The Forbidden Territory

IV — Cigars and Pistols for Two

At twelve o’clock precisely on the 7th of February, a very cold and miserable little figure stood ostensibly admiring the ancient Ilyinka Gate in Moscow.

It was Mr. Simon Aron, clad in his ordinary London clothes. A smart blue overcoat buttoned tightly across his narrow chest, black shoes, gloves and stick, a soft hat pulled well down over his arc of nose.

Somehow, Mr. Aron, for all his foresightedness in the realms of commerce and finance, had failed to bargain for the rigours of a Russian winter. The cold wind cut through his cloth coat, his feet were wet through with the slush of the streets, and the glare of the snow upon the open “prospekts” was already beginning to hurt his eyes — never too strong at the best of times.

It was with more than ordinary relief that he saw a trim, soldierly form come through the gate; it was easily discernible among the crowd of town moujiks and porters. He recognized the Duke immediately, but how changed — in all but the clever, handsome face.

De Richleau was dressed in the manner of a Russian nobleman before the Revolution, or a high official under the Soviet Government. He wore a heavy coat, belted at the waist and with a vast fur collar, shining black Hessian boots, and on his head at a rakish angle — making him look much taller than usual — a big fur “papenka”.

As the crowd instinctively made way for him, he looked sharply from side to side, evidently catching sight of Simon at the first glance — but taking no apparent notice. Turning to speak to a little man beside him, who wore a shabby coat and peaked cap which suggested some sort of uniform, he started to cross the street diagonally.

Simon knew the shabby individual to be a guide; he had just such another standing at his elbow, dilating to him on the history of the Ilyinka Gate. He turned to his man quickly. “Let’s go on,” he said. “I’m cold,” and he began to walk down the pavement to the point at which the Duke would arrive.

De Richleau looked round suddenly when he was nearly across the road, and seemed to see Simon for the first time. He waved a greeting.

“Hello! mon cher, and what are you doing in Moscow?”

Simon pretended equal surprise as they shook hands. “Over here on a holiday — thought I’d like to see some of the wonderful improvements they’re said to be making.”

“Indeed, yes,” the Duke agreed heartily. “All educated people should know of the great progress which is being made for civilization. I find it most interesting. Have you see the Mogess power station and the Michelson Works?”

“Ner.” Simon shook his head. “I only arrived last night.”

“I see, and where are you staying?”

“The Metropole.”

“Really! But that is excellent; I am there, too.” De Richleau took Simon’s arm and led him down the street — their respective guides, who had been interested listeners, followed side by side. “Are you alone?”

“Yes — friend who was coming with me let me down at the last minute — he couldn’t help it poor chap — lost his father suddenly!”

“Dear me. However, we shall now be able to see something of this fine town together.” The Duke spoke in loud tones, determined, that the guides should not lose one syllable of the conversation. “Some of the historical sights are of the greatest interest — and the museums, what treasures they have got! All the beautiful things that were formerly locked up in the houses of the nobles.”

“I saw the Kremlin this morning,” Simon volunteered. “But I was a bit disappointed really — I mean with the old part — Lenin’s tomb is worth seeing, though!”

“A marvellous sight, is it not, with all those precious metals sent from every part of Russia? The tombs of the Tsars are nothing to it. But you look cold, my friend!”

“I am,” Simon declared feelingly, and in truth his thin face was almost blue.

“But what clothes!” exclaimed the Duke, surveying him. “You must get furs if you are to stay here any length of time, or else you will be miserable!”

“I shall be here about a fortnight,” said Simon doubtfully.

“In that case — most certainly. We will go to the trading rows in Red Square at once.” He turned, and spoke rapidly in Russian to the guides; they nodded, and looked sympathetically at Simon. The whole party then retraced their footsteps.

“It will not cost you a great deal,” De Richleau added. “You see, if we buy well, you will be able to sell the furs again at a good figure before you go home. The comfort to you will most certainly be worth the difference.”

Before long they arrived at the Trading Rows, and after some sharp bargaining, which the Duke carried out with the assistance of the two guides, Simon found himself equipped in a fashion not unlike that of the traditional Cossack. In addition to furs, De Richleau insisted that he should have a pair of galoshes; for without these, no boots, however tough, could long withstand the continual wetness of the Moscow streets in winter; and as Simon looked about him he saw that everyone was wearing them.

“Let us lunch, my friend,” said the Duke, once more taking him by the arm when their purchases were completed. “The Hotel Metropole is not the Ritz in Paris, or our old friend the Berkeley in London, but I am hungry — so it will serve!”

Arrived at the hotel, the guides wished to know “the plans of gentlemen for afternoon”.

“Have you seen the Park of Culture and Leisure?” the Duke asked Simon.

“Ner, what’s that?”

“It is in the Zamoskvarechye — the River district; a great park where there is every variety of amusement for the people — volley-ball, tennis, fencing, a circus and a children’s town, a hundred things — it would be interesting — let us go there.”

“Um,” Simon nodded. “Let’s.”

“If situation is such, gentlemen will not need us?” proffered one of the guides. “Gentlemen can find their way?”

“Thank you — yes,” De Richleau answered. “I have the little map which you gave me.”

“What for evening-time?” asked the other guide.

“A theatre,” the Duke suggested. “I have been to the Arts Theatre already — what of Meyerhold’s theatre? That is where they have all the queer new plays — mechanical scenery, a complete break with all the old stage traditions — shall we go there?”

“Yes — I’d like to see that,” Simon nodded vigorously.

“Certainly,” the guides agreed; again they would not be needed; they would procure seats, and leave the tickets in the bureau of the hotel; was there any other way in which they could be of service? They were polite and anxious to oblige. “No?” Very well, they would call tomorrow morning.

The Duke and Simon were soon seated at a small table in the restaurant.

“Well — er — any news?” Simon asked at once, but the only reply he received was a by no means gentle kick, from the Duke’s big Hessian boot under the table. Then that amazingly interesting and erudite man launched forth into a long dissertation upon the marvels of Moscow — its wonderful historical associations lying side by side with all these modern developments, which, in another two generations, might make it the capital of the civilized world.

It was well that De Richleau talked fluently, and enjoyed talking, since the service of the restaurant was quite appalling. They had to wait twenty-five minutes before a waiter condescended to take their order — and another twenty minutes before the first course arrived.

Despite his anxiety to hear if any news of Rex had been secured by the Duke in Helsingfors or Leningrad, Simon remained patient through the long wait and the plain but satisfying meal that followed. He never tired of listening to the Duke, and the dullness of the fare was relieved by a large helping of caviare. Simon, who was patient by nature, could be especially patient if the caviare was good and plentiful!

Directly they had finished they donned their furs, and left the hotel, but De Richleau did not take the road to the River District. Instead he turned up the Petrowka Boulvarde, saying to Simon as he did so: “I feel that now is the time to ascertain about our Hoyo de Monterreys.”

“Um,” Simon agreed, “hope they came through all right?”

“Yes, but I did not wish to collect them until you had joined me.”

They walked on for some twenty minutes, turning occasionally to right or left; meanwhile De Richleau still avoided the subject of Rex, and continued his dissertation upon Moscow.

Simon looked about him with interest Moscow was quite unlike any large city he had seen — the great majority of the buildings were in a shocking state of repair, the paint peeling from shop-fronts and doorways. The windows broken, boarded over, or covered with grime. Nine out of ten shops were empty and deserted; those that were still occupied had little in their windows other than a bust of Lenin and a Soviet flag, except here and there, where long queues of people waited outside one of the State Co-operative Stores. In contrast to this atmosphere of poverty and desolation, a great deal of demolition was going on, and in nearly every street new buildings were springing up — great structures of steel, concrete, and glass.

The side streets showed ruts and ditches guaranteed to ruin the springs of any car, but all the main roads had been newly paved with asphalt. Traffic was practically non-existent, which gave the streets a strange appearance.

The only regular means of transport seemed to be the trams — and at each stopping place the waiting crowds swarmed upon these like a flight of locusts; there seemed no limit to the number they were allowed to carry, and people who could not force their way inside hung from the rails and platforms at the back and front. One thing that astonished Simon was the extraordinary number of people in the streets — they all seemed to be hurrying somewhere, and he thought that some sort of national holiday must be in progress, but when he suggested this to the Duke, De Richleau shook his head.

“No, my friend — it is only the effect of the five-day week! There are no more Sundays in Russia, or Saturday half-holidays. Everybody works at something, in a series of perpetual shifts, so that from year’s end to year’s end there is no cessation of industry. The factories are never idle, but each individual has every fifth day free — therefore, one-fifth of the entire population of this city is on holiday each day.”

“So that is why there are so many people about — I’m surprised at the queues, though; I thought all that was done away with.”

“While there is no system of delivery there must be queues.” De Richleau shrugged his shoulders. “A great part of everybody’s free time is spent in queueing up for necessities; besides, there is never enough of anything; if you apply for a hat or a pair of new boots, your co-operative society notifies you when they receive a consignment. If you need your boots badly, you must run to be early in the queue, or else there will be none left to fit you, or perhaps no more at all. If you live in Russia now, you must even go out to fetch the milk in the morning — that is, provided you are entitled to a milk ration. Nine-tenths of the milk supply is turned into butter in order that it may be dumped in England, and more machinery bought for the new factories with the money. That’s all part of the Five Year Plan!”

“God-forsaken place! Glad I’m not a Russian,” said Simon, feelingly; “but what about the private shops? Why do the people go to the co-ops and queue up, when they can buy the stuff elsewhere?”

“It is a question of money; everything in the private shops costs from four to five times as much as in the State Stores. The great majority of the people cannot possibly afford to buy from them.”

For some time they had been walking through less crowded streets, and at last they arrived in a small square of what must have been, at one time, respectable private houses. Most of them were now in a sad state of dilapidation.

De Richleau stopped outside one of the least disreputable, which bore the arms, painted in colour on a metal shield above the front door, of one of the lesser South American republics. The word “Legation” was also written up, both in Russian and Roman capitals. He gave a quick glance round — the little square was practically deserted — then he stepped up, not to the front door but to a smaller entrance a few paces farther on, and rang the bell sharply, twice.

The door was opened almost immediately, and, without speaking to the little dark man who held it open, the Duke pushed Simon inside, slipping in himself directly after.

“Is Señor Rosas in?” he asked. “I come from Señor Zavala.”

“Yes, señor, this way — please to follow me.” The little man led them down a long passage to a room at the back of the house.

A swarthy individual rose to greet them with a charming smile. The Duke introduced himself.

“But, yes, Excellency — my good friend Zavala wrote to me from London of your coming. Your case has safe arrival in the diplomatic bag — it is here beneath the table.” Rosas indicated a small, stout packing case. “You would like it opened? But certainly!” He rang the bell, and asked for a chisel and hammer; very soon the wooden case had been prized open, and an inner one of shining tin, about two feet long by a foot wide and eighteen inches deep, placed upon the table. “You would like the privacy to assure yourself of the right contents of the case, Excellency, is it not?” smiled Señor Rosas. “Please to make use of my room — no, no, it is no trouble — only ring when you have finished, that is all!” He slipped softly out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“Now let us look at our famous Hoyos.” De Richleau seized the ring that was embedded in the soft lead strip that ran round the top of the case, and pulled it sharply. A wire to which the ring was attached cut easily through the soft lead, and a moment later he had lifted out the two cedar cabinets of cigars.

Simon opened one with care, and ran his fingers lovingly down the fine, dark oily surface of the cigars. “Perfect,” he murmured; “travelled wonderfully!”

“But that is not all, my friend!” The Duke had opened the other box. The cigars were not packed in two bundles of fifty each, but in four flat layers of twenty-five to the row, and each layer was separated from the other by a thin sheet of cedar wood. Very carefully De Richleau lifted out the top layer on its cedar sheet, and then the next Simon looked over his shoulder and saw that, neatly packed in the place where the two bottom layers of cigars should have been, there reposed a full-sized, ugly-looking automatic.

The Duke removed it, together with two small boxes of ammunition and the packing. “You will find a similar trifle in the other box,” he remarked, as he gently lowered the two trays of cigars into the place where the pistol had lately been,

Simon unpacked the second box with equal care, the Duke taking the two layers of cigars from it, and placing them in the box before him. When all was done, there remained one box full of cigars, the other — empty.

“What — er — shall I do with this?” said Simon, a little doubtfully, as he gingerly picked up the other deadly-looking weapon, with its short blue steel barrel.

“Inside your left breast pocket, my son. It is far too large to carry upon your hip — the bulge would show!”

Simon did as he was bid. They rang the bell, and Señor Rosas rejoined them.

De Richleau thanked him courteously. “There is only one thing more,” he added, “if we may trespass upon your good nature?”

“Excellency, please to command, I beg!”

“I should be grateful if you would be good enough to send this full box of cigars, in a plain parcel, addressed to me at the Hotel Metropole. The other — it contained some papers which I wished to receive undisturbed — I should be glad if you would burn that”

“It shall be done!” The Spaniard’s quick smile flashed out again. “A thousand pleasures to be of assistance to you, Excellency.”

When they were once more out in the square De Richleau tapped his pocket with a grim little smile. “We are short of a hundred cigars,” he said, “but we may be infinitely more thankful to have these before we are out of Russia.”