrade—Red Stefan? Yes, yes, of course you do—and Magnitogorsk—and the vodka! Well, well, well—that was a good meeting, wasn't it? And the vodka was good vodka! You were pleased to see me that day—eh, Comrade? And to-day you'll be even better pleased—unless I have made a mistake, and I don't think I have.”

Petroff pushed back his chair, but he did not push it much farther from the table. He pushed it so that his hand could with one movement reach the revolver which he kept in the top right-hand drawer. He was not at all drunk. He had not had time to get drunk. He had merely taken enough vodka to make him feel that he was more than a match for Red Stefan.

Stephen saw the movement and laughed. He leaned on the table with an air of genial friendliness.

A man of stout build this Petroff. A little softer than he had been at Magnitogorsk. No—decidedly he had not improved. He had always had Tartar eyes and a face that looked as if someone had been careless with it. Now he had, in addition, an air of having gone to seed.

“What do you want?” said Petroff, his hand at the drawer.

Stephen laughed again.

“What do you think? You'll never guess, so I must tell you. You're looking for a woman, aren't you-counter-revolutionary with important information?”

“Who told you that?” said Petroff sharply.

Stephen made a fine vague gesture.

“Some comrade—I don't know—it might have been Irina. Could it have been Irina?”

His ears were strained for the sound of Irina's footsteps. Yet he must not hurry too much. Petroff was no fool.

“It might have been Irina.” Petroff's tone was noncommittal.

Stephen nodded.

“Or it might have been some other comrade. Anyhow I heard it, and—now see if you are not surprised—I believe I have found her, this counter-revolutionary of yours. What is her name?”

Petroff had opened the drawer. His hand was on the revolver. His shallow, slanting eyes watched Stephen's face.

“Her name is Elizabeth Radin.”

Stephen looked first puzzled, then excited.

“She called herself Varvara to me. And I married her. Think of that, Comrade! I found her wandering about in the streets like a half-wit and took her off to my village—never suspected anything till she began to talk in her sleep, and then I thought to myself, ‘Oi, oi! What's all this?'” He laughed boisterously. “It's a funny business—eh, Comrade?”

Petroff kept his hand on the revolver.

“What did she say?”

“One night she said your name—‘Petroff'—just like that.”

Petroff reached his left hand for his glass and drank.

“She said my name?”

Stephen slapped his thigh.

“If I was a jealous husband, Comrade, what should I make of that? She said your name, and something more. She said, ‘Petroff wants it,' and then she screamed out, ‘No—no—no!'”

Petroff set down his glass again, empty.

“You're sure about this?”

“Sure? Of course I'm sure! That's why I'm here. I didn't say a word even to Irina. I just brought her along for you to have a look at her.”

The door at the foot of the stair opened and shut. That would be Irina. All right, let her come. He'd beaten her. There was nothing to spare, but he'd done it.

Petroff was saying,

“Here? She's not here?”

Stephen leaned towards him eagerly.

“No, no, she's at Boris Andreieff's lodging. He lent us the room. I left her there and came to fetch you—”

Feet on the stair, and a knocking on the door … Irina.

“You'll have to identify her,” said Stephen.

The knocking went on.

“Come in, if you want to!” shouted Petroff.

The knocking stopped. The door was flung open and Irina ran into the room.

CHAPTER XIV

Stephen swung round on his corner of the table and stared at Irina with a most convincing surprise. Petroff stared too.

After all, Irina had run. Her breast heaved, and her cheeks glowed with an unwonted colour. At the sight of Stephen she came to a standstill a yard from the open door and stood there angry, breathless, and beautiful.

With a welcoming shout Stephen sprang at her and linked his arm in hers.

“It never rains but it pours! Here you are—and in the very nick of time!” He kicked the door shut, laughed noisily, and pulled Irina towards Petroff. “You're full of visitors to-day, Comrade. But I can always go if I am in the way. You and I have had our talk, so if Irina wants to talk secrets to you, I can make myself scarce. All I've got to say is, you're a very lucky man, and I wouldn't mind being in your place.”

Irina pulled furiously away from him.

“What are you doing here, Stefan Ivanovitch?”

He made a laughing gesture.

“Just having a little talk with Comrade Petroff.”

Her eyes blazed on him.

“What have you been talking about?”

“Why not ask him?” said Stephen.

Petroff had withdrawn his hand from the top right-hand drawer. He did not think he was going to need that revolver. The little scene interested him, but he had the feeling that it was time for him to take part in it. A cleverer man might have gone on listening, but Petroff, though no fool, had his weaknesses, and one of these was a disposition to hold the centre of the stage. He took his cue now with alacrity.

“Yes, why not ask me?” he said.

Irina was a very handsome young woman, but she was just a little too bossy for his taste. The equality of women was all very well, but a girl like Irina didn't stop at that—She wanted the upper hand all the time. He felt decidedly grateful to Stefan. It wouldn't do Irina any harm to be taken down a peg or two.

“Well?” said Irina defiantly. “What has Stefan been saying?”

Petroff smiled, showing teeth blackened by tobacco.

“He has been telling me that he has found Elizabeth Radin.”

“What?”
said Irina in angry amazement. She stared at Stephen and put a hand on the table as if to steady herself.

“He has found Elizabeth Radin,” said Petroff.

Irina's voice sank to a sharp whisper.

“What?”

Stephen slapped his thigh and shouted with delight.

“It's a joke—isn't it? But you haven't any idea what a good joke it is. Lord—how you'll laugh! Shall we tell her, Comrade? I think we'll have to, because she'll never guess.”

He came and sat on the edge of the table and leaned confidentially towards Irina.

“I've found Elizabeth Radin. And who the devil do you suppose she turns out to be?” He drummed with his heels against the table leg and thumped an emphatic accompaniment upon the paper-strewn table top. “Guess—guess—
guess!
No, you can't guess—nobody could—so what's the good of trying? Oh my Lord—it's funny! I'll have to tell you. She's my wife Varvara. Just open your mouth and swallow that down if you can! Elizabeth Radin is my wife Varvara!” With a final bang he made the papers fly and the ink jump in Petroff's ink-well. “What do you say to that?”

For the moment Irina had nothing to say. She stood in a staring amazement which had no words.

Stephen sprang off the table and smote Petroff on the shoulder.

“There, Comrade—what did I say? She is so surprised that she can't say a single word. Irina without a word to say! Did you ever think you would see that? I shall certainly stick a feather in my cap.” He clapped Petroff's shoulder again. “Tell her it's true, Comrade, or she won't believe it.”

Stephen's hand was heavier than Petroff cared about. He pushed back his chair again, wincing.

“He certainly says his wife is Elizabeth Radin,” he said drily.

Irina leaned still more heavily upon the table. She removed her gaze from Stephen and looked at Petroff.

“Did he come here to tell you that?” she said in a low voice.

Petroff gave a brief nod.

“He came here to tell you that?” she repeated.

Stephen threw back his head and laughed.

“I said you would never guess! How could you? No one could have had the least suspicion. I had none myself until she began to talk about Comrade Petroff in her sleep—and, as I was saying to him, there might have been more than one explanation for that. Even Commissars must relax sometimes—eh, Comrade? But it wasn't exactly love-words she was saying in her sleep.” He pursed up his lips and winked at Petroff, after which he burst out laughing again. “Just think of me picking her up so innocently and believing everything she said! She pitched a good tale, you know—I'll say that for her—about her father and mother being dead, and a brother in the Red Army she hadn't heard of for two years, and couldn't I please help her to find him. Well, there's no harm done, but it'll be a joke against me for the rest of my days. Divorce is easy—that's one thing. And as we never even registered, well, there's an end of it.”