The Forbidden Territory

XIII — Stranded in Siberia

For a moment the group remained immovable; De Richleau with the reins in one hand and his whip in the other; Simon leaning back in the sleigh; Rex standing in the snow beside the horses; and the soldier halted, his rifle raised, only a few feet away.

The Duke gave a sharp, rasping command in Russian. It was so sudden, so unexpected, that the man was taken off his guard. Before he had realized what he was doing he had jerked back his shoulders and raised his rifle preparatory to “grounding arms”; the next second he had checked his automatic impulse, but it was too late. The instant his eyes left the American’s face and his rifle tilted Rex sprang upon him, and they crashed to the ground together.

By the mercy of Heaven the rifle did not go off. Simon and the Duke leapt from the sleigh. Rex and the Red Guard were rolling in the snow; first one on top, then the other.

“Don’t shoot,” cried the Duke anxiously, as he saw Simon whip out his big automatic.

The struggle was brief; the soldier was a big fellow, but not big enough to put up a serious fight once Rex had him in his powerful grip. In less than a minute he was on his back with Van Ryn’s hands tight about his throat.

Simon did not hesitate — the lesson of Sverdlovsk had not been lost upon him. The man must be silenced somehow, or De Richleau’s long knife would be between his ribs. He stooped and hit the man a stunning blow on the head with the butt end of his pistol.

The Red Guard lay still, a grey heap on the whiteness of the snow.

“What’ll we do with this bird?” asked Rex.

“Can’t leave him here,” said Simon. “He’ll raise the alarm when he comes to.”

“Throw him in the bottom of the sleigh,” De Richleau suggested. “We will deal with him later.”

“Sure,” Rex agreed, with a laugh. “Come on, big boy,” he addressed the unconscious soldier, as he picked him up by an arm and a leg, “we’re going to take you for a ride. Reckon your boots ’ll just about do for me!” He heaved the man into the sleigh and climbed in beside Simon.

De Richleau was already on the box again. He put the horses into motion; the sleigh slithered round the corner, and they took the road for the north. The lights began to twinkle from the wooden houses, and the stars came out one by one.

As they left the town behind Simon and the Duke were conscious of one thought. They had succeeded in one half of their enterprise; now they were faced with the second and more difficult half, to get both Rex and themselves safely out of Soviet Russia.

It was Rex who broke their sombre train of thought “Say, boys,” he cried, with his ringing laugh, “who’d want to be on a mucky little street like Broadway, when they could see stars like this!”

De Richleau let the horses have their heads. They were fine beasts, well fed and full of spirit. An hour’s hard driving would not harm them for further service, and it was vital to get well away from the town as quickly as possible.

The three friends wasted no time in discussion. Rex asked which way they were heading. Simon told him they were making for the forests of the north, and he seemed satisfied.

The road lay chiefly along the west bank of the frozen Irtysh River; in places it left the course of the stream, and ran for long straight stretches beside the local railway, which linked up Tobolsk with the small towns of the north. The road was wide, and in far better repair than that on which they had travelled from Turinsk; since it must be the less important of the two, this struck the Duke as curious, but he did not puzzle himself to find an explanation. He was only thankful that this enabled them to make far better progress than he had hoped.

After an hour they pulled up to rest the horses. The place was wild and desolate. Sombre forests stretched away on either hand, an almost uncanny silence brooded over the shadowy darkness, broken only the faint soughing of innumerable boughs as the night breeze rustled the pine tops. The moon was not yet up, and the starlight barely lighted the narrow ribbon of road.

They had been fortunate in meeting no one since they had left Tobolsk. The one straggling village through which they had passed had been destitute of life, its roofless houses and charred remains one of the many grim monuments that mark the years of bitter conflict throughout the length and breadth of Russia.

It was decided that they should press on all through the night, but at an easier pace to save the horses. Their prisoner started groaning, and showed signs of returning life. They tied his hands and feet securely, and put him in the bottom of the sleigh. Rex, having purloined his boots, took over the reins from De Richleau. Simon and the Duke curled up under the rugs to get what sleep they could.

The going for the next hour was difficult; heavy forests came up to the road on either hand, and the feeble starlight barely penetrated to the tunnel of darkness through which they drove. Later, when the forests fell away from the roadside, and the moon got up, its reflection on the snow made the whole landscape as bright as day. Rex was able to increase the pace considerably without straining the horses. In spite of the ever-increasing distance from Tobolsk, the road remained surprisingly even and well kept.

At a little before dawn they passed through the town of Uvatsk. It was shrouded in darkness, and fortunately the population still slept. De Richleau had stripped the sleigh bells from the harness on their previous journey, and except for the hoof-beats of the horses on the hardened snow, their passage was almost noiseless.

A few miles on the farther side of Uvatsk, Van Ryn drove the sleigh some way up a track at the side of the road. The place was thickly wooded, and when he was assured that they were well hidden from any chance passer-by, he stopped the sleigh and woke his companions.

The three set about preparing a meal. Simon and De Richleau had never allowed the rucksacks to leave their possession, and on inspection they found that they had enough food to last them for four or five days if they were careful; by that time they might hope to put a considerable distance between themselves and Tobolsk. After that they must trust to securing supplies from isolated farmhouses. The horses were a more difficult matter. The Duke had seen to it that the nose-bags were well filled the previous afternoon, but they would need to buy or steal fodder by the following day. If possible they must secure relays by exchanging their horses for others at some farm; if they could not arrange something of the kind their pace would be bound to suffer.

Their principal embarrassment was their prisoner. If they kept him they must feed him, and he would be a further drain on their supplies. He would have to be constantly watched or he might find some way of giving the alarm.

For the present they untied him; he was too stiff from his bonds to run away, and Rex had already secured his boots. They were careful also to remove his rifle from the sleigh.

The camping ground they had chosen for their meal was some twenty yards off the track, under the shelter of some bushes; the horses were unharnessed and hobbled.

De Richleau had a fair supply of “Meta” fuel in his pack, so they boiled water for tea. While they were waiting, the Duke spread out a map and pointed to their approximate position.

“Here we are, my friends,” he said, “half-way between Uvatsk and Romanovsk. We have covered something over a hundred miles since we set out fourteen hours ago. That is good going, particularly as we have reason to suppose that our pursuers will not look for us in this direction. But what now? It is over a thousand miles to the frontier. How shall we make that, with stolen horses, an escaped prisoner, and a Red Guard whom we must carry with us?”

Simon laughed his little nervous laugh into the palm of his hand. “We’re in a real muddle this time,” he said.

“Well, I’ll say we’ve taken the right road,” Rex laughed. “Romanovsk is just the one place in all the Russias I’ve been wanting to see for a long, long time.”

“Let us be serious, Rex,” De Richleau protested. “We shall need all our wits if we are ever to get out of Russia alive.”

Van Ryn shook his head. “I’m on the level. You boys wouldn’t know the fool reason that brought me to this Goddam country.”

“Oh, yes, we do,” said Simon promptly. “You’re after the Shulimoff treasure — Jack Straw told us!”

“Did he, though! He’s a great guy. Well, the goods are under fifteen miles from where we’re sitting now, in the old man’s place at Romanovsk; it ’ud be a real shame to go back home without those little souvenirs — we’ll split up on the deal!”

“I should be interested to hear how you learnt about this treasure, Rex,” said the Duke; “also how you were caught. Tell us about it now. We must give the horses at least an hour, they’re looking pretty done.”

“It happened this way.” Rex pushed the last piece of a ham and rye bread sandwich into his month, and leant back against the trunk of a near-by tree.

“Last fall I went to take a look at some of those one-eyed South American States — tho’, come to that, they’re not so one-eyed after all. Of course, as kids in the States, we’re always taught to look on them as pothole places — run by Dagoes, half-breeds, and dirty-dicks, and just crying out for real intelligent civilization as handed out by Uncle Sam — but that’s another story. On the way home I stopped off for a spell in the West Indies.”

“Cuba?” suggested De Richleau.

“Yes, Havana.”

“A lovely city. I was last there in 1926.”

“Sure, it would be a great town if there weren’t so many of our folk there — it was like Coney Island on a Sunday!”

“You were there when? November, I suppose?”

“That’s so. The American people treat Havana like Europe does Monte Carlo. Every little hick from the middle-west has to go to that place once, or he cuts no social ice in his home town at all. The bars are open night and day, and drinks about a tenth of the price they’d pay in a speakeasy back home, which isn’t calculated to make ’em behave as tho’ they were at the King’s garden party. I should have cleared out on the next boat if it hadn’t been for a Dago with a Ford!”

Simon smiled. “You don’t look as if you’d been run over!”

“Oh, it wasn’t this child,” Van Ryn laughed. “I was in my own automobile behind; I toured the Sports Bentley to South America with me. Anyhow, I was taking a spin out to the tennis-courts at the Jockey Club the second afternoon I was there, and just outside the town there was only this bird in the flivver in front of me. I was waiting to pass, when he swerves to avoid an oncoming car, and in swerving he knocked down a poor old man. Did he stop? Did he hell! He gave one look, saw the old bird lying in the ditch, and put his foot on the gas!”

“Brute,” Simon murmured.

“Brute’s the word,” Rex nodded. “Well, I don’t stand for that sort of thing, and I’ll not say Ford isn’t a big man, but he hasn’t turned out a car yet that can give the dust to a Bentley. I was after that guy as though I’d been a speed cop looking for promotion. In half a mile he’d got to take the sidewalk and the nearest light standard, or stop and have a word with me. He stopped all right, and started to jabber in Spanish or some lingo, but that cut no ice with me at all! I just happen to have been born a foot too tall for most people to try any monkeying, so I didn’t have much trouble with this little rat. When we got back they were picking up the old man.”

“Was he badly hurt?” the Duke inquired.

“Nothing serious; more shock and bruises than broken bones, but he was considerable upset, so we propped him up in the Bentley and I ran him down to the hospital. The Mexico negro — or whatever he was — I passed over to a real speed cop, who could speak his rotten tongue.”

De Richleau had been burrowing in his rucksack, and now produced a flat tin box, in which were packed a couple of layers of his famous cigars.

“Hoyo de Monterrey’s, by all that’s marvellous!” exclaimed Rex. “Well, I’ll say I never expected to smoke one of those sitting in the snow!”

“Unfortunately I had to leave most of them in Moscow,” said the Duke, “but I thought we would bring a few, and this — if ever — is an occasion!”

Simon chuckled as he carefully pinched the end of the long cigar which the Duke held out to him. “Thanks — d’you know, I believe if I meet you in the other world you’ll still have a box of Hoyos!”

“If I have not,” said De Richleau, puffing contentedly, “I shall send for my bill and move elsewhere!”

“Well, the whole party would have ended there,” Rex went on, “if it hadn’t been that I was bored fit to bust myself. So next afternoon, just to get away from all the sugar babies and card sharps in the hotel, I thought I’d go take a look at the old man.

“There he was, propped up in bed in the hospital, as wicked-looking an old sinner as ever you set eyes on; he spoke English better than I do, but he was a foreigner, of course; and, without being smarmy about it, he was grateful for what I’d done. You’ll have guessed, maybe, that he was the old Prince Shulimoff.”

Simon nodded. “I thought as much.”

“Yes, that’s who he was, tho’ he didn’t let on about it that first meeting. Just said he was a Russian émigré, down and out. We talked a bit, mainly as to what sort of damages he’d get out of our Dago friend. He was a gentleman all right — got all het up ’cause he couldn’t offer me any hospitality when I called. Well, then, you know how it is when you’ve done a chap a sort of kindness; you feel he’s your baby, in a way, and you’ve got to go on. So I saw the American representative about getting his case pushed on, and of course I had to call again to tell him what I’d done.”

“Was the Dago worth going for?” inquired the cautious Simon.

Rex shrugged his broad shoulders. “He wasn’t what you’d call a fat wad, but he was agent for some fruit firm. I thought we might sting him for a thousand bucks. Anyhow, in the meantime, I became great friends with old wicked face — used to go to the hospital every afternoon for a yarn with the old man. Not that I really cottoned to him, but I was fascinated in a kind of way. He, as was as evil as they make ’em, and a lecherous old brute, but I’ll say he had charm all right. He was worth ten thousand of those half-breed Cubans, or the pie-faced Yanks with their talk of how much better things were at home!”

“Surely,” remarked the Duke, “Shulimoff must have had investments outside Russia before the Revolution. How did he come to be in such a state?”

“He’d, blown every cent; got no sense of money. If he’d got a grand out of the fruit merchant he’d have spent it next day. But money or no money, he’d got personality all right; that hospital was just run for him while he was there. He tipped me off he was pretending to be a Catholic; all those places are run by nuns, and he knew enough about the drill to spoof them all; they fairly ran round the old crook! After I’d been there a few times he told me his real name, and then the fun started. He wouldn’t open his mouth if anyone who could speak a word of English was within fifty yards; but, bit by bit, he told me how he’d cheated the Bolshies.”

“Are you sure he was not amusing himself at your expense?” asked the Duke. “He seems just the sort of man who would.”

“Not on your life. He was in deadly earnest, and he’d only tell a bit at a time, then he’d get kind of nervous, and dry up — say he’d thought better of it — if the goods stayed where they were the Bolshies would never find them till the crack of doom; but if he told me, maybe I’d get done in after I’d got ’em, and then the something — something — something Bolsheviks would get them after all.”

“And where had he hidden this famous hoard?” De Richleau asked with a smile.

“You’ve hit it.” Rex threw up his hands with a sudden shout of mirth. “Where? I’m damned if I know myself!”

“But, Rex — I mean,” Simon protested. “You — er — wouldn’t risk getting into all this trouble without knowing where they were?”

“I’ve got a pretty shrewd idea,” Rex admitted. “They’re at Romanovsk all right, and I was getting right down to the details with the old prince, when — ”

“What happened? Did he refuse at last to tell you?” The Duke’s shrewd grey eyes were fixed intently on Rex’s face.

“No, the old tough just died on me! Rotten luck, wasn’t it? He seemed all right, getting better every day; but you know what old men are. I blew in one morning and they told me he was dead. That’s all there was to it!”

“Surely, my friend,” De Richleau raised his slanting eyebrows, “you hardly expected to find the jewels at Romanovsk on so little information. Remember, many people have been seeking this treasure on all the Shulimoff estates for years.”

“No, it’s not all that bad,” Rex shook his head. “When things blew up in Leningrad in 1917, Shulimoff didn’t wait to see the fun; he cleared out to this place here, bringing the goods with him. He thought he’d be safe this side of the Urals till things quietened down, or if they got real bad, he meant to go farther East. What he forgot was that he was the best hated man in Russia. The Reds sent a special mission to hang him to the nearest tree, and they did — as near as dammit! Took the old fox entirely by surprise. He’d have been a dead man then if some bright boy hadn’t cut him down for the fun of hanging him again next day! It was the old man’s cellar that saved him. The bunch got tight that night, and they’d locked him in the foundry without any guards outside.”

“The foundry? In the village was this?” asked the Duke.

“Lord, no, in his own house. He seems to have been a bit of a metallurgist — made locks, like Louis XVI, in his spare time, when he wasn’t out beating peasants or hitting it up with chorus girls from the Folies Bergère.

“This foundry was a kind of laboratory and study all in one. I reckon they chose it as his prison because it was one of the only rooms that had strong iron bars to the windows. That let them all out for the drunk! All being equal in the Red Army, no one wanted to miss a party to do sentry-go.”

“How did he get out, then,” Simon asked, “if the windows were barred?”

“Easy; he had all his gear in the foundry, so he cut those bars like bits of cheese with an oxy-acetylene lamp. But the old man kept his head — as luck would have it, the jewels were in the foundry. He wouldn’t risk taking them with him, in case he was caught, so he occupied the time while the Reds were getting tight in making something at his forge to hide ’em in.”

“What was it?” came Simon’s eager question.

“Now you’ve got me,” Rex shook his head. “That’s just what I never squeezed out of the old fox before he went and died on me.

“It was some sort of metal container, and he put the stones inside. It was something that ’ud look like part of the fittings of the foundry, and something that nobody would trouble to take away. He soldered it in, too, I gathered, so that nobody could shift it without breaking the plant. You should have heard that wicked old devil chuckle when he thought how clever he’d been!”

“I can hardly imagine that it can still be there,” said De Richleau, thoughtfully; “the place must have been ransacked a dozen times. They would not have overlooked the plant in the foundry, especially a portion which had been newly forged!”

“Old Shulimoff was an artist. I’ll bet it’s there to this day among a mass of rusty machinery. He realized they’d spot the new bit, so he had to make it all look alike. What d’you think he did?”

“Don’t know,” said Simon.

“Set fire to the house, and then legged it through the snow. That foundry can’t have been much to look at, even if there were any Reds left to look at it next day. He reckoned that he’d get back there when things were quieter, but he never did. He was lucky in falling in with a party of ‘White’ officers, and later they all got over the Persian frontier together. I’ll bet — ”

But they were never to know what Van Ryn meant to bet. The crack of a whip brought them scrambling to their feet. Twenty yards away the sleigh had leapt into motion. They had all been so interested in listening to Rex that they had forgotten to keep an eye on their prisoner. He had stealthily harnessed the horses while their backs were turned. The Duke drew his automatic and fired over Simon’s shoulder; the bullet hit an intervening tree and ricochetted with a loud whine. He ran forward, firing again and again, but the sleigh was rounding the bend of the track at full gallop on the road to Tobolsk. Rex snatched up the prisoner’s rifle, but he threw it down again in disgust. Nobody could hit a moving target through those trees.

They looked at each other in real dismay. They were now utterly helpless in the depths of the Siberian forests, an easy prey to the hunters who would soon be on their tracks. It could only be a matter of hours until they were captured, or dead of cold and exhaustion in the wastes of these eternal snows.