V for Vengeance (31 page)

‘No. She will be transferred with the other women who were captured this evening to the
Cherche-Midi
. It is an old prison, and they are using it again now for female political prisoners.'

‘And Major Schaub?' asked the Russian. ‘Can you tell me where he lives?'

‘He has a room at the Headquarters of the Army of Occupation in the Hôtel Crillon.'

‘You feel reasonably certain that Madeleine will not be moved from the
Cherche-Midi
for the next few days?'

‘Yes; but if you care to ring me up at any time I can always let you know if she is still there or not. Just ask me if the cigarettes have come in, and if I say they have not arrived you'll know that she has not been shifted. If, on the other hand, I say that they have, you can suggest a time and place at which you propose to collect them, then I'll meet you there and let you know what they've done with her. You must forgive me now, but my dinner appointment is for eight o'clock, and it is important that I should be on time.'

When the Frenchman had gone the Russian paid his bill and left the café. Crossing the road, he walked past the Théâtre Français up the Rue de Richelieu, until he came to a little restaurant, and, entering it, he endeavoured to revive his spirits a little with as good a dinner as he could get, while he thought over possible plans.

By the time he left it he was feeling scarcely less depressed, but he had the germ of an idea, and, turning it this way and that in his subtle brain, he set about finding some place where he could pass the night. It occurred to him that he would be less likely to be asked awkward questions about his having no luggage if he slept in a Turkish Baths, so he went into a café and made enquiries from a waiter. The waiter told him that the Hammam was quite near by, in the Rue des Mathurins,
and gave him directions to it, although remarking that he had no idea if it were still open.

The Hammam was still open, but only for massage, as the shortage of fuel in Paris now made it impossible to keep the steam-rooms going. As Kuporovitch was cold, tired, and bruised about the body, he would have given a lot for a hot bath of any kind, but that being out of the question massage was better than nothing, since it would serve to stimulate his circulation and ease the strained muscles of his stomach.

Having undressed, he found that it was now black and blue from where he had fallen across the bough of the tree, but he told the masseur that he had tripped in the black-out and come crashing down across a low stone balustrade. After the man had been working on him for three-quarters of an hour he felt very much better. About half past ten, wrapped in blankets, he turned in, and, in spite of his gnawing anxiety about Madeleine, passed a reasonably good night.

As is so often the case, his brain continued to work for him while he slept, so when he reconsidered his plan the next morning he found that his fragmentary ideas had now fallen into place; but as a first step to carrying them out he required at least a ton of coal, and coal was now virtually unobtainable in Paris.

On leaving the Turkish Baths he telephoned Ribaud from a call-box and made known his requirement. Then, in order to cover the detective against anyone who might be tapping his line, he said that he had very stupidly made a bet the night before when he had had one over the odds, that by hook or by crook he would get hold of a ton of coal, and he must do his best to win it.

Ribaud played up to the line given him, laughed a lot at the rashness of the bet, chipped the Russian about having got tight, then said that he might try a Monsieur Lavinsky of 29, Rue Buffon, near the Gare d'Austerlitz. Lavinsky was a black market operator, and Ribaud indicated in guarded language that if Lavinsky refused his help Kuporovitch should exert pressure on him by telling him that the police knew what he was up to and would take action against him unless he was prepared to oblige Lieutenant Ribaud's friend.

Kuporovitch got a bus which took him over the river and
along the quays of the south bank; and getting off at the railway station soon found Lavinsky's office. Lavinsky proved to be a fat little Jew, who, judging by the size of his warehouse, and the samples of many kinds of scarce goods which littered his office, was doing a considerable business. When Kuporovitch asked him for a ton of coal he almost threw a fit, rolling his eyes up to heaven and throwing out his short tubby hands with a despairing gesture.

‘A ton of coal!' he cried. ‘Why do you not ask at once for a ton of gold? It would be just as difficult to get and hardly more expensive. Besides, you must know that it is rationed, and that to sell a single knob to anyone without a permit is now a serious offence against the regulations.'

Fixing him with his brown eyes, which could go so hard on occasion, Kuporovitch replied: ‘Let us not waste time, my friend, in talking hot air about difficulties and regulations. I know that you have the stuff, and I am quite prepared to pay you black market prices for it. What is more, I wish to borrow a horse and wagon from you so that I can deliver it myself.'

‘But you are crazy!' the Jew expostulated. ‘I am an honest trader, who has his own customers to consider, and never would I handle anything by way of the black markets.'

‘Well, you're going to this time,' said the Russian firmly. ‘I was talking this morning with my good friend Lieutenant Ribaud …'

The Jew's eyes suddenly narrowed. ‘You are from the police, then. I guessed from your accent that you were a German, monsieur, and, of course, I will help you if I must; but I assure you that in the ordinary way I would never dream of going against regulations.'

Kuporovitch did not correct the Jew's wrong assumption about his nationality, as it gave him an even bigger pull, but said: ‘Lieutenant Ribaud informs me differently. In fact, if we cared to do so, we could bring quite a number of charges with heavy penalties against you; but if you'll do as I wish I don't think it likely that the police will bother you.'

Lavinsky had gone perceptibly paler, and he now began to rub his hands together as he stuttered out his anxiety to be of service. But when they got down to the price of the coal, in
spite of his obvious fright, he proved a stubborn bargainer. Kuporovitch had to part with two thousand francs, which was nearly half his total reserve of cash, as the price of a single ton of very indifferent coal.

He then told Lavinsky that he wanted the coal loaded on to a cart with a horse already harnessed up, so that he could drive it away when he called again at four o'clock that afternoon; he added that he also wished a man or boy to accompany him and, later, to bring back the empty cart.

He now had only a few things to buy while he killed time until the day was sufficiently advanced for him to make his bid to rescue Madeleine; so he walked slowly through the Jardin des Plantes and up the sloping street towards the Luxembourg, stopping at various shops to make his purchases. These consisted of a small brown handbag, a white linen jacket, such as barbers wear, which he managed to find after visiting several second-hand shops, and a number of items such as scissors, clippers, brush, comb and towels, which are the implements of the barber's trade. He then bought some rolls and some very indifferent sausage-meat which was mainly bread, and took them into the Luxembourg Gardens, where he sat down on a bench to make a picnic meal. Had he but known it, Gregory was that morning also killing time, in the Bois de Vincennes; but unfortunately neither of the two friends had the faintest idea where the other had got to; so, instead of being able to meet and cheer each other up, they had perforce to wander about alone and in considerable anxiety about one another.

At last the time came for Kuporovitch to make his way back to the Rue Buffon. On his arrival there he demanded a blank delivery slip, then Lavinsky led him out into the yard, where a loaded coal-cart with a young boy beside it was already waiting. Having handed over the two thousand francs the Russian proceeded to get himself up like a coal-heaver by tying an apron of empty sacks round his still sore middle, draping another like a pointed hood on his head, and smearing his face lightly here and there with coal-dust. The little Jew was eyeing these manoeuvres with the utmost curiosity, so Kuporovitch went over to him and said in a husky whisper: ‘This is Gestapo business, so keep your nose out of it, or
you'll find yourself in trouble. If you attempt to follow me, or have me followed, you'll be getting a free ride to Dachau.'

With a nod to the boy, who clambered up on to the back of the cart, Kuporovitch mounted to the driver's seat and, flicking his whip, drove the coal-cart out of the yard.

At a slow walk it trundled through the streets of Paris until they reached the tradesmen's entrance of the Hôtel Crillon. Pulling up, he got down, and, leaving the boy to look after the horse, slouched across the pavement to the hotel doorway, where he told the goods porter that he had a ton of coal for him.

The man said that he knew nothing about it, so Kuporovitch shrugged and replied: ‘All right, then, I'll take it away again. If you don't want it there are plenty of people who do.'

‘No, don't do that,' said the man hastily. ‘I expect my boss forgot to tell me that a load was being delivered this afternoon. He's off duty now, but I'll show you where to put it.'

As Kuporovitch was about to follow the porter inside a German sentry stepped forward and roughly motioned him back, upon which the porter said: ‘You stay out in the street, chum. No one's allowed in here except the staff. I'll go down and unlock the cellar, and if you watch along the pavement you'll see me push up the lid of the manhole; then all you'll have to do is to shoot the stuff down out of your sacks.'

The Russian was in no way dismayed, as he had felt certain that no one would be allowed inside the headquarters of the German Army of Occupation except such members of the hotel's original staff as had been retained for convenience, and that these would be under close supervision. A few minutes later he saw the lid of a manhole about fifty yards away tilt up out of the pavement, and walking along to it he lifted the lid right out, while beckoning to the boy to lead the horse and cart nearer.

Squeezing himself through the hole, Kuporovitch found that he was in a roomy cellar, where several tons of coal had already been heaped up against one wall. The light was on, and the porter was standing there. Pointing to the heap he said:

‘You'd best shovel it up on to that when you've got it down so as to keep the space under the manhole clear. I'll have to
lock you in, as these Germans are strict as blazes, and I'd find myself in a concentration camp if you so much as poked your nose out into the passage. Shall I sign for it now or come back when you've finished?'

‘I expect they keep you pretty busy, so you may as well sign now,' Kuporovitch muttered, taking from his pocket the printed slip with which he had made Lavinsky furnish him, and a stub of pencil.

The porter signed the slip and locked the door behind him; then, climbing out of the manhole, Kuporovitch set to work to unload the wagon and shoot its contents down into the cellar. Having got it down, he shovelled it on to the big heap. The whole job took him best part of an hour and a half, as he had calculated it would; so by the time he had done darkness was already falling.

He now had to get rid of the boy and the cart, and he knew that this was a weak link in his plan, as if the boy was a Quisling and reported either to the porter or Lavinsky that he had left the amateur coal-heaver behind all sorts of unpleasant possibilities loomed ahead; but the Russian had been able to devise no other way of getting rid of the cart than to bring someone with him, and he could only rely on a judicious blend of bribery and fear to ensure the lad's keeping his mouth shut.

Wriggling out of the hole again, he said to the young
gamin:
‘Your master doesn't know where I am delivering this coal, and I don't want him to. He's certain to ask you when you get back, but I suppose you wouldn't mind telling him a fib, if I make it a bright smilewrth your while—eh? How about a hundred francs to say that we took the coal to the Soviet Embassy? You can tell him if you like that I'm not a German, as he thought, but a Russian.'

‘A hundred francs!' chirruped the lad excitedly. ‘That's all right by me, mister, if I ain't getting into any trouble.'

‘You won't—provided you keep a still tongue in your head. But there are strange things happening in Paris these days, and life is pretty cheap. I mean to stay behind here, and my friends know what I'm up to. If you breathe a word of that you'll get a knife in your back one dark night; so you'd better be careful,'

The boy let out a frightened whistle, but he eagerly grabbed the hundred-franc note that Kuporovitch held out, and as the cart drove away the Russian was fairly satisfied that he had little fear from a betrayal in that direction. Lowering himself again through the coal-hole, he drew its lid back into place after him.

When making his plan Kuporovitch had imagined that if he could only get into one of the hotel cellars he would have access to the rest of the building, but that had not proved to be the case at all, as the porter had locked him in. However, one swift glance at the door had been enough to show him that in this case it was very much less of an obstacle to his plans to be locked in than to be locked out, as the cellar door had one of those old-fashioned square iron box locks, which was affixed to its inside where he could easily get at it. After taking off his coal-heaver's sacking and cleaning his face as well as he could with lick and his handkerchief, he went over to make a proper inspection of the lock.

The slot into which the tongue of the lock disappeared was only affixed to the door-jamb by two rusty screws. Among the implements which were lying about in the cellar was a wood-chopper, and having forced its edge under the slot a good heave was sufficient to drag the screws out of the dry wood. There was nothing to hold the door to but its latch, so he could go out into the passage whenever he wished.