“Yes — that’s sound. Thanks —” Simon helped himself to another cigar. “We shall miss our Hoyo’s —” he laughed suddenly.
“Not altogether, I trust,” De Richleau smiled. “I have dispatched two hundred in an airtight case to await our arrival.”
“Won’t they be opened at the frontier? Customs people pretty troublesome about anything like that, I should think.”
“Not these, my friend — I sent them in the Embassy bag — and that, at least, is one privilege that we, who used to rule the world, retain — as long as we have friends in the diplomatic service there is always that wonderful elastic Embassy bag — passing the Customs without examination, and giving immunity to correspondence.”
Simon’s dark eyes flickered at the Duke with an amused smile. “That’s wonderful,” he agreed, “and if the food’s going to be bad we shall enjoy the Hoyo’s all the more. I’ll tell you one thing I’m worried about, though. I can’t speak a word of Russian! How are we going to make our inquiries?”
“Fortunately I can,” De Richleau replied. “You probably do not know it but my mother was a Plakoff — her mother again was a Bourbon-Condé, so I am only one-quarter Russian — but before the War I spent much time in Russia. Prince Plakoff possessed immense estates in the foothills of the Carpathians. A part of that territory is now in the enlarged Rumania, the other portion remains in the new Soviet of the Ukraine. I stayed there, sometimes for months at a time, when I was young. I also know, many of the Russian cities well.”
“That’s lucky,” said Simon. “Now what exactly would you like me to do?”
“Go to the ‘Intourist’ and arrange for a stay of perhaps a fortnight in Moscow; let them obtain your passport visa in the ordinary way — that will take some little time. Book by the direct route to Moscow, via Berlin and Warsaw — you will cross the frontier at Negoreloye; I will meet you in Moscow after making my inquiries in Helsingfors, and combing the Consulates in Leningrad for any information which they may have.”
Simon nodded his bird-like head. “What about the Embassies here. I suppose you’ve done what you can?”
“Yes, but quite uselessly. The American Embassy had already been questioned by Washington on behalf of Channock Van Ryn, but they could add nothing to Moscow’s report that ‘Rex left on December 11th for an unknown destination’.”
“How about mun?”
“Who?” asked the Duke, vaguely.
“Money — I mean,” Simon corrected with a grin.
“I would suggest a good supply; at one time visitors to the Soviet were forced to deposit all foreign money at the frontier; they were given Soviet roubles in exchange, and any surplus of these which they had left over they could exchange once more into their own currency when they left the country; but that is so no longer. It is permissible to carry any currency into Russia, only the amount must be declared, in order that no question can be raised as to taking it out again.”
“Won’t they be suspicious if I — er — bring in more than I should need in the ordinary way?”
“Yes, perhaps. Therefore it would be best if you declare only one third of what you bring; conceal the rest about you — in your boots or the lining of your waistcoat. I am sending a reserve for myself by way of that excellent Embassy bag. It is quite possible that we may need a considerable sum for bribes, and, if we can find Rex, for arranging a method by which he can be smuggled out of the country. If we declare all that we have when we go in — it might be difficult to explain upon what it has been expended, when we go out. You must remember that all travels, hotels, food — practically everything is supposed to be paid for before we start.”
“Jack Straw?” queried Simon, suddenly “I can’t help wondering what he meant by that. Do you think there’s anything to be done there?”
De Richleau ran his hand lightly over his forehead. “What do you suggest?”
“Well, I’ll tell you. I don’t think it would do any harm if I went up to Hampstead one evening — had a look at the people that go there these days — we might get a line.”
“An excellent plan; you will have ample time.”
“Do you happen to have an atlas?” Simon asked with a little laugh. “I’ve almost forgotten what Russia looks like!”
“But certainly, my friend.” De Richleau produced a heavy volume. A table was cleared of its jewelled crucifix, its jade god, and the signed photograph of King Edward VII; then the big atlas was opened out. For a long time the handsome grey head of the Duke remained in close proximity to the dark Semitic profile of Mr. Simon Aron, while the two talked together in low voices.
Some two hours later De Richleau saw his guest down the broad stairway of Errol House to the main hall, and out into the silent deserted streets of Mayfair.
“You will not forget Jack Straw?” he said as they shook hands. “And twelve o’clock at the Ilyinka Gate in Moscow a fortnight hence — it is best that we should seem to meet by chance.”
“I’ll be there,” said Simon, adjusting his top-hat upon his narrow head. “The Ilyinka Gate, Moscow, at twelve o’clock, fourteen days from now.”
III — “Valeria Petrovna”
Simon Aron stepped out of a taxi in front of his cousin’s house in Hampstead one night, a little more than a week after his dinner with the Duke.
Simon was a very rich young man, but it was an interesting point in his psychology that he lived in one small room at his club, and did not own a car. The taxi-driver, however, had no reason to be dissatisfied with his tip, although he had had a long and chilly wait outside Jack Straw’s Castle, which his fare had elected to visit on his way from Piccadilly.
The house was one of those long, low, modern mansions standing back from the road in its own grounds. The short gravel drive and the roadway on each side were lined with private cars of all makes and sizes; the windows of the house were a blaze of light; it was evident that a party was in progress.
Having greeted the maid at the door as an old friend, and divested himself of his silk scarf, white kid gloves, stick, and shining topper — Simon was soon in conversation with his hostess.
“Good party tonight, Miriam?” he asked her in his jerky way, with a wide smile.
“I hope so, Simon dear,” she replied a little nervously. “I’ve taken an awful lot of trouble — but you never know what people will like — do you?”
“Of course it will be a good party, Miriam,” he encouraged her. “Your parties always are good parties! Anyone special coming?”
“We’ve got Gian Capello — he’s promised to play, and Madame Maliperi is going to sing; it’s a great help having Alec Wolff too, he’s really very clever at the piano; Jacob says he’ll go a long way — and knowing him so well I can get him to play at any time.”
“Of course you can — Alec’s a nice boy.”
“I tell you who I have got here —” she went on hurriedly. “Madame Karkoff — you know, Valeria Petrovna Karkoff — from the Moscow Arts Theatre; she’s over here on a visit with Kommissar Leshkin. Jacob met them at the film studios at Elstree last week.”
Simon’s quick eyes flickered about the wide hall; with sudden interest he asked: “Does she — er — speak English?”
“Oh yes. Simon dear I do wish you’d look after her, will you? They don’t know anybody here. It would be an awful weight off my mind. Look! there she is — the dark woman, in the yellow dress. She’s awfully good-looking I think — will you?”