“Nor I,” agreed the Duke. “What do you make of the passage about Eatonov?”
Simon’s dark eyes flickered over his spectacles at the Duke.
“That’s where the muddle comes in — Eatonov is Richard Eaton, of course — and poor Richard went to Brixton! Rex is in prison — that’s what it seems to me.”
“Without a doubt,” De Richleau nodded, “that reference to Eaton was a clever way of putting it — no ordinary person could understand it, but he would know that, to us, it would be abundantly clear. If one needs further confirmation, one has only to note the suggestion about his transfer being arranged for, and that ‘it will be impossible for him to come to Moscow now to meet us’; he is somewhere in Soviet Russia, but he is not a free man.”
“The letter was posted in Finland,” Simon remarked.
“Certainly.” The Duke pushed the old brandy across the table to his guest. “It looks as if the letter was smuggled out of Russia, evidently Rex was afraid that his messenger might be searched at the frontier, and so made him commit the address to memory. From the envelope I doubt if the man could even speak English. The whole thing, with its talk of centres, comrades, and reactionary Governments, is obviously designed to throw dust in the eyes of any Soviet official.”
“Who is Jack Straw? I don’t — er — understand that bit at all. The only Jack Straw’s that I’ve ever heard of is the Castle on the Heath.”
“Jack Straw’s Castle — what is that?” The Duke looked puzzled.
“An inn on Hampstead Heath — place where Dick Turpin, the highwayman, used to make his headquarters about a hundred and fifty years ago — at least,” Simon corrected himself, “I’m not certain that isn’t ‘The Spaniards’.”
“What can an inn on Hampstead Heath have to do with a mine in Russia? There must be some other explanation.”
“Perhaps,” Simon hesitated, “it is the meeting-place of some secret Bolshevik society.”
“But, my friend, if Rex has fallen foul of the Ogpu, surely they would be the last people to give us any information about him?”
“It might be a society of counter-revolutionaries, and Rex has been arrested for being in touch with them.”
“If you are right, Rex may have gone to Russia on behalf of these émigrés, and been arrested on that account — if so, the mine may be anything of value — perhaps even secret information.”
“Well — I’ll tell you,” said Simon, “I don’t like it a little bit — look at the last sentence in that letter — ‘I certainly need help pretty badly in my present position, it’s too much for me alone.’”
The Duke gently laid the long blue-grey ash of his cigar in the onyx ash tray. “There is not a doubt,” he said, slowly, “our good friend Van Ryn is a prisoner in Soviet Russia — Rex is one of the bravest men I have ever known, he would never have written that last paragraph unless he were in dire distress. It is a cry for help. Where he may be in that vast territory which constitutes the Union of Soviet Peoples, it will be no easy task to discover. He has found somebody — a fellow prisoner, perhaps — who was about to leave the country, and persuaded him to take this letter in the hope that it would get through. The chances were all against it reaching it’s destination, but as it has done so — the point is now — what are we to do?”
Simon Aron leant forward and laughed his short, jerky laugh into his hand. “Well — er — I hate to say so,” he laughed again, “but it seems to me that you and I have got to take a trip to Russia.”
II — A Plan of Campaign
“Now this,” said the Duke, “is indeed a pleasant surprise. I thought you might bring fresh light to bear upon some aspect of this affair — but to have your actual help was more than I had dared to hope.”
“Very fond of Rex,” said Simon briefly.
“I know,” De Richleau nodded, “but our situations are so different. My life is one of leisure — in fact, now that old age is creeping upon me, and more and more pursuits become barred to a man of my years — I find it increasingly difficult to pass my time in an interesting and agreeable manner. You, on the contrary, as a young partner in a great financial house, have always to be on the end of the eternal telephone. You even grudge a single afternoon spent away from your office in the City. I had imagined that it would be quite impossible for you to get away.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I was — er — thinking of taking a holiday — going down to Monte for a few days — might just as well go to Russia!”
De Richleau smiled rather grimly. “I fear that this will be a very different kind of holiday, my friend. However, we will not talk of that. It is some days since I received this letter, so I have already made certain inquiries and preparations.”
“Tell me,” said Simon, shortly.
“First I cabled to my old friend, the President of the Chesapeake Banking and Trust Corporation — Van Ryn the elder — for news of Rex. Let us go into the other room, and I will show you his reply.” As he spoke the Duke left the table and threw open the door for his guest.
“Yes, I’d like to see that — I’ll take my brandy with me, if you don’t mind.” Carrying his glass, Simon Aron led the way into the big library.
It was not so much the size or decoration which made this room in the Curzon Street flat so memorable for those who had been privileged to visit it, but the unique collection of rare and beautiful objects which it contained. A Tibetan Buddha seated upon the Lotus; bronze figurines from Ancient Greece. Beautifully chased rapiers of Toledo steel and Moorish pistols inlaid with turquoise and gold, Ikons from Holy Russia, set with semi-precious stones, and curiously carved ivories from the East. The walls were lined shoulder-high with books, but above them hung lovely old colour-prints, and a number of priceless historical documents and maps.
De Richleau went over to his desk and, taking a few flimsy sheets from a drawer, handed them silently to Aron.
Simon read out the contents of the cable:
“Rex very unsettled since return from Europe last summer — went lone hunting expedition in Rockies August September — went South America October — stayed West Indies on return trip — went Russia late November against my wish ostensibly investigate commercial conditions properly accredited by me — letter received dated December fourth stating safe arrival no news since — became worried end December put inquiry through Embassy — Rex left Moscow December eleventh destination unknown — all efforts to trace movements so far unavailing — spare no expense cable any news immediately now very anxious Channock Van Ryn.”
Simon nodded. “Expensive cable that!”
The Duke crossed his slender legs, as he settled himself comfortably in an arm-chair. “That I think would hardly matter to Channock Van Ryn, and Rex, you will remember, is his only son. I am not surprised that he is anxious, but if there was ever any doubt about the message having come from our young friend, I think this cable places the matter beyond dispute.”
“Umm,” Simon nodded. “Now let’s see — today’s the 24th of January, isn’t it? At any rate, it’s nearly seven weeks since he disappeared from Moscow.”
“Exactly, but there is one comfort: we know at least that he has not been knocked on the head in some low quarter of the town and his body flung into the river — or pushed under the ice, rather — for, of course, the Moskawa River will be frozen over now. He must have fallen foul of the secret police in some way — our young friend is nothing if not inquisitive — and I believe there are very definite restrictions as to what visitors to the Soviet may, or may not, see during their stay.”