It would have been more convenient to telephone the courier while they were still at Aronson's place, but the cautious Needle had not left them any number or address. A house with a mezzanine, from which she could see the private lecturer's apartment through binoculars - that was all Green knew about where she lived. Not enough. No way to find it.
The role of the 'post box' for emergency communications was played by an old coach house in a side street close to Prechistenky Boulevard - there was a convenient crevice between its beams, wide enough to thrust your hand into as you walked by.
Before they left, Green had told the private lecturer to remember the system of signals. If their comrade came back, to speak to him as if he were a stranger: I've never seen you before, and I don't know what you're talking about. Rahmet was no fool; he would understand. He knew about the post box. If he wanted to explain himself, he would find a way.
From nine o'clock Green took up his observation post beside the Sukharev Tower, where he had met Needle the day before. The place and the time were convenient, there were crowds of people pouring into the market.
He had made his way across a courtyard and in through a back entrance to the position he had spied out the day before -a small, inconspicuous attic with a little window, half boarded up, that looked straight out on to the square. Intently, without allowing himself to be distracted, he studied everyone hanging around anywhere nearby. The hawkers were genuine. So was the organ-grinder. The customers kept changing; not one of them lingered for very long without a good reason.
That meant it was all clear.
Needle appeared at a quarter to ten. First she walked past in one direction, then she came back again. She was checking too. That was right. He could go down.
'Bad news,' the courier said instead of greeting him. Her thin, severe face looked pale and she seemed upset. 'I'll start at the beginning.'
They walked along Sretenka Street side by side. Green listened without saying anything.
'First. Yesterday evening the police raided Larionov's apartment. They didn't arrest anyone. But afterwards there was a shooting. Larionov was killed.'
That was Rahmet, he did that, Green thought, and he felt relief and rage at the same time. Just let him come back and Green would have to give him a lesson in discipline.
'Second?' he asked.
Needle just shook her head. 'You're too quick with your reprisals. We needed to investigate first.' 'What's second?' Green asked again.
'We haven't been able to find out where your Rahmet has got to. As soon as I find out something, I'll let you know. Third. There's no way we can send you out of the city soon. We were going to use a wagon on a goods train, but the railway gendarmes are checking all the seals at twelve versts and sixty versts outside Moscow'
'Never mind that. There's even worse news, I can see. Tell me.'
She took hold of his elbow and led him off the crowded street into a quiet lane. 'An urgent message from the Centre. A courier brought it on the morning train. Yesterday at dawn, at the same time as you executed Khrapov, the Police Department Flying Squad smashed up the secret apartment on Liteiny Prospect.'
Green frowned. The security arrangements for the clandestine apartment on Liteiny Prospect were excellent, and the party funds were kept in a secret hiding place there - all the funds remaining from the January expropriation, when they had hit the office of the Petropolis Credit and Loan Society.
'Did they find it?' he asked curdy.
'Yes. They took all the money. Three hundred and fifty thousand. It's a terrible blow for the party. I've been instructed to tell you that you're our only hope. In eleven days' time we have to make the final payment for the printing works in Zurich. A hundred and seventy-five thousand French francs. Otherwise the equipment will be repossessed. We need thirteen thousand pounds sterling to buy arms and freight a schooner in Bristol. Forty thousand roubles have been promised to a warder at the Odessa Central Prison to arrange for the escape of our comrades. And more money's needed for the usual outgoings ... Without the funds, the party's activities will be completely paralysed. You must give your reply immediately - under the present circumstances, is your Combat Group capable of obtaining the sum required?'
Green did not answer immediately: he was weighing things up.
'Do they know who betrayed us?'
'No. All they know is that the operation was led in person by Colonel Pozharsky, the deputy director of the Police Department.'
In that case, Green had no right to refuse. He had let Pozharsky get away on Aptekarsky Island; now he would have to make amends for his blunder.
However, under present conditions carrying out an expropriation was extremely risky.
First, there was the uncertainty about Rahmet. What if he had been arrested? It was hard to know how he would react under interrogation. He was unpredictable.
Second, he didn't have enough men. In effect, he only had Emelya.
Third, all the police forces of the city must have been thrown into the search for the CG. The city was swarming with gendarmes, agents and plain-clothes men.
No, the risk was unacceptable. It was no good.
As if she had been listening to his thoughts, Needle said: 'If you need people, I have them. Our Moscow combat squad. They don't have much experience - so far all they've done is guard meetings; but they're brave lads and they have guns. And if we tell them this is for the Combat Group, they'll go through hell and high water. And take me with you. I'm a good shot. I can make bombs.'
For the first time Green took a proper look into those serious eyes that seemed to be dusted with ash, and he saw that Needle's colour was like his own - grey and cold. What was it that dried you up? he thought. Or were you born that way?
Out loud he said: 'No need for hell and high water. At least, not yet. I'll tell you later. Now, a new apartment. If we can't have a telephone, all right. Only there must be a second exit. Seven this evening, same place. And be very careful with Rahmet if he turns up. I'm going to check him.'
He'd had an idea about where to get the money. Without any shooting.
It was worth a try.
Green let his cabby go outside the gates of the Lobastov plant then, as usual, waited for a minute in case another sleigh came round the corner with a police agent in it, and only when he was sure he wasn't being followed did he turn and walk into the factory grounds.
As he walked to the main office past the workshops, past the snow-covered flower beds and the elegant church, he gazed around curiously.
Lobastov managed his business in capital fashion. Even in the very best American factories you wouldn't often see such good order.
The workers Green encountered on his way were striding along with a purposeful air that was not Russian somehow, and he didn't spot a single face puffy and swollen from drink, even though it was Monday and still the morning. He'd been told that at the Lobastov plant the mere smell of drink would get you sacked on the spot and put straight out of the gates. But then the pay here was twice what it was at other plants, you got free company accommodation and almost two weeks of holiday on half-pay.
What they said about the holiday was probably a fairy tale, but Green knew for a certain fact that the working day at Timofei Grigorievich Lobastov's enterprises was nine and a half hours, and eight hours on Saturdays.
If all the capitalists were like Lobastov, there'd be no reason left for kindling any conflagration - Green was suddenly struck by this surprising idea when he saw the sturdy brick building with the sign 'Factory Hospital'. But it was a stupid idea, because in the whole of Russia there was only one Lobastov.