“Wait a moment!” Simon slowly revolved his brandy-glass, holding it in the palm of his hand to warm the spirit through the thin transparent glass — “Wait a minute,” he repeated, “that cable said ‘left Moscow for an unknown destination’!”
“Yes,” agreed the Duke, “and during the last few days I have been gathering information regarding other places to which he may have gone. I think you would be surprised at the knowledge which I now possess of the towns and railways of the Soviet Republic.”
“How — er — did you set about it?” Simon asked curiously.
“The obvious way, my friend.” De Richleau’s clever face broke into a sudden smile. “I paid a visit to the London office of the ‘Intourist’, which as you may know, is the official travel bureau of the Soviet. For some time now, Stalin and the present group of Kommissars have thought it desirable that people of the anti-Bolshevik states should be encouraged to visit Russia. For one thing they spend money which the Soviet badly needs — for another, they are shown certain aspects of the Bolshevik State, such as the great Metalurgical works, and scientifically run agricultural centres, of which the Kommissars are justly proud. It is hoped that they will return to their own countries with a glowing picture of the benefits of Communism for the masses.”
“But you can’t just take a ticket and go to Russia, can you?” Simon spoke doubtfully.
“Almost — but not quite, they have been very clever.” The Duke spread out his slim hands. “You wish to go to Russia? Good! To what part would you like to go — Leningrad, Moscow, Keiff, Odessa, the Crimea, the Caucassus? Would you like to stay four days — or four weeks? To start in the north, or in the south? All you have to do is to tell — us — The ‘Intourist’. We will be your servants in a country where there are servants no longer. Here are all sorts of itineraries, all ready planned. They can be varied to suit your purpose. Is it the treasures of the old world, that we have so carefully preserved, which you wish to see — or the marvellous industrial developments, by which Russia will lead the world in a few years’ time? Let us plan your journey for you. We will take your railway tickets in advance, and provide you with hotel accommodation during your stay. Of both there are four grades; and which you choose depends only upon what you wish to pay. Good meals will be provided for you, and the prices of the tours include not only entrance to all museums and sights of interest, but to the theatres and places of amusement as well. What is that? You fear you may have difficulty with the language? But not at all! An interpreter will be placed at your disposal — You do not wish to go with a crowd of people like a tourist? Certainly not! You shall have an interpreter entirely to yourself — there is no extra charge. You see, my friend —” Once more the Duke spread out his elegant hands as he finished his word-picture of the persuasive advertising agent of the Bolsheviks.
“Clever,” Simon said softly. “Oh, very clever!”
“Exactly.” De Richleau smiled again. “And that little Bolshevik interpreter will be your guide, philosopher, and friend, from the time you arrive until the time you leave this very interesting country. You can secure neither railway tickets nor hotel accommodation without consulting him, and although this excellent ‘Intourist’ will cheerfully get your passport visa for you to enter the Soviet — should you by chance desire to change your plans, and forget to inform the little interpreter — you will find it quite impossible to secure the necessary visa to get out.”
“I see.” Simon laughed his little nervous laugh. “And that’s where the fun begins. Supposing we wanted to get off the beaten track — to some place that the itineraries don’t mention — what happens then?”
“That,” said the Duke, slowly, “is a different matter. I talked vaguely to the polite young man at the bureau of visiting Archangel. He pointed out that the port would be frozen over at this time of year; an uninteresting place to visit, he seemed to think. I spoke of other towns not mentioned in the official guide — and the winter scenery in the Urals. He said that there would be no suitable accommodation. In fact, he was not helpful in any way.”
“Have you any idea what conditions are like out there now?”
De Richleau shrugged. “It is difficult to say — the reports of people to whom I have spoken vary so greatly. There is little doubt that the towns are overcrowded and food scarce. Everyone has to surrender thirty-five per cent of their wages to assist in the accomplishment of the Five Year Plan. The whole population is pauperized to this one end. Some say that the masses will not stand the strain, and that through this, and the lack of technical experts, the plan will fail and there will be counterrevolution. But with these, I think, the wish is father to the thought. Others contend that the enthusiasm for the Plan is tremendous, and that the sacrifices to assist in its accomplishment are made with the same fervour as that displayed by the early Christians in their attempt to convert the world. The truth, I think, lies somewhere between these two.”
“That’s more or less what I’ve heard.” Simon solemnly nodded his head up and down. “Mind you —” he added, “The Five Year Plan is only the first of a series, and they’re up against tremendous difficulties — it’s such a big place — Russia — and nine-tenths of the people couldn’t even read and write before the War; population’s about a hundred and eighty million, and the whole thing’s run by the Communist party, which is only about a million and a half.”
“But, my friend, that million and a half of a few years ago, is nearly four million today. Every day thousands of young people are graduating from the enlarged universities under high pressure, and every one of them is a Communist. That is one great factor in their favour; they control the intelligent youth of Russia, the other is their fanaticism. With them the Communist ideal is a religion. Ambition, comfort, leisure, personal relations, everything must give way to that. That is why I believe in the long run they are bound to triumph.”
Simon’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps — I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Christianity hasn’t triumphed or Islam — and they were fanatical enough. Still it won’t be yet awhile, and anyhow it’s not our business. When do you think of starting?”
“I am leaving tomorrow,” the Duke replied, somewhat to Simon’s surprise. “You will understand, I had not counted upon your company, and I felt that every day was of importance. Traces that our friend may have left in his passage will tend more and more to become obliterated; and I do not care to contemplate what Rex may be suffering in a Bolshevik prison. It was for that reason that I made all speed — even to secure a special diplomatic pass through a certain Embassy, where I have particularly obliging friends.”
“All right,” Simon agreed. “I shan’t be able to get away for a few days, but I’ll follow you as soon as I can.”
“Do not follow me, my friend, but join me in Moscow. I have elected to go by sea to Gothenburg, and hence by rail via Stockholm and St. Petersburg — or rather Leningrad as they call it now. It will take some days longer, but you will remember that the messenger posted Rex’s letter in Helsingfors. It is my intention to break my journey there for forty-eight hours; I shall advertise in the Finnish papers for news of Rex, and offer a substantial reward. If fortune is with us, the messenger may still be in the town, and able to inform us more exactly regarding our poor friend’s misfortune and his present whereabouts.”