Alexey Tolstoy

"The Garin Death Ray"

Издательство литературы на иностранных языках
Москва

Foreign Languages Publishing House
Moscow

Translated from Russian by George Hanna

Designed by Yevgeny Rakuzin

1

That season the entire Paris business world assembled for lunch at the Hotel Majestic. Men of all nations were to be met there, with the exception of the French. Business talks were conducted between courses and contracts were signed to the accompaniment of orchestral music, the popping of corks and the chattering of women. 

A tall, grey-hcadedl, clean-shaven man, a relic of France's heroic past, paced the priceless carpets of the ho- tel's magnificent hallvvith its gleaming plate-glass revolving doors. He was dressed in a loose-fitting, black frock-coat, silk stockings and patent-leather shoes with buckles, and wore a silver chain of office on his chest. This was the chief commissionaire, the personification of the company that operated the Majestic. 

His rheumatic hands clasped behind his back, he came to a halt in front of the glass partition behind which the guests were lunching amidst palms and blossoming trees in green tubs. He looked for all the world like a biologist studying plant and insect life through the glass wall of an aquarium. 

The women looked lovely, there was no denying it. The young ones were seductive in their youth, in the flash of their eyes — the Anglo-Saxon blue, the French dark violet, the South American black as night. The cider women wore toilets that served as a piquant sauce to their fading beauty. 

As far as women were concerned all was well. The chief comniiEsionairc, however, could not say the same about the men seated in the restaurant. 

From what weed-bed had these fellows emerged in the post-war years — fat, short of stature, with beringed hairy fingers and flushed cheeks that defied the razor? 

From morning to night they busied themselves with the consumption of all manner of drinks. Their hairy fin- gers spun money out of the air, money, money, money. . . . In the majority of cases they came from America, that accursed country where people waded up to their knees in gold and were going to buy up the good old world at a bargain price. 

2 

A long, Buave Rolls Royce with a mahogany^paoelled body glided noiselessly up to the hotel entrance. The com> misslonaire, his chain rattling, hurried to the revolving doors. 

The hrsl to enter was a man of medium stature with a pale, sallow face, a short, trimmed black heard, and a fleshy nose with distended nostrils. He wore a long, sack* like coat and a bowler hat tilted over his eyes. 

The man stood still, disdainfully awaiting his compan- ion; she had stopped to talk to a young man who had darted out to meet their car from behind a column of the hotel portico. With a nod of her head she passed through the revolving doors. This was the famous Zoe Montrose, one of the smartest women in Paris. She wore a white woollen costume, the sleeves trimmed with black monkey fur from wrist to elbow. Her diminutive felt hat was the creation of the great Collot. Her movements were confident and negligent. She was tall, svelte, handsome, with a long neck, a somewhat large mouth and a nose very slightly lurned-up. Her bluish-grey eyes gave the im- pression of both coldness and passion. 

“Are we going to lunch. Rolling?" she asked the man in the bowler hat. 

“Not yet. I’ll talk to him before lunch." 

Zoe Montrose smiled, condescendingly excusing the sharp tone in which he answered her. The young man who had spoken to Zoe at the car slipped through the revolv- ing doors. His old, worn overcoat was unbuttoned and he carried a stick and soft felt hat in his hand. His excited face was sprinkled with freckles and the thin, stiff mous- tache looked as if it were glued in place. He apparently intended shaking bands but Rolling, keeping his in his overcoat pockets, spoke to him in still sharper tones. 

“You are a quarter of an hour late, Semyonov." 

9 

“I was detained. . . . On our business. . . . I’m terribly sorry. . . . Everything has been arranged. . . . They agree Tomorrow they can leave for Warsaw. . . .” 

“If you shout at the top of your voice like that you’ll he thrown out of the hotel,” said Rolling, staring at him Av-ith dull eyes that boded no good. 

“Excuse me. I’ll whisper Everything is ready in 

Warsaw, passports, clothing, weapons, and so on. Early in April they will cross the frontier. . . .” 

“Mademoiselle Montrose and I are going to lunch now,” said Rolling. “You will go to these gentlemen and tell them that I wish to see them today a little after four. And tell them that if they think they can double-cross me. I’ll hand them over to the police. . . 

This conversation took place at the beginning of March in the year 192. . . . 

3 

At dawn a rowing-boat pulled into the bank near the landing-stage of the rowing school on the River Kres- tovka in Leningrad. 

Two men got out and there at the water’s edge talked for a few minutes — actually only one of them spoke, brusquely and imperatively, while the other gazed at the swollen waters of the calm, dark river. The spring dawn broke through the blue of night away beyond the thickets on Krestovsky Island. 

Then the two of them bent over the boat and the flame of a match lit up their faces. They lifted some bundles from the bottom and the one who had not spoken took them and disappeared into the forest while the one who had done the talking jumped into the boat, pushed off from the bank and rowed away with a creak of rowlocks. The silhouette of the rower passed through a streak of dawn-hghted water and disappeared into the shadow of 

10 

the opposite Bank. A tiny wave splashed against the land- ing-stage. 

Tarashkin, stroke oar of the Spartak racing gig, was on duty that night at the club's boathouse. Tarashkin was young and it was spring, so he did not thoughtlessly waste the swift-flying hours of hU life in sleep, hut sat on the landing-stage over the dreamy water, his arms clasping Ills knees. 

There was plenty to think about in the silence of the night. For two years in succession those damned Musco- vites, who did not know even the smell of real water, had defeated the Leningrad Rowing School in the singles, fours, and eights. And that was humiliating. 

A sportsman, however, knows that defeat leads to vic- tory. That was one thing and then there was the fascina- tion of the spring sunrise fllled with the pungent odour of grass and wet wood that gave Tarashkin the confidence essential to successful training in preparation for the grand regatta in June. 

Sitting on the landing-stage* Tarashkin had seen the boat draw up and, later, leave the river-bank. In general, Tarashkin had an imperturbable kind of mind, but on this occasion there was something that struck him as strange: the two men who came in the boat were as like each other as two peas in a pod. They were the same height, were dressed in similar wide overcoats and soft felt hats worn low on the forehead, and both had pointed beards. 

But then, after all, it wasn’t his headache, there was nothing in the laws of the Republic forbidding a man to go about with his double, by day or by night, on land or on water. Tarashkin would probably have forgotten all about the men with the pointed beards if it had not been for what occurred that same morning in a half-ruined. Boarded-up country cottage standing in a Birch grove near the rowing school. 

IJ 

4 

When the sun appeared out of the rosy dawn over the wooded islands, Tarashkin flexed his muscles and set out to tidy up the boathouse yard. It had just turned five when the wicket-gate opened and Vasily Vitalyevich Shelga ap- peared wheeling his bicycle down the damp path. 

Shelga was a well-trained athlete, muscular and light, of average height, with a strong neck, swift, calm and cautious. He served in the C.I.D. and rowing was part of his general training, 

“Hallo, Tarashkin. How’s things? Everything all right?” he asked, leaning his bicycle against the porch. “I’ve come to give you a hand. . . . There’s an awful lot of rubbish here.” 

He pulled off his uniform blouse, rolled up the sleeves on Aviry, muscular arms and set about clearing up the wood chips and other rubbish left over from the repair of the landing-stage. 

“The felloAvs from the factory are coming today, Ave’ll fix things in one evening,” said Tarashkin, “By the tvay, ore you going to put your name down for the sixer team?” 

“I really don’t knoAV,” anSAvered Shelga, rolling a bar- rel of tar. “On the one hand I’d like to help beat the Mus- coA'ites but on the other hand I’m afraid I shan’t be attend- ing training very punctually. There’s a funny sort of a job cropped up.” 

“Wliat is it, gangsters again?” 

“Look a bit higher. Crime on an international scale.” 

That 8 a pity. You’d have had a good time Avith us.” 

Shelga Avent out on to the landing-stage, Avatched for a moment the patches of sunlight dancing on the Avatcr, knocked on the boom Avith his broom handle and called to Tarashkin in a Ioav voice: 

Do you knoAv all the people Avho live in the summer bungaloAvs around here?” 

12 

“There are a few vfho lire here all the winter.” 

“Did anybody come to one of them in the middle of March?” 

Tarashkin squitited at the sunny river and with the toes of one foot scratched the other. 

“There’s a boarded.up cottage in that grove over there,” he said. “About four weeks ago I remember seeing smoke coming from the chimney. We thought at the time that either some homeless kids or some bandit gang had got in there.” 

“Have you seen anybody from that house?” 

“Just a minute, Vasily Vitalyevich. Why, I must have seen them today.” 

Tarashkin told him then about the two men whose boat had visited the swampy river-bank at da^vm. 

Shelga kept nodding and muttering, “Yes, yes,” and his sharp eyes narrowed to tiny slits. 

“Come and show me that bouse,” be said, touching the revolver holster that hung at lus side. 

5 

The house hidden amongst the stunted birch-trees seemed uninhabited — the wooden porch had rotted and the Vi'indows were fastened with boards nailed across the sliutters. The attic windows were broken, the walls were moss-grown below the remnants of the gutter spouts and under the windows there was a growth of goosefoot. 

“You’re right. There’s somebody Jiving there,” said Shelga, examining the house from the cover of the trees. Then he walked cautiously round the house. “Somebody has been here today-... But why the hell did they have to climb in through the window? Tarashkin, come here. Something looks fishy here.” 

He ran over to the porch; here there were footprinlj. 

t3 

To the left of the porch a shutter hung down, one of its hinges freshly broken. The window had been opened in- wards. There were more footprints in the damp sand under the window, big marks made, apparently, by a heavy man, and others, small and narrow, with the toes turned inwards. 

“The footprints on the porch were made by different boots,” said Shelga. 

He looked in at the window, whistled softly and called out, “Hi, you in there, your window’s open, something may be stolen.” There was no answer. An unpleasant, sweetish odour drifted out of the half-dark room. 

Shelga called again in a louder voice, climbed on to the window-sill, drew his revolver, and jumped lightly into the room. Tarashkin jumped in after him. 

The first room was empty, the floor littered with bro- ken brick, plaster, and scraps of newspaper. A half-open door led to the kitchen. On the kitchen stove, under a rusty cowl, on tables and stools stood a number of primus- stoves, porcelain crucibles, glass and metal retorts, jars and zinc boxes. One of the primus-stoves was still hissing as the last of the kerosene burned out. 

Shelga again shouted, “Hi, mister!” He shook his head and cautiously opened the door leading into a room whose semi-darkness was cut by narrow strips of bright sunlight penetrating through cracks in the shutters. 

“Here he is,” said Shelga. 

At the other end of the room a fully-dressed man lay on his back on an iron bed. His arms were pulled over bis head and tied by the wrists to the bed rails. His legs were bound with a rope. His jacket and shirt were torn across the breast. The head was throM’n back in an unnatural pose, the pointed beard sticking up. 

So that s what they did to him,” said Shelga examining the dagger that had been driven in to the hilt under the left nipple. “They tortured him.... Look at this....” 

“Vasily Vitalyeviclj, that's the roaa that came in the boat. It can't be more than an hour and a half since they killed him.” 

“You stay here on guard, don’t touch anything and don’t let anybody in, d’you get that, Tarashkin?” 

A few minutes later Shelga was speaking from the club telephone. 

“Send men to the station.... Check up on all passen* gets. . . . Send others to all the hotels and check up on everybody who returned between six and eight this morn* ing. And send a man with a dog to me.” 

6 

Vhilc he was waiting for the policc*dog to arrive Shelga made a careful examination of the cottage, begin* nlng with the attic. 

The whole place was littered with rubbish, broken glass, scraps of wall.paper, and rusty tins. The windows were covered with cobwebs, in the corners there were mil* dew and toadstools. Apparently, the collage had not been inhabited since 1918. Only the kitchen and the room with the iron bedstead showed signs of habitation. There was not even a suggestion of any sort of comfort and no re- mains of food with the exception of a roll and a piece of breakfast sausage in the pocket of the murdered man. 

People did not live here, they came to the house in order to do something that bad to be kept secret. This was the first conclusion that Shelga came to after his inspec- tion of the building. The state of the kitchen showed that somebody had been working here with chemicals. An ex- amination of the piles of ashes on the stove under the cowl and of some booklets with turned up corners revealed that the dead man had been engaged in nothing mote serious than ordinary pyrotechnics. 

i5 

Such a conclusion brought Shelga to a dead end. He made another search of the dead man’s clothing but found nothing new. Then he approached the problem from an- other angle. 

The footprints under the window showed that there had been two murderers, that they had entered through the window at the almost certain risk of meeting Avith re- sistance since the man inside could not help hearing the noise made by their breaking open the shutters. 

This could only mean that the murderers Avere deter- mined either to obtain something important at all costs or kill the man in the house. 

Further: if they had merely Avanted to kill him they could have done it much more easily, by waylaying him on his way to the house, for example; secondly, the position of the body on the bed shoAred that be had been tortured before he had been stabbed. The murderers had been try- ing to find out something that the dead man had refused to tell them. 

Wliat could they have been trying to get out of him by torture? Money? It Avas hardly likely that a man Avho As'cnt to an abandoned house at night to indulge in exer- cises in pyrotechnics Avould have taken a large sum of money Avith him. It Avas more probable that the murderers Acantcd him to reveal some secret connected Avith his noc- turnal Avork. 

In this Avay Shelga’s deductions led him to a fresh search of the kitchen. He moved some boxes aAvay from the Avail and discovered the trap-door of a cellar such as are often built directly under the kitchen in suburban summer bungaloAvs. Tarashkin lit a candle end and, lying on his stomach, proA'ided light for Shelga Avho made his Avay carefully doAvn a slimy, half-rotten ladder into the damp cellar. 

“Come doAvn here Avith the candle,” called Shelga out of the darkness, “this is Asdicrc he had his real laboratory.” 

16 

here if it had been. But what •have we found out? Let’s go over the evidence. Firstly, the murder was not committed for revenge or robbery. Secondly, we know the name of the murdered man, P. P. Garin. And so far, that’s all. Of course you would say it was Garin who went away in the boat. I don’t think so. Garin himself wrote his name on that hoard. It’s a matter of psychology. If I, for instance, were to invent such a tricky gadget I’d he so pleased with myself that I’d write my own name and not somebody else’s. We know that the dead man worked in the laboratory; that can only mean one thing, he is the inventor, that is, Garin.” 

Shelga and Tarashkin climbed out of the cellar and smoked cigarettes on the porch while they waited for the detective to arrive with the dog. 

7 

A fat, reddish hand appeared over one of the counters of the Central Post-Office where foreign telegrams were accepted, a hand with a telegraph form held between trembling fingers. 

The reception clerk looked at the hand for some seconds and at last realized what was wrong: “There’s a finger missing, the little finger.” Then he took the form. 

“Semyonov, Marszalkowska, Warszawa. Mission half fulfilled. Engineer gone, documents not obtained. Awaiting instructions. Stas.” 

The clerk underlined the word “Warszawa” with a red pencil. Then he stood up and looked over the grille at the sender of the telegram. The latter proved to be a massive, middle-aged man with a yellow-grey, unhealthy- looking, puffed face and drooping yellow moustaches that covered his mouth. His eyes Avere hidden behind the nar- row slits formed by his sAvollcn eyelids. His shaven head Avas Surmounted by a broAvn velvet eap. 

18 

“Vhat’B the matter?” he asked gruffly. “Take the tele- gram.” 

“The telegram is in code,” said the clerk. 

“What d’you mean, in code? Don’t talk nonsense. It’s a commercial telegram and you must accept it. I’ll show you my papers, I belong to the Polish Consulate and shall bold you responsible for a minute’s delay.” 

Four-Fingers grew angry, his cheeks shook, he barked rather than spoke, but the hand which lay on the counter was still trembling. 

“You see,” said the clerk, “although you assure me that your telegram is commercial. Pm equally sure that it’s po- litical and in code.” 

The clerk smiled. The yellow-faced gentleman fumed and raised his voice hut did not notice a girl take bis telegram to a table where sat Vastly Vitalyevich Shelga examining all outgoing telegrams dispatched that day. 

He glanced at the form: “Marszalkowska, Warszawa,” and then went round the partition into the public room, stood behind the infuriated sender and made a sign to the clerk. The tatter sniffed, muttered something disparaging about the ponotce and sat down to write out a receipt. The Pole snorted irascibly, shiftiug hts weight from one foot to another so that his patent-leather shoes squeaked. Shelga looked closely at his big feet. Going to the door be indicated the Pole to the detective on duty. 

“Follow him.” 

The morning before the dog had led them from the cot- tage in the birch grove to the River Krcstovka where the murderers had apparently got into a boat. The day had brought nothing new. It seemed obvious that the crmii- nals had gone to ground in Letiiugrad. The examination of telegrams had also been fruitless. Only that last telegram, addressed to Semyonov in Warsaw, might possess a certain interest. 

The reception clerk gave the Pole his receipt and the 

latter fumbled in his vest pocket for small change. At that moment a handsome, dark-eyed man with a pointed heard came up to the counter with a telegraph form in his hand and, waiting his turn, gazed with calm hostility at the ex- pansive stomach of the bad-tempered Pole. 

Then Shelga saw the man with the pointed beard sudden- ly straighten up: he had noticed the four-fingered hand and glanced at the Pole’s face. 

Their eyes met. The Pole’s ja%v^ dropped. His puffy eye- lids opened wide. Terror filled his dull eyes. His face, like the skin of a monstrous chameleon, changed to a leaden hue. 

It was only then that Shelga recognized the bearded man who confronted the Pole: it was the double of the man who had been murdered in the house in the birch grove on Krestovsky Island. . . . 

The Pole gasped and made for the door with unbeliev- able speed. As the detective on duty there had only been ordered to follow him, he allowed him to pass through the door and slipped out after him. 

The murdered man’s double remained standing at the counter. His cold, dark-ringed eyes expressed nothing but surprise. He shrugged his shoulders and when the Pole had disappeared handed a telegram to the clerk. 

“Poste Restantc No. 555, Boulevard Batignolles, Paris. Begin analysis immediately, improve quality by fifty per cent, shall expect first consignment middle May. P. P.” 

“The telegram concerns scientific research on which my companion is engaged in Paris where he was sent by the Institute of Inorganic Chemistry,” he said to the clerk. Leisurely he pulled a box of cigarettes out of his pocket, took one out, tapped it on the box and lit it with great care. Shelga spoke to him courteously, 

“Might I have a couple of words with you.” 

Tlic bearded man glanced at him, lowered his eyelids and answered with utmost politeness: 

20 

“Certainly.” 

“I am an agent of the Criminal Investigation Depart- ment,” said Shelga, showing his card. “Perhaps we can fmd a more convenient place for a talk.” 

“Do you want to arrest me?” 

“Not the slightest intention. I want to warn you that the Pole who just ran away wants to kill you, just as he killed Engineer Garin on Krestovsky Island yesterday.” 

The bearded man thought for a moment. He did not lose either his calm demeanour or his politeness. 

“All right, then,” he said, “let’s go, I have a quarter of an hour to spare.” 

8 

Out in the street the detective from the Poit-Ofiice came running up to Shelga, his face flushed and patchy. 

“Comrade Shelga, he got away.” 

“Why did you let him go?” 

“He had a car waiting. Comrade Shelga.” 

“Where’s your motor-bike?” 

“It’s over there,” said the detective pointing to his motor-cycle, some hundred steps from the Post-Office, “he ripped a tyre with a knife. I blew my whistle and be jumped into a car and drove off.” 

“Did you get the number of the car?” 

“No.” 

“I’ll report you for this.” 

“But I couldn’t . . . the number bad been plastered with mud.” 

“All right, go back to headquarters. I’ll be tlierc in twenty minutes.” 

Shelga caught up with the bearded man. For some min- utes they walked side by side in silence. They turned into the Trade-Union Boulevard. 

“You’re astonishingly like the dead man,” began Shelga. 

21 

“I’ve heard that many times already,” the other an- swered readily. “My name is Pyankov-Pitkevich. I read about the murder in yesterday evening’s paper. It’s an awful business. I knew him very well, a competent fellow, ex- cellent chemist. I’ve often been in his laboratory on Kres- tovsky Island. He was developing an important discovery connected with chemical warfare. Do you know anything about smoke candles?” 

Shelga glanced sideways at him; instead of answering he asked a further question. 

“Do you think Garin’s murder is connected tvith Polish interests?” 

“I don’t think so. There are much deeper reasons for his murder. Information concerning Garin’s work has found its way into the American press. Poland could be nothing more than an intermediary,” 

On the boulevard Shelga suggested sitting down. There was nobody about. Shelga took a number of Soviet and foreign newspaper cuttings from his briefcase and smoothed them out on his knee. 

“You say that Garin was working on some chemical dis- covery and information concerning it had reached the for- eign press. Some of the things here support your state- ment, but some things are not quite clear to me. Read this.” 

“In America some interest has been aroused by a report from Leningrad concerning the work of a Russian inventor. It is believed that his apparatus has greater destructive power than anything yet known.” 

Pitkcvich read it and laughed. 

“That’s funny,” he said. “I don’t know. . . . I’ve never heard of anything like that. It can’t be about Garin.” 

Shelga offered him another cutting. 

In connection with the U.S. Navy’s forthcoming grand manoeuvres in Pacific waters the War Department has been asked whether information is available concerning 

22 

weapons of great destructive power being manufactured in Soviet Russia.” 

Pitkevich shrugged his shoulders: “Nonsense!” and took a third cutting. 

“Rolling, the multimllUonatre chemical king, has left for Europe. His trip is connected with cartelizing factories processing coal tar and salt products. In an interview given in Paris Rolling said that Ms monster chemical concern will bring peace to the countries of the Old World that are shaken b; the forces of revolution. Rolling spoke very aggressively about the Soviet Union, where, it is rumoured, mysterious experiments are being made to transmit heat energy over long distances.” 

Pitkevich read It attentively. He eat for some time wrapped in thought, a frown on his face. 

"Yes,” he said at last, “it is quite possible that Garin’s murder is In some way connected with this newspaper story.” 

“Do you go in for sport?” asked Shelga suddenly. He took Pitkevich’s hand and turned it palm upwards. “I’m awfully keen on sport.” 

“Are you looking for blisters from rowing. Comrade Shelga? You see these two, that’s proof that Pm a rotten oarsman and that two days ago 1 had to row a boat for about an hour and a half when I took Garin to Krestovsky Island. . . . Does that satisfy you?” 

Shelga dropped his hand and laughed. 

“You’re pretty smart. Comrade Pitkevich. I wouldn’t mind having a real tussle with you.” 

“I’m not the one to avoid it.” 

“Listen, Pitkevich, did you know that fout.fingered Pole before?” 

“You want to know why I was astonished when I saw his hand with a finger missing? You’re very observant. Comrade Shelga. Yes, I was astonished, more than that, I was scared.” 

23 

“Why?” 

“That’s what I’m not going to tell you.” 

Shelga glanced indifferently along the empty boule- vard. 

“He not only has a finger missing,” continued Pit- kevich, “he also has a ghastly scar across his chest. Garin did that in 1919. The man’s name is Stas Tyklinski. . . .” 

“Did Garin disfigure him in the same way as he cut through three-inch boards?” asked Shelga. 

Pitkevich turned his head sharply towards his inter- locutor and for a brief space of time they gazed into each other’s eyes: one of them calm and impenetrable, the other frank and merry. 

“So you do intend to arrest me. Comrade Shelga?” 

“No. . . . There’s plenty of time for that.” 

“You’re right. I know a lot. But you must understand that no sort of coercion will force me to tell you what I don’t want to. I was not mixed up in the crime, you know that yourself. If you like we can play an open hand. The conditions are: after a good blow has been struck we meet for an open discussion. It will be like a game of chess. We’re not allowed to kill one another. Incidentally, all the while we have been talking you have been in grave danger of your life — believe me. I’m not joking. If Stas Tyklinski had been sitting in your place, I’d have looked round, nobody in sight . . . and would have walked away calmly to, let us say. Senate Square, and he would have been found stone dead on this bench with horrible patches all over Ins body. Once again, however, those tricks are not for you. Do you accept?” 

I agree,” said Shelga, his eyes flashing. “I’ll make the first move, eh?” 

ISaturally, if you had not caught me at the post- office I would never have suggested the match. As far as onr-Fingers is concerned I promise to help in your search 

24 

for him. Wlierever I chance to meet him I will immediately inform you by telephone or telegraph.” 

“Good. Now, Pitkevicli, show me that gadget that you threatened me with. ...” 

Fitkevich shook his head and then smiled. “Have it your way, we’re playing an open hand.” And he cautiously pulled a flat box out of hts aide pocket. Inside the box lay a metal tube about the thickness of a finger. 

“That is all there is, only if you press one end a glass capsule inside will be broken....” 

9 

On his way back to the Criminal Investigation Depart- ment Shelga suddenly stopped as though he had run into a telegraph pole. “Huh!” he snorted and stamped his foot madly, “huh, what an actor! He’s as smart as they make ’em.” 

Shelga realized that he had been completely fooled. He had stood within two paces of the murderer (of that lie no longer had any doubt) and had not arrested him; he had spoken with a man who apparently knew all the ins and outs of the aflfair and that roan had managed to tell him exactly nothing. That Pyankov-Pitkevich was m pos- session of some secret. . . . Shelga suddenly realized that this was a secret of state, even international importance. And he had had Pyankov-Pitkevich hy the tail. . . . “One twist, damn him, and he slipped away!” 

Shelga ran up the stairs to his office on the third floor. On his table lay a package wrapped in newspaper. In the deep window niche sat a fat, humble-looking individual in heavy jackboots. Pressing his cap to his stomach he bowed to Shelga. 

“Babichev’s the name, house superintendent,” he said, breathing out the fumes of home-made vodka, “from house 

number 24 on Pushkarskaya Street, cooperative house.” 

“Did you bring this package?” 

“Yes, I brought it. From apartment No. 13. . . . That’s not in the main building, it’s in the annexe. The occupant hasn’t been seen for two days. Today I called the police, forced open the door, and made out an affidavit in accord- ance with the law.” The house superintendent covered his mouth with his hand, his cheeks flushed red, his eyes rolled and filled with tears and the room was inundated with the odour of cheap spirit. “That packet I found extra, in the stove.” 

“What was the occupant’s name?” 

“Ivan Alexeyevich Savelyev.” 

Shelga opened the packet. Inside he found a photo- graph of Pyankov-Pitkevich, a comb, a pair of scissors and a bottle containing a dark liquid, hair dye, apparently. 

“What was Savelyev’s business?” 

“Something scientific. Wlien something went wrong with the ventilator the house committee asked him to fix it. ‘I’d be glad to,’ he said, ‘only I’m a chemist!’ ” 

“Was he often away from home at night?” 

“At night? No, not as far as I know.” The house super- intendent covered his mouth again, “But he always left the house at daybreak, that’s true. But night, no, I never noticed it and I never saw him drunk.” 

“Did he have visitors?” 

“I never saw any.” 

Shelga phoned the police division in the Petrograd Dis- trict and was informed that in the annexe of house No. 24 on Pushkarskaya Street, there lived Ivan Alexeyevich Savelyev, thirty-six years of age, chemical engineer. He had taken up residence on Pushkarskaya Street in February and had presented identification papers issued by the Tambov police. 

Shelga sent a telegram to Tambov for further infor- mation and then went with the house superintendent to the 

2(J 

Fontanka Police Department where the body of the man murdered on Krestovsky Island lay on ice in the morgue. The house superintendent immediately identiSed him as the occupant of apartment No. 13. 

10 

At approximately the same time, the man who had called himself Pyankov-Phkevich drove in a closed cab to an empty lot in the Petrograd District, paid off the cabby and continued his way on foot. He opened the gate in a fence, crossed the yard to the back entrance of a house and mounted the narrow staircase to the hfth floor. He opened the door with two keys, hung up his hat and coat on the only hook in the entrance hall, entered a room where the four windows were whitewashed lialf-way up, sat on a shabby sofa, and covered his face with his hands. 

It was only here, in this solitary room (furnished with bookcases and physical apparatus), that he could at last give vent to that terrific nervous excitement, almost de> spair, that had held liim in its grip for the last two days. 

The hands pressed against his face trembled. He realized that he was still in morlal danger. He was sur- rounded on all sides. There was just one chance in his favour, ninety-nine against. “How careless, ach, how care- less," he whispered. 

By the exercise of great will power he got his nerves under control, jabbed his fist in the dirty pillow, lay down on his back, and closed his eyes. 

He allowed his overburdened mind to rest from the terrible strain. A few minutes of deathlike stillness revived him. He got up, poured out a glass of Madeira, and drank it in one gulp. As the wave of warmth spread through his body he bagan walking up and down, calmly and unhur- riedly, seeking the slightest possibility of salvation. 

27 

number 24 on Pushkarskaya Street, cooperative house.” 

“Did you bring this package?” 

“Yes, I brought it. From apartment No, 13 That’s 

not in the main building, it’s in the annexe. The occupant hasn’t been seen for two days. Today I called the police, forced open the door, and made out an affidavit in accord- ance with the law.” The house superintendent covered his mouth with his hand, his cheeks flushed red, his eyes rolled and filled with tears and the room was inundated with the odour of cheap spirit, “That packet I found extra, in the stove.” 

“Wliat was the occupant’s name?” 

“Ivan Alexeyevich Savelyev,” 

Sbelga opened the packet. Inside he found a photo- graph of Pyankov-Pitkevich, a comb, a pair of scissors and a bottle containing a dark liquid, hair dye, apparently. 

“What was Savelyev’s business?” 

“Something scientific. When something went wrong with the ventilator the house committee asked him to fix it. T’d be glad to,’ he said, ‘only I’m a chemist!’ ” 

“Was he often away from home at night?” 

“At night? No, not as far as I know.” The house super- intendent covered his mouth again. “But he always left the house at daybreak, that’s true. But night, no, I never noticed it and I never saw him drunk.” 

“Did he have visitors?” 

“I never saw any.” 

Sbelga phoned the police division in the Petrograd Dis- trict and was informed that in the annexe of house No. 24 on Pushkarskaya Street, there lived Ivan Alexeyevich Savelyev, thirty-six years of age, chemical engineer. He had taken up residence on Pushkarskaya Street in February and had presented identification papers issued by the Tambov police. 

Shclga sent a telegram to Tambov for further infor- mation and then went with the house superintendent to the 

26 

Fontanka Police Department where the body of the man murdered on Krestovsky Island lay on ice in the morgue. The house superintendent immediately identified him as the occupant of apartment No. 13. 

10 

At approximately the same time, the man who had called himself Pyankov-Pitkevich drove in a closed cab to an empty lot in the Petrograd District, paid off the cabby and continued his way on foot. He opened the gate in a fence, crossed the yard to the back entrance of a house and mounted the narrow staircase to the fifth floor. He opened the door with two keys, hung up his hat and coat on the only hook in the entrance hall, entered a room where the four windows were whitewashed half-way up, sat on a shabby sofa, and covered bis face with his hands. 

It was only here, in this solitary room (furnished with bookcases and physical apparatus), that he could at last give vent to that terrific nervous excitement, almost de- spair, that had held him in its grip for the last two days. 

The hands pressed against bis face trembled. He realized that he was still in mortal danger. He was sur- rounded on all sides. There was just one chance in his favour, ninety-nine against. “How careless, ach, bow care- less,” he whispered. 

By the exercise of great will power he got his nerves under control, jabbed his fist in the dirty pillow, lay down on his back, and closed his eyes. 

He allowed his overburdened mind to rest from the terrible strain. A few minutes of deathlike stillness revived him. He got up, poured out a glass of Madeira, and drank it in one gulp. As the wave of warmth spread through his body he bagan walking up and down, calmly and unhur- riedly, seeking the slightest possibility of salvation. 

27 

With great care he pulled up the old wall-paper where it had parted company with the wall near the wainscotting and drew out from behind it a number of drawings that he rolled up carefully into a tube. He took a few books out of the bookcase and together with the drawings and parts of some physical apparatus packed them in a suitcase. Listening carefully as he went, he took the suitcase down to one of the cellars used for storing firewood and hid it under a pile of rubbish. Returning to his own room, he took a revolver from the drawer of his desk, examined it, and stuffed it into his hip pocket. 

It was a quarter to five. He lay down again and smoked one cigarette after another, throwing the butts into a corner of the room. “Of course they haven’t found it!” he almost screamed, threw his legs off the sofa and again began pacing the room diagonally from corner to corner. 

At dusk he drew on heavy, clumsy top-hoots, donned a sail-cloth coat and went out. 

H 

The police officer on night duty in the 16th Division was called to the telephone at midnight. Somebody speak- ing in a great hurry said: 

“Send a squad car immediately to Krestovsky Island, to the house where the man was murdered the day before yesterday.” 

The voice broke off suddenly. The police officer swore into the mouthpiece, checked up on the call, found that it came from the rowing school, and rang through there. The hell rang for a long time before a sleepy voiee an- swered: 

“■^niat do you want?” 

“Did somebody just ring up from there?” 

28 

“Yes,” answered the voice with a yawn. 

“Who rang up? Did you see him?” 

“No, I didn't, there’s something wrong with the eJectricity here. He said be had instructions /rom Com- rade Shelga.” 

Half an hour later four policemen jumped out of a squad car outside the hoarded-iip cottage. The last glow of the setting sun made a crimson patch beyond the birch grove. Paint groans broke the silence. A man in a sheep- skin coat lay face downwards near the back door of the bouse. They turned him over — it was the watchman. Beside him lay a handful of cotton-wool saturated with chloro- form. 

The hack door was wide open, the lock smashed. When the police entered the house they heard a voice calling faintly from under the Hoor: 

“The trap-door, clear the trap-door in the kitchen. . . 

Tables, boxes, and heavy bags were piled up against the wall. They threw them aside and opened the cellar Dap. 

Out of the cellar scrambled Shelga, with wild staring eyes, all covered in dust and cobwebs. 

“This way, quick!” he shouted, disappearing through a door. “Bring a light, quick!” 

In the room with the iron bedstead, by the light of the policemen’s flash-lights, they saw two revolvers (both had been fired) and a velvet cap lying on tlie floor; everywhere there were disgusting traces of vomit that gave oil an acrid smell. 

“Careful!” shouted Shelga. “Don’t breathe, get out of here, that’s deadly. . . 

Backing out and pushing the policemen towards the door he looked with horror and repugnance at a Httle metal tube, no bigger than a man’s finger, that lay on the floor. 

29 

12 

Like all big businessmen. Chemical King Rolling en- gaged a special office in which to receive business visitors, where they w’ere filtered by his secretary who established their degree of importance, read their thoughts, and an- swered all questions with exaggerated politeness, A typist converted into pearls of human speech all Rolling’s ideas, %vhich (if we take the arithmetical average for the year and multiply it by a financial equivalent) were valued at about fifty thousand dollars for each fraction of an idea expounded by the king of inorganic chemistry in the course of one second. The almond finger-nails of four typists hovered incessantly over the keys of four Underwoods, The messenger-boy appeared the instant he was called like the coagulated material of Rolling’s will. 

Rolling’s office on the Boulevard Malesherbes was a gloomy establishment of serious aspect. The walls were hung with dark material, there was a thick dark carpet on the floor and the furniture was upholstered in dark leather. On the dark glass-topped tables lay collections of advertise- ments, reference books in brown morocco and the pros- pectuses of chemical plants. A few rusty gas shells and a trench mortar brought from the field of battle decorated the mantelpiece. 

Behind the high, dark walnut doors Chemical King Rolling sat in his sanctuary amidst diagrams, cartograms and photographs. Filtered visitors passed softly across the thick carpet of the anteroom, took their seats on leather chairs and glanced nervously at the walnut portals. There, behind those doors, the very air in the king’s office was of unbelievable value for it was saturated with thoughts that cost fifty thousand dollars a second. 

What human heart could beat calmly w’hen, amidst the reverent silence of the anteroom, the massive bronze door handle in the form of a claw holding a ball suddenly moved 

30 

and through the walnut doors appeared a little man in a dark'grey jacket, with the world-famous beard covering his cheeks, a man agonizingly ungracious, almost a super, man, with a yellow, unhealthy face that was reminiscent of his wold-renowned trade-mark: a yellow circle with four black bars. . . . Opening the door slightly the king would fix his eyes on the visitor and say with a strong American accent, “Enfrez.” 

13 

Holding his gold pencil with two fingers the secretary asked (with excessive politeness): 

**Won't you be to good as to tell me your name?'* 

'’General Subbotin, Russian emigre." 

The general angrily straightened his shoulders and wiped bis grey moustache with a crumpled handkerchief. 

The secretary, smiling as though the conversation touched on the most pleasant and most friendly matters, made a rapid note on Lis pad and then asked with extreme caution: 

"May I ask, Monsieur Subbotin, the object of the talk you wish to have with Mr. Rolling?" 

"Something of extraordinary importance." 

"Maybe if you were to tell me I could put it briefly to Mr. Rolling?" 

"You sec, my object is a very simple one, so to say . . . a plan. . . . Mutual advantage. . . 

"Tbe plan concerns chemical warfare against the Bol- sheviks, I presume?” ashed the secretary. 

"Absolutely right. ... 1 intend to propose to Mr. Rolling. . . ." 

"I’m afraid," the secretary interjected with charming politeness and his pleasant face even registered pain, "I’m afraid that Mr. Rolling is somewhat overloaded with such plans. This week we have received a hundred 

31 

and twenty-four proposals for chemical warfare against the Bolsheviks from Russians alone. In our portfolio we have an excellent plan for a simultaneous chemical air attack on Kharkov, Moscow, and Petrograd. The author of the plan very cleverly places his forces on the territories of the buffer states — very, very interesting. The author even provides a precise estimate of the cost: six thousand eight hundred and fifty tons of mustard gas for the annihi- lation of the inhabitants of those three cities.” 

General Subbotin turned a deep red from a rush of blood to his head. 

“Then what’s the matter, mister what’s your name,” he interrupted the secretary. “My plan’s just as good, hut that’s brilliant, too. You must act! You must go over from words to deeds. . . . Wliat’s the hold-up?” 

“My dear general, the trouble is that Mr. Rolling does not yet sec any return for his outlay.” 

“Wliat d’you mean — return?” 

“It would be no trouble at all for Mr. Rolling to drop six thousand eight hundred and fifty tons of mustard gas from aircraft, but a certain expenditure would be involved. War costs money, doesn’t it? In the plans that have been presented to Mr. Rolling he finds nothing but expenditure. Unfortunately no equivalent, that is no profit, from acts of sabotage against the Bolsheviks is indicated.” 

“Wliy, it’s as clear as daylight . . . profits, colossal prof- its for anybody who will give Russia back her lawful rulers, a lawful, normal social system — mountains of gold arc in store for such a man!” The general, like an eagle, peered from under his brows fixedly at the secretary. “Then I must also show the profit?” 

“Yes, give the exact figures, credit on the left, debit on the right, a line and a balance with a plus sign that might interest Mr. Rolling.” 

“I sec,” the general snorted, pulled his dusty bat over his eyes and walked determinedly to the door. 

32 

u 

The general had no sooner left than the voice of the errand-boy rose in protest at the door, followed by another voice expressing the desire that the devil might take the boy; Semyonov appeared in front of the secretary, his coat unbuttoned, his hat and stick in his hand, and a chewed cigar in the corner of his mouth. 

“Good morning, old boy," he said hastily to the secre- tary, throwing his hat and stick on to the table, “let me straight in to the king, will you?” 

The secretary's gold pencil hovered in the air. 

“But Mr. Rolling is very busy today.” 

“Nonsense, old boy. . . . I've got a fellow waiting in my car who's just arrived from 'Warsaw. , . . Tell Rolling we’ve come about the Garin business.” 

The secretary’s brows flew up and he immediately vanished behind the walnut doors. A moment later bis head appeared round the door. “Monsieur Semyonov, come in please,” he hissed in a caressing whisper. And he him- self pressed the claw and ball door handle. 

When Semyonov confronted the Chemical King he was not particularly flustered, flrstly, because he was a boor by nature, and secondly, because at the present moment the king needed him more than be the king. 

Rolling's green eyes pierced him through and through. Unperturbed, Semyonov sat down opposite him on the other side of the desk. 

“Well?” asked Rolling. 

“We’ve done the job.” 

“The drawings?” 

“You see, Mr. Rolling, there has been a slight hitch. . . 

“I asked where the drawings are. I don’t see them,” said Rolling viciously, slapping the table lightly with his hand. 

33 

“Listen, Rolling, we agreed that I should not only bring you the drawings but also the apparatus itself. . . . I’ve 

done an awful lot, ... I found people I sent them to 

Petrograd. They got into Garin’s laboratory. They saw the work of the apparatus. . . . And then, the devil alone knows what happened. ... In the first place there were two Garins.” 

“I assumed that from the very beginning,” said Rolling contemptuously. 

“One of them we managed to remove,” 

“You killed him?” 

“If you like, something of that sort. In any case he died. That should not worry you; he was liquidated in Petrograd and was a Soviet subject, so it doesn’t matter. But then his double appeared. We made a tremendous effort. . . .” 

“In a word,” Rolling interrupted him, “the double or Garin himself is still alive and you haven’t brought me either the drawings or the apparatus itself, despite the money I have spent.” 

“If you like I’ll call Stas Tyklinski, he’s sitting in the car outside; he took part in the whole business and can give you the details.” 

“I don’t want to see any Tyklinski, I want the draw- ings and the apparatus I’m surprised at your boldness, 

to come here empty-handed. , . .” 

Rolling was convinced that the coldness of those words and the killing look he gave Semyonov when he stopped speaking would shrivel up that lousy Russian emigre, but Semyonov, nothing daunted, stuck his well- chewed cigar into his mouth and continued in his glib tones: 

If you don’t want to see Tyklinski you needn’t — it’s no pleasure, anyway. There’s another thing. Rolling, I need money— some twenty thousand francs. Will you give me a cheque or cash?” 

34 

For all his tremendous exjieriencc and his knowledge of people, Kolling had never before in his life come up against such insolence. Something like perspiration ap' peared on his fleshy nose, so great was the effort he made to keep his temper and not hurl the ink>pot in Semyonov's freckled face. • • . (And how many valuable seconds had been lost through this useless conversation.) Controlling himself he reached out towards the bell. 

Semyonov followed the movement of his hand. 

“The fact of the matter is, Mr, Rolling,’’ be said, “Engineer Garin is at the moment in Paris.” 

IS 

Rolling jumped up— ~hU nostrils dilated and a vein stood out sharply between hU brows. He ran to the door and locked it, then came close up to Semyonov, took hold of the back of tbe chair with one band and grasped the edge of the table with the other, 

“You’re lying,’’ he said, bending close to Semyonov’s face, 

“Why should I lie to yon.... This is how it wast Stas Tyklinski saw that double in the Petrograd poBt>offlce when he was handing in a telegram and noted the address: Paris, Boulevard Batignolles. . . . Yesterday Tyklinski ar- rived from Warsaw and we went straight to Boulevard Batignolles — there in a Cafe, we ran into Garin — ^or maybe bis double, tbe devil knows which.” 

Rolling’s eyes examined Semyonov’s freckled face closely. Then be straightened up, his breath coming in short gasps. 

“You know quite well that we’re not in Soviet Russia hut in Paris — if yon commit a crime here I shall not save you from the guillotine. But if you try to hoodwink me I’ll crush you.” 

35 

He went back to his place and with a look of aversion opened his cheque-book. “I won’t give you twenty thou- sand, five’s enough for you. . . He wrote out the cheque, flicked it across the table to Semyonov with his finger- nail and then — not for more than a second — placed his elbows on the desk and pressed his face into his hands. 

16 

It stands to reason that Zoe Montrose did not become the Chemical King’s mistress by accident. It is only idiots and those ^v^ho do not know the meaning of struggle and victory that put everything down to luck. “Lucky fellow,” they say enviously and regard the successful one as some- thing of a miracle. If he falls a thousand fools will tread him underfoot in ecstasy — the great goddess Fortune has rejected him. 

There was not even a suggestion of chance — it was wits and will that brought Zoe into Rolling’s bed. Her will had been tempered like steel by the events of 1919. Her wits were so sharp that she quite consciously main- tained amongst her acquaintances the belief that she was under the special protection of the great goddess Fortune. 

In the district where she lived (Rue de la Seine on the left bank of that river) the owners and customers of the general shops, grocer’s, wine, coal, and other shops almost worshipped Zoe Montrose. 

Her daytime car — a 24 h.p. black limousine, her tour- ing car — a quasi-divine 80 h.p. Rolls Royce, her evening electric car — upholstered in silk, with silver handles and vases for flowers inside and especially her winning of a million and a half francs in the casino at Deauville, all served to arouse the adoration of the arrondissement. 

Exercising great care and an excellent knowledge of the business, Zoe “invested” half of her winnings in the press. 

36 

From Octoter (the opening of the Paris season) on- •wards the press kept the beautiful Montrose well to the fore. At first a petty-bourgeois newspaper published a scurrilous account of Zoe Montrose's ruined lovers. “This beautiful lady costs us too much!" exclaimed the news* paper. After that an infiuential radical newspaper made use of the story to rage about the petit bourgeois who sent to parliament shopkeepers and wine-sellers with an out- look that did not extend beyond their own parish. “What if Zoe Montrose has ruined a dozen foreigners,” exclaimed this newspaper, “their money is in circulation in Paris, it increases our vital energy. Zoe Montrose is to us merely a symbol of healthy relations in life, a symbol of eternal movement where one falls and another rises.” 

Zoe blontrose’s portrait and her biography were pub- lished in all the papers. 

“Her late father sang in the Imperial Opera of St. Petersburg. At the age of eight charming little Zoe entered a ballet school. Just before the war she graduated the school and her debut created a furore such as the Mortliern Metropolis had never before known. Then came the war and Zoe Montrose, her young heart filled with loving kind- ness, donned a grey uniform with a Bed Cross on her breast and hurried to the battle line. She was to be found in the places of greatest danger, calmly bending over a wounded Soldier amidst a hurricane of enemy shells. She was wounded, hut the grace of her beautiful young body was not affected; she was taken to St. Petersburg where she made the acquaintance of a captain of the French Army. Revolutionary Russia betrayed the allies. Zoe Montrose’s heart was broken by the Peace of Brcst-Lilovsk. Together with her friend, the French captain, she fled to the south and there, mounted on horseback, rifle in hand, she fought against the Bolsheviks like one of the angered Graces. Her friend died of typhus, French sailors brought her to Mar- seilles on a destroyer. Arriving m Paris she threw herself 

37 

at the feet of the French President and begged him to allow her to become a French subject. She danced for the benefit of the unfortunate inhabitants of war-weeked Champagne. She is to be found at all charity fetes. She is a radiant star that has fallen on to the streets of Paris. . . .” 

In essence the biography was true enough. In Paris she took a quick look round and plunged into life — always forward, always battling, always striving towards the most difficult and most valuable. She actually had ruined a dozen of the nouveaux riches, those stumpy young men with hairy, beringed fingers and flushed cheeks. Zoe was an expensive woman and they were broken. 

She soon realized that young men of this class would not give her a reputation for chic in Paris. She took as her lover a fashionable .journalist, betrayed him for a parliamentary deputy representing the bigger industrialists and then discovered that in the twenties of the twentieth century chemistry was the thing. 

She engaged a secretary who made her daily reports of the progress of the chemical industry and kept her sup- plied with the necessary information. In this way she learned of the expected visit to Europe of Chemical King Roiling. 

She immediately left for New York and there she pur- chased, body and soul, a reporter from one of the bigger newspapers; this resulted in the appearance of press re- ports of the arrival in New York of Europe’s cleverest and most beautiful woman, a ballerina who showed a deep interest in the most fashionable of modern sciences, chemistry, and who had even abandoned such vulgar jewellery as diamonds for a necklace composed of little globes of fluorescent gas. These globes captured the imag- ination of the Americans. 

When Rolling boarded a steamer leaving for France, on the tennis court on the upper deck there sat Zoe Mont- rose in a wicker chair placed between a broad-leafed 

38 

palm that rustled in the sea breeze and a flowering ah mond’trec. 

Rolling knew that she was the most fashionable woman in Europe and, apart from that, he really liked her. He proposed that she become his mistress. Zoe Montrose made one condition — a written contract, a breach of which would cost Rolling a million dollars. 

Wireless messages from mid-ocean informed the world of Rolling's new liaison and of the extraordinary contract. The sensational news was received by the EiCTel Tower and next day all Paris was talking of Zoe Montrose and the Chemical King. 

17 

Rolling made no mistake in his selection of a mistress. 

“My dear,” said Zoe, while they were still on the steamer, “it would be foolish for me to poke my nose into your business. You'll soon see thot Pm even more useful as a secretary than a mistress. Pro not greatly interested in women's nonsense. Pm ambitious. You're a great man and I believe in you. You must win. Don't forget that I have lived through a revolution, Pve had typhus, Pve fought like a soldier and have done a thousand-mile trek on horseback. All that cannot be forgotten. My heart lias been scared by hatred.” 

Rolling found her icy passion amusing. He touched the tip of her nose with his finger. 

“Baby,” he said, “you've got too much temperament for a businessman's secretary; you're crazy and in poli- tics or in business you will always he a dilettante.” 

In Paris he began his negotiations for the cartelizing of chemical plants. America was making big capital invest- ments in the industries of the Old World. Rolling’s agents carefully bought up shares. In Paris he was known as the “American Buffalo.” And really he was a giant amongst 

the European industrialists. He went straight ahead, smashing his way forward. His field of vision was narrow: he saw only one aim before him — the concentration of the chemical industries of the whole world in his own hands. 

Zoe quickly studied his character and his fighting methods. She found out his strength and his w'eakness. He had a poor knowledge of politics and often talked nonsense about revolution and the Bolsheviks. Vithout his knowing it she gradually surrounded him with nec- essary and useful people. She connected him up with the newspaper world and herself guided his talks. She bought up little newspaper-men to whom he did not pay any at- tention, but they did him greater service than the big newspaper-men since they penetrated into every hole and corner, like mosquitoes. 

Wlicn she “arranged” for one of the Right deputies to make a little speech in Parliament on the “necessity of maintaining close contact ivith the American chemical industry in the interests of the chemical defence of France,” Rolling for the first time shook hands with her as he would have done with a man friend. 

“O.K., rU take you as my secretary on a salary of twenty-seven dollars a week.” 

Rolling believed in Zoe’s usefulness and from then on began to tell her all his business secrets. 

18 

Zoe Montrose kept in touch with a number of Russian emigres. One of them, Semyonov, was on her regular pay- roll. He was a chemical engineer who graduated during the war, was appointed ensign in the Russian Army, later be- came an officer of the Wliitc Army and in exile had per- formed all manner of petty commissions and finally sank as low as the sale of second-hand clothing to street women. 

40 

On Zee's staff he headed her counter-intelligence de- partment. He brought her Soviet newipapera and maga- zines and kept her up to date on everything, including gossip and rumour. He was punctual, quick-witted and not a hit fastidious. 

One day Zoe showed Rolling a cutting from a Revel newspaper containing a report of an apparatus of tremen- dous destructive power now being built in Petrograd. Roll- ing smiled. 

“Nonsense, that won’t scare anybody. . . . You’ve got a much too vivid imagination. The Bolsheviks aren’t capable of building anything.” 

Then Zoe invited Semyonov to lunch and he told them a strange story connected with that newspaper report. 

“. . . In 1919, in Petrograd, shortly before I got away, I met a friend in the street, a Pole by the name of Stas Tyklinski, we graduated the Technological Institute to- gether. He had a sack on his back, his feet were bound up in pieces of carpet, and the iigures chalked on his back showed that he had been standing in queues. In other words, everything as it should be. But he looked very cheerful and winked at me. I wondered what the matter was. *l*ve got on the track of big money, oh, la-la, mil. lionsl’ he said. *No, not millions, hundreds of millions, gold, of course.* I naturally did not let him go but kept trying to get him to tell me about it, but he only laughed. With that we parted, A couple of weeks later I was on Vasilyevsky Island, where Tyklinski lived. I remembered his talk about millions and thought it would be a good idea to ask the millionaire for half a pound of sugar. So I went to his house. Tyklinski was lying in bed, feeling pretty bad. His chest and his hand were in bandages. 

“ ‘Who did this to you?* I asked. 

“ ‘Wait a bit,* he answered, ‘with the Holy Virgin’s help I’ll get better — I’ll kill him!’ 

“‘Wlio?’ 

41 

“ ‘Garin.’ 

“Then he told me, hazily and rambling, of course, be- cause be didn’t want me to know the details, about an old acquaintance of his. Engineer Garin, who had proposed to Tyklinski that he prepare carbon candles for him for some apparatus of unusual destructive power. He offered Tykliu- ski a share in the profits to get him interested. He pro- posed that on the conclusion of their experiments they should fly to Sweden, patent the apparatus and then ex- ploit it themselves. 

“Tyklinski got busy making carbon pyramids. The problem was to get the maximum heat effect with the min- imum volume. Garin kept the principle of the apparatus a secret but said it was so extraordinarily simple that any sort of hint would give away the secret. Tyklinski supplied him with his carbon pyramids but could not persuade Garin to show bim the apparatus. 

“Such mistrust infuriated Tyklinski and they often quarrelled. One day Tyklinski followed Garin to the place where he was making his experiments — a half-ruined house in one of the back streets of the Petersburg District. Ty- klinski followed Garin into the house and for a long time wandered up and down staircases, through empty rooms with broken windows and at last heard a loud hissing noise, like that of escaping steam, coming from the cellar and at the same time noticed the familiar smell of burning pyramids. 

“He made his way carefully into the cellar but stum- bled over some broken bricks, fell noisily and, some thirty paces away, through an archway saw Garin’s distorted face lit up by a smoky oil-lamp. ‘Who’s there, who’s there?’ Garin shouted wildly and at the same time a blinding ray of light, no thicker than a knitting needle, ran across the wall and cut across Tyklinski’s chest and hand. 

“Tyklinski regained consciousness at dawn, for a long lime called for help and then crawled out of the cellar on all fours, bleeding profusely. Some passers-by picked him 

42 

up and brought him home on a hand-cart. By the lime he had recovered the war with Poland had begun and he had to get out of Petrograd.” 

This story made a tremendous impression on Zoe ]lIont> rose. Rolling smiled disparagingly: he believed only in the power of asphyxiating gases. Ironclads, fortresses, guns, huge armies — all these were, in his opinion, remnants of barbarism. Aeroplanes and chemicals were the only powerful weapons of war. As to some crazy apparatus from Petrograd — utter nonsense! 

But Zoe Was not to he put off. She sent Semyonov to Finland to collect more precise information concerning Garin. A White-guard officer engaged by Semyonov crossed the Russian frontier on skis, found Garin in Petrograd, talked with him and even proposed their work- ing together. Garin behaved very warily. Apparently he knew that people abroad were watching him. As far as Iiis apparatus was concerned he said that whoever owned it would he possessed of miraculous power. Experiments with a model had given brilliant results. He was only awaiting the completion of the work on the pyramidal candles. 

19 

It was a rainy Sunday evening in early spring and the lights from the windows and from countless street-lamps were reflected in the pavements of the Paris streets. 

Wet motor-cars seemed to he running along black canals over an abyss of lights, wet umbrellas whirled and twisted, buffeting against each other. The rainy darkness was saturated with the musty damp of the boulevards, the smells of vegetable shops, the odour of petrol and of rich perfumes. 

The rain poured down the elate roofs, the grilles of balconies and down the huge striped awnings over the 

43 

cafes. The flaming advertisements of all manner of amuse- ments flashed on and oft, whirled and flickered dully through tlie haze. 

The little people, men and women from the shops and offices, amused themselves as best they could on Sundays. The big people, the serious businessmen, sat at home by the fireside. Sunday was the day of the mob, thrown to them to be devoured for tbeir pleasure. 

Zoe sat amidst numerous cushions on a wide divan, her feet tucked up under her. She was smoking and staring at the fire in the grate. Rolling, in evening dress, occupied a deep armchair, his feet on a footstool; like Zoe he was also smoking and studying the coals. 

The firelight gave a fiery-red hue to the fleshy nose, bearded cheeks, half-closed eyelids and the slightly in- flamed eyes of the master of the universe. He had aban- doned himself to that period of inactivity so essential once a week to rest his brain and nerves. 

Zoe stretched her beautiful bare arms out in front of her. 

“Rolling,” she said, “it is two hours since we lunched.” 

“Yes,” he answered, “I also presume that the process of digestion is over.” 

Her limpid, almost dreamy eyes ran over his face. . Softly and in serious tones she called him by his Christian name. He answered irithout stirring in his warm armchair; 

“Yes, I’m listening to you, baby.” 

Permission to talk had been given. Zoe moved to the edge of the divan and clasped her knee. 

“Tell me. Rolling, is there a very great danger of an explosion at a chemical works?” 

“There is. The fourth derivative from coal, trotyl, is a very powerful explosive. The eighth dcrivate from coal, picric acid, is used to fill the armour-piercing shells of naval guns. There is a still more powerful explosive, tetryl.” 

44 

“'Whai is tetryl, Bolling?” 

“The same coal. Benaene (C^Hb) mixed with nitric acid (HNO 3 ) at a temperature of 80*^ C. gives us nitrobenzene which has the formula of CeHsNOj. If we substitute 2 parts of hydrogen (H 2 ) for two parts of oxygen (Oj), that is if we begin slowly mixing iron filings with nitrobenzene at 80° C. and add a small amount of hydrochloric acid we get aniline (CbHsNHz). Aniline, mixed with wood alcohol under a pressure of fifty atmospheres, will give dimethyl- aniline. Then we will dig a big hole, build an earth rampart round it, put a shed in the middle and there treat dimethyl- aniline with nitric acid. During the reaction we shall watch the thermometers through a telescope. The reaction of nitric acid with dimethylaniline will give tis tetryl. That tetryl is the very devil himself: for some unknown reason it sometimes explodes during the reaction and reduces huge buildings to dust. Unfortunately we have to deal with this stuff; when it is treated with phosgene it gives a blue dyestuff— crystal violet. That stuff brings in good money. You asked me an amusing question. . . . Hm-m. . . . 

I thought you were better acquainted with chemistry, Hm-m. ... In order to make, say, a tablet of pyramidon from coal tar so as to cure your headache we have to go through a number of stages.... On the way from coal to pyramidon or a bottle of perfume or some ordinary photo- graphic chemical there are such devilish substances as trotyl and picric acid, such wonderful little things as Lrombenzylcyanide, chlorpicrin, diphenylclilorarsinc and so on, that is, those very war gases that make men sneeze, weep, tear off their gas-masb, choke, vomit blood, break out in sores all over the body, rot away alive. . . 

RolllDg was bored on that rainy Sunday evening and gladly plunged into a contemplation of the great future of chemistry. 

“I believe (he waved bis haj/.gmoked cigar near h'n nose), 1 believe that the Lord Cod of Sabaotb erette^ 

4S 

heaven and earth and all that therein is using only coal tar and kitchen salt. The Bible doesn’t exactly say so hut it is to be deduced. Whoever owns coal and salt is master of the world. The Germans started the war in 1914 only because nine-tenths of the chemical plants in the world belonged to Germany. The Germans understood the secret of coal and salt: they were the only enlightened nation of the day. They did not, however, foresee that we Amer- icans could build Edgewood Arsenal in nine months. The Germans opened our eyes and we realized where we had to invest our money and now we, and not they, art going to dominate the world, because since the war we have the money and we have the chemicals. We’ll turn Ger- many and other countries that kno%v how to work (those who don’t will die a natural death and we’ll help them die) into a single gigantic factory. . . . The American flag will encircle the world round the equator and from pole to pole like the ribbon on a chocolate bo.x. . . .” 

“Rolling, you’re just asking for trouble,” Zoe inter- rupted him, “they'll all turn communist. . , . The day will come when they’ll say that they don’t need you any longer, that they prefer to Avork for themselves. . . . Oh, I’ve already been through that horror. . . . They won’t give you your millions back. . . 

“In that case I’ll droAvn Europe in mustard gas, baby.” 

“It’ll be too late. Rolling!” Zoe hugged her knees and leant forward. “Rolling, believe me, I’ve never given you had advice. ... I asked you whether there was a danger of explosion at a chemical Avorks. ... In the hands of the Avorkers, revolutionaries, communists, in the hands of our enemies, there Avill be a Aveapon of tremendous poAver. . . . The Avorkers Avill be able to bloAV up chemical plants, powder magazines, set fire to squadrons of aircraft, de- stro) supplies of gas — they Avill be able to destroy from a great distance everything that As'ill explode burn.” 

or 

RoIIiag took his feet off the footstool, his reddish eje- ids flickered and for a while he looked at the young voman. 

“As far as I can understand you’re again referring :o. . . 

“Yes, Rolling, yes, to Garin’s apparatus. . . . Everything :hat has been said about it has escaped your attention. But [ know how serious it is.... Semyonov has brought me 1 strange thing. He got it from Russia.” 

Zoe rang the bell. A footman entered. She ordered liim to bring in a little pinewood box; in it lay a strip of steel about half an inch thick. Zoe took it out of the box and held it in the firelight. Slots, whorls, and holes ivere cut through the whole thickness of the steel with some very fine instrument and across it the words “Trial of strength . . . trial . . . Garin” were scribbled as though with a fine pen. Pieces of metal that formed the interior of aome of the letters had fallen out. Rolling looked long at that strip of steel. 

“It looks like a ’trial of the pen,'” he said softly, “it might have been written in soft dough with a needle.” 

“This was done during the test of a model of Garin’s apparatus at a distance of thirty paces,” said Zoe. “Se^. myonov maintains that Garin expects to build an apparao tus that can easily cut through a dreadnought at a distance of twenty cable’s lengths. . . . Excuse me. Rolling, but I in> sist, you must get hold of this terrible apparatus.” 

Not for nothing bad Rolling passed through the school of life in America. To the last ounce he was trained for the fight. 

Training, as everybody knows, evenly distributes work amongst the muscles and permits of the greatest possible strain. It was the same with Rolling when he started a fight; his fantasy began working first — it plunged into a dense thicket of enterprise and discovered there some' thing worthy of attention. Stop. The work of his fatttify 

47 

ceased and the brain took over. Common-sense came into its own, evaluated, compared, weighed, and reported: use- ful. Stop. The practical mind came into its own, calcu- lated, considered, and struck a balance: credit balance. Stop. Will power came into its own, that terrific Rolling’s will power, as strong as high-grade steel, and he, like a buffalo, with bloodshot eyes, smashed his way to the goal and attained it whatever it may have cost him and others. 

This is approximately what was happening today. Rolling cast a glance into the unknown jungle and com- mon-sense told him: Zoe is right. His practical mind told him the most profitable way would be to steal the draw- ings and the apparatus and liquidate Garin, And that would end it, Garin’s fate was determined, credit was opened and will power took over. Rolling rose from his chair, stood with his back to the fire, and thrust out his chin, 

“I shall expect Semyonov tomorrow at the Boulevard Malesherbes.” 

20 

Since that evening seven weeks had passed. Garin’s double had been murdered on Krestovsky Island. Semyo- nov had reappeared on the Boulevard Malesherbes without either drawings or apparatus. Rolling had almost smashed his head with an ink-pot. Garin, or his double, had been seen the day before in Paris. 

Ihe following day at one o’clock Zoe picked up Rolling at the Boulevard Malesherbes as usual. Rolling sat beside her in a closed limousine resting his chin on his walking- stick. 

Garin’s in Paris,” he muttered between his teeth. 

Zoii sank back on the cushions and Rolling looked gloomily at her. 

Semyonov should long ago have been led to the guil- lotine, said Rolling. “He’s slipshod, a common murderer. 

48 

he’s an insolent fool, 1 trusted him and found znyself in a ridiculous situation. I suppose he’ll drag me into some nasty business now. . . .** 

Rolling told Zoe about his conversation with Semyo- nov. They hadn’t managed to steal the drawings and the apparatus because the hoodlums Semyonov had hired had not killed Garin hut his double. The appearance of the double worried Rolling more than anything. He realized that bis opponent was no fool. Either Garin had had warn- ing of the attempt to be made on bis life or he assumed that such an attempt was unavoidable and had covered his tracks leaving them a dummy. All this was very vague. The most incomprehensible thing of all was — -what the hell was Garin doing in Paris? 

The limousine moved slowly amongst many other cars along the Champs Elysees. Tlie day was warm and damp, a delicate blue haze wreathed the winged horses and glass dome of the Grand Salon, the round roofs of the tall houses, the awnings over the windows, and the luxuriant crowns of the chestnuts. 

Those occvpyiog the cars^some lolling back, some with one foot on the other knee, some sucking the knobs of their canes — were in the majority of cases nouveaux riches, young men, not very tall, in soft spring hats and gaudy ties. They were on their way to lunch in the Dots de Boulogne accompanied by those pretty girls that Paris gladly supplies for the amusement of foreigners. 

On the Place de I’Etoile'a hired car in which eat Se- myonov and a man with a fat, yellow face and dusty moustaches overtook Zoe Montrose’s limousine. They were both leaning forward in something resembling frenzy, watching a little green car that wound its way across the Place to the entrance of the underground railway. 

Semyonov pointed out the car to his chauffeur hut it was difficult to penetrate the throng of traffic. At last they got through and at full speed tried to cut across in 

49 

front of the little green car. The latter, however, had al- ready stopped at the Metropolitaine entrance. A man of medium height, in a voluminous coat, jumped out of the car and disappeared below ground. 

All this occurred in two or three minutes before the eyes of Rolling and Zoe. She called to her chauffeur to turn towards the Metropolitaine. They stopped almost simultaneously with Semyonov. Waving his cane, Semyo- nov ran to the limousine, pulled open the plate-glass door, and spoke in terrific excitement. 

“That was Garin. Got away. Doesn’t matter, though. I’ll go to him at Rue Batignolles and propose an agree- ment. Rolling, we must come to an understanding; how much will j’ou give to acquire the apparatus? And you needn’t worry, I’ll keep within the law. Incidentally allow me to introduce Stas Tyklinski. He’s a very decent chap.” 

Without waiting for permission he called Tyklinski. The latter ran up to the luxurious limousine, pulled off his hat, bowed and kissed Pani Montrose’s hand. 

Rolling did not offer his hand to either of them but glared out of the depths of the limousine like a puma in a cage. To remain there in full view of all passers-hy on file Place de I’Rtoilc was not wise. Zoe proposed driving to the left bank for lunch in the Restaurant Laperousc which woidd not be overcrowded at this time of the year. 

21 

Every minute T)'klinski kept bowing, smoothed his pendant moustaches, stared at Zoe Montrose with moist eyes, and ate with suppressed voracity. Rolling sat gloom- ily with his back to the window. Semyonov chattered away at his case. Zoe seemed calm, she smiled charmingly and with her eyes indicated to the jnaitre d’hdtel that 

50 

he 611 the guests’ glasses more frequently. "When the cham- pagne was brought in she asked Tyklinski to tell bis story. 

He pulled his napkin from his collar. 

“We did not even grudge our lives for Pan Rolling. We crossed the Soviet border near Sestroretsk.” 

“Who do yon mean — we?” asked Rolling. 

“1 and my assistant, sir, a Russian from Warsaw, an ofbeer of Calakliovich’s army. A very cruel man. Damn him and all Russians, he gave me more trouble than help. My task was to 6nd out where Garin was conducting his experiments. I went to the ruined house — the lady and gentleman, of course, know how the damned swine almost cut me in two with his apparatus. It was there in the cellar that I found the steel strip; Madame Zoe has got it and has evidence of the effort 1 made. Garin moved his experiments to another place. 1 did not sleep day or night, I wanted to justify the trust placed in me by Madame Zoe and Mr. Rolling. I chilled my lungs in the swamps of Krestovsky Island hut I achieved my goal. 1 traced Garin. On the night of the 27tb April my assistant and I got into his cottage, bound Garin to an iron bedstead and searched the place thoroughly. Not a thing. It was enough to drive you mad, there was no sign of the appa- ratus. And all the time I knew he had hidden it iu that cottage. Then my assistant got a bit rough with Garin. . . . The lady and gentleman will understand that we were excited. I do not say that we acted on the instructions of Mr. Rolling. No, my assistant forgot himself. . . .“ 

Rolling looked into his plate. Zoe’s long Bngers tapped rapidly on the table-cloth flashing their polished nails, emeralds, diamonds, and sapphires. Tyklinski was inspired as he gazed at that priceless hand. 

“The lady and gentleman know how I met Garin at the post-offlee a day later. Blother of God, who would not he scared out of his wits coming face to face with a living corpse? And then the police came chasing after me. We 

51 

were the victims of a trick, that accursed Garin had foist- ed another man on to us instead of himself. I decided to make another search of the cottage. There must have been a cellar there. That night I went there alone and put the watchman to sleep. I got in through the window. Let Mr. Rolling not misunderstand me. When Tyklinski risks his life, he risks it for an idea. I could very well have jumped hack through the window when I heard such a banging and crashing that would make anybody’s hair stand on end. Yes, Mr. Rolling, I realized then that the Lord guided you when you sent me to wrest that awful instrument out of the hands of the Russians, a weapon they could turn against the whole civilized world. That was an historical moment, Pani Zoe, I swear on the honour of a Polish nobleman. I threw myself like a wild beast into the kitchen, where the noise was going on. I saw Garin. He was piling up tables, sacks and boxes against the wall. When he saw me he seized the leather suitcase that I knew so well, the one in which he carried the model of his apparatus, and slipped into the ne-xt room. I drew my revolver and chased after him. He was already open- ing the window to jump out. I fired. With his suitcase in one hand and bis revolver in the other he ran to the other end of the room, took cover behind the bed, and opened fire. It was a real duel, Madame Zoe. A bullet holed my cap. Suddenly he covered his nose and mouth with a rag of some sort and held out a little metal tube towards me — there was a shot, no louder than the popping of a champagne cork, and at that moment a thousand little claws clutched at my nose, eyes, throat, and chest, I began to sneeze and cough, my insides were turned inside out, and, excuse me, Pani Zoe, I vomited so badly that I rolled on the floor.” 

Diphcnylchlorarsine mixed with phosgene half and half that s cheap enough, we use it in the bombs our police arc armed witli,” said Rolling. 

52 

“You are right, sir, it was a gas bomb. Fortunately the draught drove the gas away quickly. I soon regained consciousness and managed to make my way home half* alive. I was poisoned, half*dead, detectives were seeking me all over the town, there was nothing left to do but run away from Leningrad, which I did with great difficulty and in great danger.** 

Tyklinski spread his arms and bowed las bead, giving himself up to the mercy of his employer. 

“Are you 'lure that Garin also fied from Russia?*’ asked Zoe. 

“He had to get away. After that business he would have been obliged to give an explanation to the Criminal Investigation Department.** 

“Why did he choose Paris?** 

“He needs carbon pyramids. Without them his ap* paratus is like an unloaded gun. Garin is a physicist. He knows nothing about chemistry. On his instructions I worked on the production of those pyramids, after me the man who paid with bis life on Krestovsky Island. But Garin has another companion here in Paris, he sent him a telegram to an address on the Boulevard Batignolles. Garin has come here to watch the experiments with the pyramids.*' 

“Wliat do you know about Garin's companion?" asked Rolling. 

“He lives in a cheap hotel on the Boulevard Batignolles. We were there yesterday and learned a few things from the concierge,*’ answered Semyonov. “He comes home only to sleep and is away all day. He has no luggage. He leaves the house in a saihcloth emock, the sort medical students and laboratory workers in Paris wear. He must be working somewhere near by.” 

“What does he look like? What the hell do I care about his sail-cloth smock! Did the concierge tell you what be looks like?" shouted Rolling. 

Semyonov and Tyklinski exchanged glances. 

S3 

“If tlie gentleman wishes we will find out ’ivhat the man looks like today,” answered Tyklinski, placing his hand on his heart. 

Rolling did not speak at once, but sat frowning, 

“How can you be sure that the man you saw yesterday in a cafe on the Boulevard Batignolles and the man who ■ went underground on the Place de I’fitoile was one and the same person and that he is Engineer Garin? You were mistaken once already in Leningrad. Well?” 

Semyonov and Tyklinski again exchanged glances. Tyklinski smiled with extreme politeness. 

“Mr. Rolling surely cannot believe that Garin has doubles in every city.” 

Rolling stubbornly nodded his bead. Zoii sat with her hands wrapped in ermine, looking out of the window as though she were not interested. 

“Tyklinski knows Garin too well to make such a mis- take,” said Semyonov. “At the moment we have something more important to decide. Are you going to let us do this job alone and one fine morning bring the drawings and the • apparatus to your office on the Boulevard Malcsherbcs, or are you going to work with us?” 

“Under no circumstances!” said Zoe suddenly, still looking out of the window. “Mr. Rolling is very interested in Engineer Garin’s experiments, Mr. Rolling would very much like to acquire the rights for this invention; Mr. Roll- ing always keeps strictly within the law; if Mr, Rolling were to believe even one word of what Tyklinski has said it stands to reason that he would not hesitate to call the police commissioner and hand over such a scoundrel and criminal to the authorities. As Mr. Rolling under- stands perfectly well that Tyklinski invented the whole story in order to get more money out of him he will be kind enough to allow him to continue to perform some small services.” 

For the first time during that lunch Rolling smiled, 

Si 

took a gold toothpick out of his waistcoat pocket, and poked it between his teeth. Beads of sweat stood out on the bald patches on Tyklinskrs red forehead, his checks hung {labbilj. 

**Your job will be to give me precise and complete in* formation, point by point, in accordance with detailed instructions which you will receive at three o’clock today at my office on the Boulevard Maleslicrbes,” said Rolling. “You are required to work as decent detectives and noth- ing more. Not one step, not one word without my orders.” 

22 

The gleaming, white, plate*g1ass*6ided train of the Nord-Sud underground line sped with a soft rumble through dark, winding tunnels under Paris, past tangled networks of cables, past niches in which workers crouched lit up by the passing train, past yellow letters on a black background: “Dubonnet. Dubonnet. Dubonnet,” a drink that the advertisements hammered into the minds of Parisians. 

A momentary stop. A station flooded with underground light. Square, coloured advertisements: T7onder Soap, The World’s Strongest Broces, Lion Head Shoe Polish, Red Devil Rubber Tyres, sales at the Louvre, La Belle Fleuriste, and Gallerie Lafayette deportment stores. 

The noisy, smiling crowd of pretty women, midineltes, me8senger*hoyB,foreigncr8,youngmcn in light-filling jackets, workers in sweat-stained shirts tucked under red sashes, milling and swarming, stormed the train. The glass doors slide open.... “Oo-oo-oo . . came like a huge sigh from the whirlpool of bats, staring eyes, gaping mouths, flushed, happy, angry faces that swirled into the train. Conductors in brick-red jackets, hanging on to the handrails, forced the passengers into the train with their stomachs. The 

55 

doors close with a crash; a short whistle and the train disappears like a ribbon of fire into the black tunnel. 

Semyonov and Tyklinski w'ere sitting on a side seat of the Nord'Sud train with their backs to the door. Pan Ty- klinski was fuming. 

“I ask you to bear in mind that it was only propriety that kept me from making a scene. I could have lost my temper a hundred times. As though I’ve never eaten lunch with a muItimillidnaireJ To hell with them and their lunches. I can give as good a lunch myself at the Laper- ouse and won’t have to listen to the insults of a street woman. . . . Proposing that Tyklinski play the detective! The bitch, the hussy!” 

“Oh, cut it out, Pan Tyklinski, you don’t know Zoe, she’s a wonderful woman, an excellent comrade. Per- haps she was a bit too hard on you. . . .” 

“Apparently Madame Zoe is used to having dealings with the dregs of society, with your emigres. . . . But I’m a Pole, I’d ask you to remember that.” Tyklinski blew out his moustaches in a terrifying manner. “I will not permit people to talk to me in that tone, , . 

“All right, Stas, you’ve shaken your moustaches and let off steam,” said Semyonov after a short pause. “Now listen carefully to me: we’re getting good pay for nothing much. The work is safe, even pleasant: just hang around pubs and cafes. . . . Personally, I’m very pleased with to- day’s talk. You talk about tecs. . . , Nonsense! I’m telling you, we’re offered a splendid job in the secret service.” 

Near the door behind the seat occupied by Semyonov and Tyklinski a man stood leaning his elbow against the brass upright of the car — the man who had called himself Pyankov-Pitkcvich during his conversation with Shclga on the Trade-Union Boulevard in Leningrad. His overcoat collar was turned up, concealing the Imver part of his face, and his hat was pulled down over his eyes. He stood there in a careless attitude, sucking the bone handle of a walking- 

56 

stick; he listened to the whole conversation between Semyonov and Tykiinski, politely made way for them when they hurried out of the carriage, got out himself two stations farther on at Montmartre. At the nearest post* office he handed in a telegram: 

“Shelga. C.I.D. Leningrad. Four*Finger8 here. Menacing developments.” 

23 

Leaving the post-office he walked up the Boulevard Clichy, keeping on the shady side. 

From every doorway, from the basement windows, from under the striped awnings stretched over marble-topped tables and cane chairs, drifted the sour smell of night drinking dens. Pasty-faced garfons in short dinner jackets and white aprons, hair plastered on either side of an immaculate parting, were sprinkling the tiled Boors and sidewalks between the tables with damp sawdust, setting out armfuls of flowers, turning bronze handles, to raise the awnings. 

In the daytime the Boulevard Clichy looked dowdy, like the decorations after a camival. Tall, ugly old houses were all occupied by restaurants, bars, cafes, overnight hotels and little shops selling tawdry rubbish. The frames and tin-plate structures of the advertisements, the be- draggled sails of the famous Moulin-Rouge, the cinema posters on the pavements, the two rows of anaemic trees in the middle of the boulevard, the pissoirs covered with unprintable scribble, the stone-paved roadway over which the centuries had rolled noisily by, the rows of stalls and roundabouts in their canvas coverings — all this awaited the night when the idlers and merrymakers would come up from the bourgeois quarters of Paris, 

And when night comes the lights flash on, the gar^ons flit busily to and fro, the roundabouts turn to the scream* 

57 

ing music of the steam organs; on golden pigs, on bulls u-ith golden horns, in boats, saucepans and pots, reflected in a thousand mirrors, girls with skirts above their knees, bourgeois with astonishment written on their faces, thieves with magnificent moustaches, Japanese students with smil- ing mask-like faces, gamins, homosexuals and morose Rus- sian emigres awaiting the dow'nfall of the Bolsheviks — all race round and round and round. 

The fiery sails of the Moulin-Rouge begin to turn. Bro- ken fiery arrows dart across the facades of the buildings. The names of world-famous night bars flash out in letters of fire, the raucous trumpeting and wild drumming of jazz hands stream through the open windows on to the hot boulevard. 

The croAvd is noisy with its cardboard whistles and wooden rattles. The underground railways disgorge more crowds of people on to the boulevards. This is Montmartre, the Hill of Martre, its night lights gleaming high above the city of Paris — the most care-free spot in the world. Here there are places to leave your money and plenty of opportunities to spend a merry night with a laughing girl. 

Merry Montmartre — the Boulevard Clichy between the two round Places, the Place Pigalle and the Place Blanche, two centres of ultimate pleasure. To the left of the Place Pigalle stretches the wide, quiet Boulevard Batignollcs. To the right, beyond the Place Blanche, begins the Fau- bourg Saint-Antoinc, the quarter of the Parisian poor and tlic working class. From here, from the Boulevard Batig- nolles, from the heights of Montmartre and Saint-Antoine, armed workers have descended on many occasions to seize Paris, On four occasions they were driven back to their heights by cannon fire. And the lower city, spread along both hanks of the Seine, the hanks, offices, luxurious shops, holds for millionaires and barracks for the thirty thousand police, on four occasions launched a countcr- 

58 

ofTenstve and the blaziog lights of world«notoriong dens of infamy branded the very heart of the ■workers* city — Place Pigalle, Boulevard Clichy, Place Blanche — with the sexual seal of the lower city. 

'When the man in the loose overcoat reached the middle of the boulevard he turned into a narrow side street whose worn steps led to the summit of Montmartre; glanc* ing carefully round he entered a dark har whose habitues were prostitutes, taxi-drivers, balf.starved writers of cou- plets and would-he artists who from force of habit still wore baggy trousers and wide-brimmed hats. 

He asked for a glass of porto and a newspaper and settled down to read it. The red-faced, moustached, sev- enteen-stone Frenchman who owned the bar, bis shirt- sleeves rolled up above the elbows of his hairy arms, was washing glasses under a tap behind his zinc-covered counter and talking— listen if you like, if not, don't. 

**Say what you like, Russia's given us plenty of trouble (he knew that his visitor was a Russian, Monsieur Pierre). Russian emigres don't bring an income any more. Played out, oil, la-la. . . . But we're still rich enough to be able to aHord the luxury of harbouring a few thousand unfortu- nates. (He was sure that his visitor was a Montmartre street trader.) There must be an end to everything, of course. The emigres must go home. Helas! We’ll reconcile you with your big country, we’ll recognize the Soviets and Paris ■will he good old Paris again. I'm fed up with war, 

I can tell you. Ten years of that indigestion. The Soviets agree to pay small holders of Russian stock. Clever, very clever on their part. Vive les Soviets! Their politics aren’t at all bad. They’re Bolshevizing Germany. ExcellentI I applaud! Germany will become Soviet and will disarm herself. We shan't gel belly-aches any more at the thoujl'* 

of her chemical industry. The idiots in this district call me a Bolshevik. Oh, la-la. . . . I’ve thought it all out. We’ve got nothing to fear from Bolshevization. Just count up how many good bourgeois there are in Paris and how many workers. Oho! We, the bourgeois, we can look after 

our savings I’m quite calm when our workers shout 

‘Vive Lenine!’ and wave red flags. The worker is a barrel of fermenting wine, you mustn’t keep him sealed up. Let him shout, ‘Vive les Soviets!’ I shouted it myself last week. I have Russian bonds for eight thousand francs. No, you have to come to terms with your government. Enough nonsense. The franc’s falling. The damned speculators, the parasites that feed on every nation whenever currency begins to fall, that whole tribe of inflators has again moved back from Germany to Paris.” 

A thin man with an uncovered head of fair hair, dressed in a sail-cloth smock, came hurriedly into the bar. 

“Good evening, Garin,” he said to the man reading the newspaper. “You may congratulate me on my success.” 

Garin jumped up and squeezed his hand. 

“Victor. . . .” 

“Yes, yes. I’m awfully glad. I insist that we take out a patent.” 

“Under no circumstances. Let’s go.” 

They left the bar, climbed up the steps, turned to the right, and continued their way for a long time between the dirty houses of the Faiibourg, past empty lots fenced off with barbed tvire where shabby linen hung on lines, past tiny factories and workshops. 

The day was drawing to a close. On their way they met groups of tired workers. It seemed that a different race of people lived up here on the hill, they had different faces firm-set, gaunt, and strong. It seemed as though the French nation had climbed to the heights above Paris to save itself from degeneration and was here calmly and grimly awaiting the hour when it would be possible to 

60 

clean ont the lovrer city and torn the golden ship of Lutece* into the ocean of sunshine. 

“This way,” said Victor, opening the door of a low brick shed with a Yale key. 

25 

Garin and Victor Lenoir went to a small brick furnace under a cowl. The little pyramids stood in rows on a near-by table and on the furnace there was a bronze ring with twelve porcelain cups arranged around its circum* ference. Lenoir lit a candle and looked at Garin with a strange smile. 

“Pyotr Petrovich, we’ve known each other for about fifteen years, haven’t we? Surely that’s long enough for you to know whether I’m honest or not. When I fled from Soviet Russia you helped me. From that I gather that you don’t think badly of me, so tell me straight out — why the hell are you keeping your apparatus hidden from me? I know that without me, without those pyramids, you’re helpless. Let’s act like friends.” 

Garin kept his eyes fixed on the bronze ring and the porcelain cups. 

“You want me to disclose roy secret?” he asked. 

“Yes.” 

“You want to participate in my business’” 

“Yes." 

“If necessary, and I think it will be necessary in the future, you must be prepared to go to any lengths for success." 

Keeping his eyes on Garin, Lenoir sat on the edge of the furnace, the corners of Ins mouth trembling. 

“Yes," he said firmly, "I agree." 

• Th« cost of srnu of P«ru (the ancient Lutice, Lat. Latetia) ii a golden ihip. — Author's note 

61 

J “ot trying «“d Wipe 

J^rsliipped yon., f«ar. Ever 

'•“^'ich, and Jifc, ®an. YouV f daring 

^“^S<^ofpeop,r^Y--f n^an of gve" rt ^o! 

*« sny Jength to ^'^^ether J f no 

course. Hot can ^on- • o/® Prepared to 

Without you tf, ° doubt it? T’*’ ‘bourse I am 

to the ve^r """ “°‘tfng fL ^iotbing to J " 

I;r cud of n,^ i-r ° tne bii» I, b lo lose. 

death... Do ? you it’l 

"“rcfunny.-R/batdoest?''®® *“ ^^erything^'v"''* 

«‘°PPed. GarS? e '"' • • • 

t knon- the p said ‘Ves ” t ^^?KiJJ9” 

wSr X!r: 

PPPcd to me? Yes T risk r' “®^ me 

^::,:.''--.;i «- -S «« r;; 

" ° < y -t .«“'■» co„c ,-. 

* • All right T *, ‘^'nngbt 

• • -t '’oluntarily 

accept you as my partner. You will obey my instructions implicitly. There is only one condition. . . 

“All right, I agree to any conditions.’' 

“You know, Victor, that I came to Paris on a false passport, every night I go to a different hotel. Sometimes I have to take a girl from the streets in order to avoid suspicion. Yesterday I found out that 1 was being followed. Some Russians have been entrusted with the job of track* ing me. Apparently I’m mistaken for a Bolshevik agent. I must put the detectives on to a false scent.’’ 

“Wljat do you want me to do?’’ 

“Make up to resemble me. If you are caught you can show your papers. I want you to be my double. We're of the same height. You can dye your hair, glue on a false beard and we can buy simitar clothes. Then tonight you will leave your hotel and go to another part of the town where you are not known — the Quartier Latin, for ex* ample. Is it a deal?” 

Lenoir jumped down from the furnace and took a firm grasp of Garin’s hand. Then he started explaining how he had succeeded in making the pyramids from a mixture of aluminium and ferric oxide (thermite) with heavy oil and yellow phosphorus. 

He placed twelve of the liltlc pyramids in the porce- lain cups and lit them with the aid of a fuse cord. A pillar of blinding flame rose above the furnace. They had to retreat to the other end of the shed, to get away from the unbearable heat and light. 

“Superb,” exclaimed Gorin. “I hope there is no smoke?” 

“There is complete combustion at that terrific tem- perature. The materials are chemically pore.” 

“Good. In a day or two you will see miracles per- formed,” said Garin. “Let’s get some dinner. We’ll send a messenger to the hotel for your thing*. Tonight we’ll stay on the left hank. Tomortovr ihete'U be two Garins in Paris. . . . Have yon got a second key to this sbed?” 

63 

26 

In this city there was no stream of gleaming cars, there were no idle people twisting their necks to see everything displayed in the shop-windows, no dizzy women, and no industrial monarchs. 

Here there were piles of freshly sawn timber, heaps of paving-stones, mounds of blue clay thrown up in the middle of the street, and sections of drain-pipe lying along the gutter like a huge worm cut into pieces. 

Tarashkin of the Spartak Sports Club was making his way slowly to the club-house on the island. He was in the best possible spirits. Had you met him you might have thought him a bit glum-looking, for Tarashkin was serious and well-balanced, outwardly showing nothing of his mood, however good it might have been, with the possible exception of his soft whistling and care-free gait. 

He was still about a hundred yards from the tram stop when he heard scuffling and squeaking between the piles of wooden blocks. Everything that went on in the city was, of course, Tarashkin’s own personal concern. 

He glanced over the pile and saw three small boys in bell-bottomed trousers and thick, short jackets; snorting angrily they were all three pounding away at a fourth boy, smaller than any of them, barefooted, bare-headed and wearing a wadded jacket torn and ragged to such a degree that one could only wonder how it held together. He was defending himself in silence. His thin face was scratched, his lips firmly set, and his hazel eyes glittering like those of a wolf-cub. 

Tarashkin immediately picked up two of the boys by the scruff of their necks, gave the third one a kick in a soft spot so that he squealed and disappeared behind a pile of wooden blocks. 

The other two, suspended in the air, began threatening 

64 

him with awful things. Tarashkio just gave them a shake and they quietened down. 

**BullyiDg again, you young hooligans,” said Tarashkin, glancing at their dirty faces. “I’ll teach you to hit kids smaller than yourselves! Don’t let me catch jou again. Get it?” 

The hoys were compelled to giro him a positive answer to his question and muttered morosely: 

“All right.” 

Ue let them go and they made off, hands in their pockets, telling the other hoy what would happen if he fell into their hands again. 

The boy they bad been beating would also have run away hut he was too weak, he just shifted from one foot to an- other and then with a faint moan sat down on the ground, his head disappearing in his ragged jacket. 

Tarashkin bent over him. The boy was crying. 

“Hi, you, where do you live?” 

“Nowhere,” answered the boy from under his jacket. 

“What do you mean, nowhere? Have vou got a mother?” 

“No.” 

“And no father? I see.” 

Tarashkin stood there for a short time, wrinkling Ins nose. The boy buzzed under bis jacket like a fly. 

“D’you want something to eat?” asked Tarashkin gruffly. 

“Yes.” 

“All right, come along to the club with me.” 

The boy tried to stand up but his legs would not sup* port him. Tarashkin picked him up in his arms — the hoy didn’t weigh more than forty pounds — and carried him to the tram. They had a long way to go and when they changed trams Tarashkin bought a roll; the hoy hit into it hun> grily. The last hit of the journey they walked. As Tarashkin opened the gate of the club'liotise and let the hoy in he said to him: 

“See that you don’t steal anything here,” 

“I won’t, I only steal bread.” 

The boy looked sleepily at the sunbeams playing on the water and on the varnished sides of the boats, at the green and silver willow whose beauty was reflected in the river, at the two- and four-oared gigs and their muscular occu- pants, His thin face was tired and listless, Tarashkin bad no sooner turned his back than he dived under the board- walk that ran from the club-house to the landing-stage, curled up in a ball and, apparently, immediately dropped off to sleep. 

In the evening Tarashkin pulled him out from under the boards, told him to wash his hands and face in the river, and took him in to supper. He sat the boy at the supper table with the club members. 

“We can keep this boy at the club,” Tarashkin told his fellow-clubmen. “He won’t eat much and we can get him used to the water; in any case, we need a smart boy about the place.” 

The others agreed to let him stay. The boy listened calmly to this conversation and ate with dignity. After supper he left the table without speaking. Nothing astonished him — he had seen stranger things. 

Tarashkin led him out to the landing-stage, sat down beside him, and began to talk. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Ivan.” 

“Where did you come from?” 

“From Siberia. From the Amur, from the upper reaches,” 

“Long since you left there?” 

“I arrived yesterday.” 

“How did you get here?” 

Part of the way I walked, part of it I rode on the brake-beams of trains.” 

“What did you want to get to Leningrad for?” 

66 

“That’s my kusineis,’* answered the boy and turned away, “I’ve come here because I had to.” 

“Tell me, I won’t hurt you.” 

The boy did not answer and again hunched his shoulders so that his head disappeared in his jacket. That evening Tarasbkin could not get anything out of him. 

rj 

The polished wooden racing gig, as slim and elegant as a violin, was gliding softly over the mirrordike water, its two pair of oars sliding gently over the surface. Shelga and Tarashkin, in white shorts and naked to the waist, their shonlders and hacks burned by the sun, were sitting motionless with their knees drawn up. 

The cox, a seriousdooking yoath in a naval cap and a scarf wound round his neck, was studying a stop>watch. 

“There’s going to be a storm,” said Shelga. 

It was hot on the river and not a leaf stirred on the densely wooded bank. The trees stood as straight and still as if they were on parade. The sky was so saturated with sunshine that its bluish-while light seemed to be tumbling down in showers of crystals. It hurt the eyes and one’s temples ached. 

“Ready!” ordered the cox. 

The oarsmen bent forward over their knees and their oars flew back, the blades dipping into the water; at a command from the cox they began to pull, leaning back and straightening their legs until they almost lay across the thwarts. 

“One, two! . . .” 

The oars bent under the strain and the gig cut through the water like a razor. 

Regularly, rapidly, in time with the beating of their liesrts — breathe in, breathe out — the oarsmen bent double. 

lianging over their own knees, and then straightened out like steel springs. Their muscles worked rhythmi- cally, intensely, keeping time with the circulation of the blood. 

The gig flew past pleasure boats in which men in braces were helplessly catching crabs. As they rowed Shelga and Tarashkin looked straight ahead, keeping their eyes fixed on the bridge of the coxswain’s nose to maintain their balance. The people in the pleasure boats only had time to shout a word or two after them as they flashed past. 

“That’s something like!” 

They reached the seacoast. Again for one minute their gig lay motionless on the Avater. They wiped the perspira- tion from their faces. “One, tAvo!” They turned back past the Yacht Club, where the sails of the Leningrad Trade- Union Club’s racing yachts hung limp in the crystal heat, A band Avas playing on the Yacht Club verandah. The brightly coloured flags and signs along the bank also hung motionless. Raising a shoAver of spray, broAvn bodies plunged into the Avater from boats out in the middle of the river. 

The gig made its Avay through the bathers along the River Nevka, flcAV under the bridge, for a tew seconds hung on the rudder of an outrigger four from the ArroAV Club, overtook it (the cox asked politely over his shoulder, “Shall Avc take you in toAv?”), turned into the narroAV, densely Avooded RR’cr KrestoA'ka Avhere, under the shadoAs' of the silvery AvilloAvs, flashed the red kerchiefs and bare knees of the Avomen’s training team, and drcAV up along- side the landing-stage of the roAving school. 

Shelga and Tarashkin leaped ashore, carefully placed their oars on the sloping board-AA'alk, bent over the gig, lifted it on to their shoulders in response to the coxsAS'ain’s command, and carried it through AA’ide doors into the boat- house. After that they Avent into the shoAver-bath, They rubbed thcmsclA'es red and, folloAving the usual custom, each 

63 

drank a glass of tea with lemon. After this they felt that they had only just been bom into this wonderful world which was So good to look at that it was worth while making it fit to live in. 

28 

On the open verandah, a storey above the ground, where they drank their tea, Tarashkin told Sbelga about the boy he had found the previotts day. 

**A smart kid, just as clever as they make *em.'' He leaned over the railing and called to the boy, **Ivan, come lip here.” 

He wag immediately answered by the patter of bare feet on the steps. Ivan appeared on the verandah. His ragged jacket had gone (for hygienic reasons if had been burned in the kitchen stove). He was wearing rowing shorts and on his bare body a waistcoat of unbelievable age, tied in a dozen places with string. 

*‘Here he is,*’ said Tarashkin, pointing to the hoy. **No matter how much you talk to him be won’t take that waist* coat ofT. How are you going to bathe in that thing? It isn’t as if the waistcoat were any good, it’s just a mass of dirt.” 

**I can’t bathe,” said Ivan. 

“We’ll have to wash you in the bath-house, you’re black and dirty.” 

“I can’t wash in the bath. Up to here I can,” and he pointed to his navel, cowered, and backed towards the door. 

Tarashkin, scratching bis calf where the sunburnt skin had peeled off, groaned in despair. 

“There, you see, what can you do with him?” 

“Are you scared of water?” asked Shelga. 

The hoy looked at him without a ghost of a smile. 

“No, I’m not.” 

“Then why don’t you want to bathe in the river?” 

«9 

The boy lowered his head, his lips stubbornly pressed together. 

“Why are you afraid to take off your waistcoat, are you afraid it’ll be stolen?” 

Ivan shrugged his shoulders and grinned, 

“All right, Ivan, if you don’t want to bathe'you needn’t, that’s your business. But we’re not going to let you keep that waistcoat. Here, you can have mine. Take that off.” 

Shelga began unbuttoning his own waistcoat. Ivan drew back. The pupils of his eyes began darting from side to side. Once he looked beseechingly at Tarashkin but kept edging towards the glass doors that opened on to a dark staircase. 

“Oh no, that’s not in the rules.” Shelga got up, locked the door, put the key in his pocket and sat down right opposite the door. “Come on, take it off.” 

The boy looked round like a wild animal. He was now standing close up to the door, his back to the glass. He knitted his brows and suddenly, wth a determined move- ment, threw off his rags and held them out to Shelga, 

“Here, give me yours.” 

Shelga, however, with great astonisliment was looking past the hoy, over his shoulder, peering at the glass door, 

“Give it to me,” said Ivan, angrily, “why are you making fun of me, you’re not children.” 

“What a dope!” Shelga laughed uproariously. “Turn round!” The boy fell hack as though he had been pushed, and banged his head against the glass. “Turn round. I can sec what’s written on your back, anyway,” 

Tarashkin jumped up. The boy bounded across the verandah like a ball and sprang over the railing. Tarashkin just managed to catch him before he dropped. .Ivan’s sharp teeth bit into his hand. 

“You fool! Stop biting!” 

Tarashkin held the boy tightly. He stroked his greyish, shaven head. 

70 

“The kid '0 quite wild. He's trembling like ■ mouie. Stop being a fool, we 8han*t hurt jrou.** 

The boy calmed down in his arms, only his heart beat fast. Suddenly be whispered in Tarasbkin'e ear: 

“Tell him be mustn't read what's on ray back. Nobody must. They’ll kill me for that." 

“We won’t read it, we're not interested,” repeated Tarashkin, his eyes filled with the tears of laughter. Shelga still stood at the other end of the verandah; be was biting his nails and frowning like a man trying to solve some riddle. Suddenly he sprang forward and, notwithstanding Tarashkin’s resistance, turned the boy round to look at his back. Amazement, almost horror, was registered on his .face. Under the boy's shoulder blades, partially ob> literated by perspiration, were words written with an indelible pencil: 

“To Pyotr Gari. . . . Resul . . . very comforti . . . depth... olivine believe 6ve kilome . . . continu... search . . . need help . . . hunger . . . hasten ezpedi. . . •" 

“Garin, that’s for Garin!” shouted Shelga. At that moment a motoi.cyclist from the Criminal Investigation Department clattered into the club yard. 

“Comrade Shelga, an urgent telegram.” 

That was Garin’s telegram from Paris. 

29 

The gold pencil hovered over the writing-pad. 

“Your name, sir?” 

“Pyankov-Pitkevich.” 

“The object of your visit?” 

“Tell Mr. Kolling that 1 am authorized to negotiate concerning Engineer Garin's apparatus; he knows all about it.” 

71 

The secretary immediately disappeared. A minute later Garin passed through the walnut doors into the Chemical King’s room. Rolling Avas Avriting. Without raising his eyes he offered his visitor a scat. Then, still Avithout raising his eyes: 

“Petty financial operations are conducted by my secre- tary.” With a Aveak hand he picked up the blotter and jabbed it on Avhat he had Avritten. “Nevertheless I’m ready to listen to you. I give you tAvo minutes. What’s ncAv about Garin?” 

Garin crossed his legs and placed his hands on his knee. 

“Engineer Garin Avants to knoAv whether you are aAvare of the exact purpose for Avhich his apparatus is designed,” he said. 

“Yes,” ansAvered Rolling, “as far as I knoAv the ap- paratus may be of some interest in industry. I haA'e spoken Avith some of the members of the board of our concern, they agree to buy the patent.” 

“The apparatus is not intended for use in industry,” said Garin, brusquely. “It is a machine of destruction. It is true it may be used in the iron and steel and mining industries, but at the present moment Engineer Garin has different ideas.” 

“Political?” 

“Hardly. Engineer Garin isn't very interested in pol- itics. He hopes to establish the particular social system he finds to his liking. Politics — a mere bagatelle, a function.” 

“Wlicre does he As'ant to establish his system?” 

“EveryAvhere, naturally, on all five continents.” 

“Oho!” exclaimed Rolling. 

‘Engineer Garin is not a Communist, don’t Avorry. iScithcr is he fully on your side. I repeat, he has A'cry extensive plans. Engineer Garin’s apparatus Avill enable him to put into effect the Avliims of the wildest fantasy. Tljc apparatus has already been built and can be demon- strated even today.” 

72 

^Hm<n]!” said Rolling. 

“Garin lias been watching jour activities, Mr. Rolling, and finds that you have scope but lack s great idea. This business of the chemical concern, and the chemical war* fare in the air, and the conversion of Europe into an American market. . . . That*s all petty, tbere^s no central idea. Engineer Garin is offering you a partnership.*' 

“Arc you, or is he, mad?’* asked Rolling. 

Garin laughed and robbed the side of his nose ener- getically with a huger. 

“You see, it's alreadj a good sign that you have lis- tened to me not two minutes, hut nine and a half." 

“I’m prepared to offer Engineer Garin fifty thousand francs for his in%entioD," said Rolling, again beginning to write. 

“I understand your offer this way: you intend, cither by cunning or by force, to get hold of the apparatus and then deal with Garin In the same way as you dealt with his assistant on Krestovsky Island. Am I right?" 

Rolling put down his pen. Only two red patches on his face betrayed his excitement. He took a smoking cigar from the ash-tray, leaned back in his chair and stared at Garin with dull, expressionless eyes. 

“If we assume that that is just what I am going to do with Engineer Garin, then what?” 

“Then, it seems. Engineer Garin is mistaken.” 

“In what?” 

“In assuming that you were a crook on a larger scale,” Garin said slowly, syllable by syllable, smiling and looking impudently at Rolling. The latter merely blew out a cloud of smoke and waved his cigar in front of his nose. 

“It would be foolish to share profits with Engineer Garin when I can take the whole hundred per cent myself,” he said. “Well, in order to put an end to this, I offer a hundred thousand francs and not a single centime more.” 

“You're not at all consistent, Mr. Rolling. You’re 

The secretary immediately disappeared, A xaiaute later Garin passed through the walnut doors into the Chemical King’s room. Rolling was writing. Without raising his eyes he offered his visitor a seat. Then, still without raising his eyes; 

“Petty Bnancial operations are conducted by my secre- tary.” With a weak hand he picked up the blotter and jabbed it on what he had written. “Nevertheless I’m ready to listen to you. I give you two minutes. What’s new about Garin?” 

Garin crossed his legs and placed his hands on his knee. 

“Engineer Garin wants to know whether you arc aware of the exact purpose for which his apparatus is designed,” he said. 

“Yes,” answered Rolling, “as far as I know the ap- paratus may be of some interest in industry. I have spoken with some of the members of the board of our concern, they agree to huy the patent.” 

“The apparatus is not intended for use in industry,” said Garin, brusquely. “It is a machine of destruction. It is true it may be used in the iron and steel and mining industries, but at the present moment Engineer Garin has different ideas.” 

“Political?” 

"Hardly. Engineer Garin isn’t very interested in pol- itics. He hopes to establish the particular social system he finds to his liking. Politics — a mere bagatelle, a function.” 

“Wlierc docs he want to establish his system?’’ 

“Everywhere, naturally, on all five continents.” 

“Oho!” exclaimed Rolling. 

Engineer Garin is not a Communist, don’t w'orry. IScithcr is he fully on your side. I repeat, he has very c.xtcnsive plans. Engineer Garin’s apparatus will enable him to put into effect the ■whims of the wildest fantasy. The apparattis has already been built and can be demon- strated even today.” 

72 

“Hm-nir’ said RoHinf. 

“Garin bas been watching jour activities, Mr. nollin?, and finds that you have scope but lack a great idea. This business of the chemical concern, and the chemical war* fare in the air, and the conversion of Europe into an American market. . . . That*a ail petty, there's no central idea. Engineer Garin is offering you a partnership.” 

“Are you, or is he, mad?” asked Rolling. 

Garin laughed and rubbed the side of bis nose ener* getically with a finger. 

“You see, it’s already a good sign that you have lis- tened to me not two minutes, but nine and a half.” 

“I’m prepared to offer Engineer Garin fifty thousand francs for his invention,” said Rolling, again beginning to write. 

“I understand your offer this way: you intend, either by cunning or by force, to get bold of the apparatus and then deal with Garin in the same way as you dealt with his assistant on Krestovsky Island. Am I right?” 

Rolling put down his pen. Only two red patches on Ins face betrayed his excitement. lie took a smoking cigar from the ash-tray, leaned back in his chair and stared at Garin with dull, expressionless eyes. 

“If we assume that that is just what I am going to do with Engineer Garin, then what?” 

“Then, it seems. Engineer Garin is mistaken.” 

“In what?” 

“In assuming that yon were a crook on a larger scale,” Garin said slowly, syllable by syllable, smiling and looking impudently at Rolling, The Utter merely blew out a cloud of smoke and waved his cigar in front of his nose. 

“It would be foolish to share profits with Engineer Garin when I can lake the whole hundred per cent myself,” he said. “Well, in order to put an end to this, I offer a hundred thousand francs and not a tingle centime more.” 

‘‘You’re not at all consistent, Mr. Rolling. You’re 

not risking anything. Your agents Semyonov and Tykiinski have discovered where Garin lives. Report to the police and they’ll arrest him as a Bolshevik spy. Then Semyonov and Tykiinski can steal the apparatus and the drawngs. All that won’t cost you more than five thousand. And so that Garin can’t try to remake the drawings you can send him back to Russia through Poland under escort and have him killed at the frontier. Simple and cheap. Why do you want to waste a hundred thousand francs?” 

Rolling got up, glanced at Garin out of the corner of his eye and began walking up and dcivna, bis patent- leather shoes sinking into the silver carpet. Suddenly he pulled his hand out of his pocket and snapped his fingers. 

“A cheap game,” he said, “you’re bluffing. I’ve thought out all possible combinations five moves ahead. There’s no danger. You’re just a cheap swindler. Garin is check- mated. He knows that and has sent you to bargain. I won’t give two louis d’ors for his patent. Garin has been followed home and he’s in my hands. (Rapidly he glanced at his watch and just as rapidly thrust it back into his waistcoat pocket.) Get to hell out of here!” 

At that moment Garin also got up and stood beside the desk with his head bowed. Wlien Rolling sent him to hell he passed his hand over his hair and said in a hollow voice, like a man who bad unexpectedly fallen into a trap: 

“All right, Mr. Rolling, I agree to your terms. Yon spoke about a hundred thousand. . . .” 

“Not a centime!” shouted Rolling. “Get out of here before you are thrown out.” 

Garin pulled at his collar unth his fingers and his eyes began to roll. He staggered. 

“Don't try any tricks,” roared Rolling. “Get out!” 

Garin groaned and fell sideways on the desk. His right hand dropped on to the papers Rolling had been writing and grabbed them spasmodically. Rolling jumped to the electric bell. In an instant the secretary appeared. 

74 

“Throw that thing out of here. . . 

The secretary crouched like s leopard, his elegant mous* tache bristled and his steel muscles Qexed under his thin jacket. Garin, however, was already edging away from the desk and bowing to Rolling. He ran down the marble staircase on to the Boulevard Malesherbes, jumped into a taxi with a raised top, shouted an address, closed both windows, pulled down the green blinds, and laughed a short, sharp laugh. 

He pulled a crumpled sheet of paper out of his pocket and carefully spread it out on bts knees. On that crumpled paper (it was tom from a big writing-pad) there were business notes for the day in Rolling's scrawling hand. Apparently, when Garin entered his office. Rolling had been on the alert and his hand had begun to write mechanically, betraying his secret thoughts. Three times, one after the other, was written an address: “Rue des Gobelins, 63. Engineer Garin." (This was Victor Lenoir's new address that Semyonov bad just reported over the phone.) Then: “Semyonov— five thousand francs." 

“Luck! 'What devilish tuck!" whispered Garin, care- fully straighlening out the paper on his knee. 

30 

Ten minutes later Garin left his car on the Boule- vard Saint-Michel. The plate-glass windows of the Cafe Pantheon were raised. At o tabic at the back of the cafe sat Victor Lenoir. 'When he saw Garin he raised bis hand and snapped his fingers. 

Garin hurriedly sat down at his table, back to the light. It seemed as though he were sitting opposite a mirror: Victor Lenoir's pointed beard, soft hat, bow tie, and striped jacket were exactly the same. 

75 

/‘^ongratuiatp 

said Garin, ® °° niy success' O • 

"’■e^tlimg. He tiM e, et^.R 

egiB ,Q expJoii ®speDses°i,-”^ agrees 

4"' .%Md . 

, ^e’JJ Sinn it; Contract?” 

it'll*'””"'""''”" °f rte' ^ -'»>«• We 

.. „,r. !! 

“Stm’ iV"' “ dozen.’' ° '’"'“Pagiie?” 

profits”' tfaai aiarl-’ 

'"■“wi, . 7“- ‘='f 

Vic,.; ?'"■ “pfai « -f 

'4-™^ “ »- •'ung, 

KanteCt' S' •« Jevao"* "" "gl? 

''sa. inrit'’"'-- ■be c.tni' sLaaea, Gorin 

“n J,p_ ® *^«air, rocJn'x, • Jit a 

.■'" so.VS/'CS^' '■«/ " °” '*• 

S r„d'"''' from “o om t??''' *fr"''ov, 

'"■'ifo o^-o '"'s -^SrL:r;,r 

'be Sr°''’“md on ,, , ® '' "’“P-r, I ie. 

''*''■173 "'SS't ??■' «■“ on 

'tlS'i." i' -i 

^ earth that I 

value with all mj' heart and aoul is power. Not just regal or imperial power — that’s pettj, vulgar, and boring. No, I mean absolute power. Some time I’ll tell you about my plans in detail. In order to get power I must have gold. In order to rule in the way I intend to, I must have more gold than all the industrial, banking, and other kings taken together.” 

“Your plans are certainly bold enough,” said Lenoir, laughing merrily. 

“Cut I’m on the right track. The whole world will he in my hands — like this!” And Garin clenched bis fist. “The milestones on my road are the genius Nikolai Khris* toforovich Mantsev, then Rolling, or rather his billions, and thirdly my death ray. . . 

“Wliat about Mantsev, then?” 

“In 1915 I mustered oil tbe money I could, and more by sheer impudence than by bribery I freed l^Iantsev from military service and sent him with a small expedition to Kamchatka, to the backwoods.... Up to 1917 be kept writing to me: the work was bard, terribly laborious, the conditions under which be worked not fit for a dog. . . . Since 2918 I’ve lost track of him, well, you know why. . . . Everything depends on bis prospecting.” 

“What is be looking for?” 

“He isn’t looking for anything. Mantsev merely has to confirm my theoretical assumptions. The Pacific sea* boards, both Asiatic and American, are the edges of an ancient continent that has sunk to the bottom of tbe sea. Such a gigantic weight must have had some elTect on the distribution of tbe rock strata tbat were in a state of flux. . . . The chains of active volcanoes in South America, in the Andes and the Cordilleras, the volcanoes of Japan and of Kamchatka confirm tbe fact that the molten mass of the Olivine Bell — gold, mercury, olivine and so on — is nearer to the surface of the earth around the edges of the 

77 

Pacific Ocean than anywhere else in the world.* Do you understand so far?” 

“I don’t know what you want with that Olivine Belt.” “In order to conquer the world, old man. . . . Let’s drink to our success.” 

31 

Zoe Montrose, heavily po%vdered, with mascara-treated eyes, wearing the black silk blouse of a midinette and a short skirt, got off the bus at the Porte de Saint-Denis, ran across the busy street and entered the Cafe Globe, a huge corner establishment with entrances on two streets, the refuge of singers from Montmartre, second-rate actors and actresses, thieves, prostitutes, and anarchically-minded young men of the type that roam the streets with ten sous in their pockets, licking their dried, feverish lips in their lust for women, shoes, silk underwear, and everything else in the world. , . . 

Zoe found a vacant table. She lit a cigarette, sat down, and crossed her legs. Immediately an old man brushed past, muttering huskily, “Why the angry look, ma petiteT' She turned away. Another, squinting at her from his table, stuck out his tongue. A third came running up as though by mistake, “Kiki, at last. . . .” Zoe dispatched him briefly to the devil. 

Apparently she was the titbit here although she had tried to get herself up like a street girl. The habitues of the Cafe Globe had a nose for women. She ordered the gorfon. to bring her a litre of red wine, poured out a glass, and sat with her head in her cupped hands. “That’s bad, ma petite, taking to drink,” said an elderly actor, patting her on the back as he passed. 

There exists a theory that between the earth's crust and a •olid core in the centre there is o layer of molten metals, the •o-cnlled Olivine Belt,— .Author’s note. 

78 

She had already smoked three cigarettes when the man she was wailing for at last strolled leisurely into the cafe, a morose, thickset individual with a low, hairy forehead and cold eyes. He wore his moustache with the ends upturned and hts strong neck was tightly encircled by a coloured collar. He was excellently dressed, without extravagance. He eat down and greeted Zoe curtly. As he looked round the room some people lowered their eyes when they met his. This was Gaston Bee de Canard, formerly a thief and later a bandit in the notorious Boncaut gang. Curing the war he was promoted to the rank of sergeant and since demobilization had been quietly pimping on a large scale. 

At the moment he was with the well-known Snsanne Bourge. That lady, however, was fading. She had descend- ed to a level that Zoe had long since left behind her. 

“Susanne is good material,** Gaston Bee de Canard would Say, *‘hut she doe8n*t know how to make the heat of herself. Susanne has no sense of modernity. What is so marvellous in Isce knickers and milk baths? That*s all old stuff that only gets the provincials. No, I swear by the mustard gas that burned my back at the ferryman's house on the Ysire that if the modern courtesan wants to he elegante she must have a wireless set in her bedroom, she must learn to box, she must be as prickly as barbed wire, as well-trained as an eighteen-year-old hoy, must Icam to walk on her hands and dive twenty metres into the water. She must attend fascist meetings, must be able to talk about poison gas, and must change her lovers once a week so that they won't learn any swinishness. But my lady, if you please, lies in a milk bath like a Norwegian salmon and dreams of owning a ten-acre farm. She’s a vulgar fool, she can’t rise above the brothel level.” 

He treated Zoe with the greatest respect. When he met her in night restaurants he asked her politely for a dance and kissed her hand, something be did to no other 

79 

woman in Paris. Zoe would no more than nod her head to the well-known Susannc Bourge but she kept up her friendship %vith Gaston and from time to time he carried out some of her more delicate operations. 

Today she had given Gaston a hurried call to the Cafe Globe and had herself appeared in the seductive guise of a midinette. Gaston merely clendied his teeth and behaved in the approved manner. 

Sipping his sour wine and screwing up his eyes in the smoke from his pipe he listened gloomily to what Zoe had to say. Wlien she had finished she pulled her fingers till they cracked. 

“But that’s . . . dangerous,” he said. 

“Gaston, if it comes off you’re made for life.” 

“Not for all the money in the world will I get mixed up in anything in the stealing and killing line: things aren’t what they used to be. Today the apaches prefer a job in the police and professional thieves publish news- papers and go in for politics. It’s only beginners that hill and rob, provincials, you know, and hoys Avith V.D. And what can we do about it? We grown-ups have to look for a quiet haven. If you w’ant to hire me for money — I refuse. It is different if I do it for you. For you I might risk my neck.” 

Zoe blew the smoke out of the corner of her reddened lips, smiled tenderly, and placed her beautifxil hand on Bee de Canard’s sleeve. 

“I think we can come to terms.” 

Gaston’s nostrils quivered, his moustache twitched. He lowered his bluish eyelids, hiding the intolerable brilliance of his protruding eyes. 

Do you mean to say that I can now relieve Susanne of my scrrices?” 

“Yes, Gaston.” 

■He bent over the table and squeezed his glass tightly between his fingers. 

on 

“Will my moustache smell of your skin?” 

“I imagine that's unavoiilahle, Gaston." 

“All right.’’ He leaned back. “All right. It shall be as you wish." 

32 

Dinner was over. Coffee with hundred-year-old cognac had been drunk. The Corona-Corona — at two dollars a cigar — had been smoked half-way through and the ash had not yet fallen. The critical moment had come: what ncit? With what Satanic bow to play some jolly tune on jaded nerves? 

Rolling demanded the programmes of all the Paris amusements. 

“Do you want to dance?" 

“No,” answered Zoe, covering half her face with her fur. 

“Theatre, theatre, theatre," read Rolling. They were all boring: a three-act dialogue comedy in which the actors were so bored and disgusted that they did not even bother to make up and actresses in toilettes from famous dressmakers stared at the audience with vacant eyes. 

“Revue, Revue. Here: 0/ympio. A hundred and fifty nude girls wearing only slippers and a technical miracle, a wooden curtain designed as a chess-board on which nude women stand as it is raised and lowered. Shall we go there?” 

“l^Iy dear, they’re ell bandy-legged, girls from the boulevards." 

*'Apollo . . . . We haven’t been there. Two hundred girls wearing only. . . . We’ll give that a miss. Le Rouleau. More women. Aha! ^Iiat a'hout the 'World-Famous Musical Clowns Pirn and Jack’?” 

“They arc talked about,” said Zoe, “let's go there." 

They look a stage box. When they entered the Revue was under way. 

81 

A volatile young man in immaculate evening dress and a mature woman in red with a broad-brimmed hat and a long stalF were exchanging good-natured impertinences about the government and innocent witticisms at the expense of the Prefect of Police, were charmingly mocking in respect of high-currency foreigners, but not enough to make them want to leave Paris immediately and advise their friends not to come to that city of joy. 

After some more chatter on politics during which they kept their legs moving all the time, the young man and the lady with the staff exclaimed, “Houp-la.” Girls with extremely white bodies, as naked as the day they were born, wearing only their powder, ran on to the stage and arranged themselves in a tableau vivant depicting an army in attack. The orchestra played a brave fanfare and there was a blare of bugles. 

“That ought to affect the young men,” said Rolling. 

“It doesn’t work when there are so many women,” answered Zoe. 

The curtain was lowered and raised again. A property grand piano placed near the footlights occupied half the stage. With a clatter of percussion instruments Pim and Jack appeared. Pim was in the conventionally ridiculous evening jacket, a vest that reached his knees and trousers that would not keep up, boots a yard long that ran away ahead of him (applause), and with the faee of a kindly idiot. Jack was covered in flour, a high felt cap on his head and a bat hanging from his backside. 

To begin witii they did everything to create roars of laughter; Jack smacked Pirn’s face and Pim blew out a cloud of dust from behind, then Jade hit Pit on the head and raised a big rubber blister. 

Said Jack, “Listen, d’you want me to play on that piano?” Pim laughed terrifically and said, “All right, play on that piano,” and went away and sat down. Jack banged at the keys with all his might and the tail fell off the piano. 

82 

pirn again burst into a terrific laugh. Jack banged the keys a second time and the side fell ofi the piano. **That's nothing,’' said Jack and slapped Pirn’s face. Plm staggered all ibe way across the atage and fell. (Boom! went the big drum.) Pirn got up. ’‘That’s nothing,” he said and spat out a handful of teeth, took a brush and shovel (of the sort used for picking up horse-dung in the streets) out of bis pocket and set about brushing his clothes. Jack banged the keys for a third time and the piano fell to pieces; underneath was an ordinary concert piano. Pushing his felt cap down over his nose. Jack, with incomparable mastery, gave an inspired performance of Liszt’s “Campa- nella.” 

Zoe’s hands went cold.Tuming to Rolling she whispered: 

“What an artist!’’ 

“That’s nothing,” said Pirn when Jack had finished. “Now listen to me.” 

lie began pulling out of his various pockets ladies' knickers, an old shoe, a clyster-tube, a live kitten (applause), and at last a violin; with the sad face of a kindly idiot he turned to the public and played an immortal etude by Paganini. 

Zoe got up, threw her furs round her neck, her dia- monds sparkled. 

“Let’s go, this is sickening. Unfortunately I also was once an artiste.” 

“Where can we go, baby! It’s lialf past ten.” 

“Let’s drink.” 

33 

A few minutes later their limousine pulled up in a narrow street in Montmartre that was lit up by tlie ten windows of the den known as the Souper de Roi. In the low, hot, smoky hall, draped in scarlet silk, mirrors on walls and ceiling, amidst streamers, celluloid balls and 

$3 

confetti, half-naked women were dancing, entan- gled in the paper ribbons, while men, red-faced or pale, drunken and excited, pressed their faces to the rouged cheeks of their partners. A piano rattled. Violins wailed and three perspiring Negroes banged on wash-bowls, pumped motor horns, beat wooden boards, rang bells, clattered plates, and bashed a kettle-drum. Somebody's wet face pushed close up to Zoe. A woman’s arms wound round Rolling’s neck. 

“Make way for the Chemical King, mes enjants," shout- ed the maitre d’hotel, with the greatest of difficulty find- ing them plaees behind a narrow table placed along a silk-hung wall. As Zoe and Rolling sat down, celluloid balls, confetti, and streamers flew at them. 

“You’re attracting attention,” said Rolling, 

Zoe, her eyes half closed, was drinking champagne. She felt hot and damp under the liglit silk that scarcely covered her bosom, A celluloid ball hit her in the cheek. 

Slowly she turned her head — a man’s dark eyes, so dark that they seemed to be outlined in charcoal, were peering at her in sullen admiration. She leaned forward, lay her bare arms on the table and drank in that look as though it were wine; did it really matter what she got drunk on? 

The face of the man who was staring at her seemed to shrink in those few seconds. Zoe rested her chin on her interlocked fingers and met the man’s stare through half- open eyes. . , . She had seen him somewhere before. Who could he be? He was neither English nor French. His dark beard was dotted with confetti. He had a fine mouth. “I wonder whether Rolling is jealous?” she asked herself. 

A waiter forced his way through the dancing cro\vd and handed her a note. In her astonishment she fell hack in her scat and before she read it glanced sideways at Rolling who sat sucking his cigar. 

81 

“Zoe, that man you are looking at so tenderly is Garin.... I kiss your hand. Semyonov." 

She must have turned terribly pale for a voice near by said above the noise, “Look, that lady’s ill." Then she held out her empty glass and the waiter filled it with champagne. 

“What did Semyonov write?” asked Rolling. 

“I’ll tell you afterwards.” 

“Was it something about that fresh guy who’s staring at you? That’s the one who came to see me yesterday. I had him thrown out.” 

“Rolling, don’t you know him? Don’t you remember the Place de I’filtoile? That’s Garin!” 

Rolling only sniped. He took his cigar out of his mouth. “Aha.” His face suddenly changed: he looked the same as he did when he walked up and down the silver carpet of his office thinking out every possible combination in the game five moves ahead. That time he had snapped hit fingers energetically. But now, on this occasion, he turned to Zoe, his mouth distorted. 

“Let’s go. We’ve got some serious things to talk over.” 

In the doorway Zoe looked hack. Tlirough the smoke and the taugle of streamers she again saw Garin’s hurning eyes. Then, incredibly, diazily, his face doubled: somebody sitting with bis back to the dancers got up and stood beside him; both of them looked at Zoe. Or was it an illusion worked hy the mirrors? 

For a second Zoe shut her eyes and then ran down the worn carpet to her car. Rolling was waiting for her. Wlien he had shut the door he touched her hand. 

“I didn't tell you everything about my talk with that guy who called himself Pyankov-Pitkevich. . . . There are things I can’t understand. Why the fake hysterics? Surely he couldn’t expect to get any sympathy out of me? Alto- gether his behaviour was suspicious. And why did he come to me, anyway? \f1iy did he flop on the table? . . .” 

85 

“Rolling, you didn’t tell me that.” 

“Yes, yes. He knocked over the clock. Crumpled my papers. . . .” 

“Did he try to steal your papers?” 

“\\niat? Steal?” Rolling pondered over that. “No, I don’t think he did. He lost his balance and fell with his hand on my writing-pad. There were several sheets of paper lying there.” 

“Are you sure nothing is missing?” 

“They were just notes of no importance. He crumpled them and I threw them into the wastepaper-basket.” 

“I beg you, try to remember every detail of the con- versation.” 

The limousine drew up on the Rue de la Seine. Rolling and Zoe went straight to the bedroom. Zoe disrobed rap- idly and got into the wide, carved four-poster standing on eagle’s claws — one of the genuine beds that had be- longed to the Emperor Napoleon I. Rolling undressed slowly, walking up and down the carpet as he did so and leaving articles of wearing apparel on the gilded chairs, the little tables and the mantelshelf; while he was undress- ing he gave Zoe full details of everything that had occurred during Garin’s visit the day before. 

She listened to him, leaning on her elbow. Hopping on one leg to pull off his trousers. Rolling looked like any- thing but a king. With the Avords; “That is absolutely everything,” he got into bed and pulled tbc satin quilt up to his nose. A bluish night-light illuminated the luxu- rious bedroom, the scattered clothing, the golden cupids on the bedposts, and Rolling’s fleshy nose stuck into the qtiilt. His head was sunk deep in the pillow, his mouth half-open — the Chemical King Avas asleep. 

That snorting nose did more than anything to disturb Zoii 8 thoughts. It brought back undesirable memories of other events. She shook her head to get rid of them and imagined another head on the pillow in place of Rolling’s. 

36 

Growing tired of struggling against her own thoughts, she closed her eyes and smiled. Garin's face, pale from excite* mcnt, floated before her.... “Perhaps I should ring up Gaston Bee de Canard and tell him to wait?" Suddenly a thought pierced her like a needle: “He had a double sit- ting with him, just as he did in Leningrad. . . ." 

She slipped out of bed and began pulling on her stock- ings. Rolling mumbled in his sleep but only turned over on his side. 

Zoe ran into the dressing-room. She put on some clothes, and a mackintosh which she belted tightly, then went back to the bedroom for her bag with the money in it. 

“Rolling,” she called softly, “Rolling. . . . XTe’re done for. . . 

Again he mumbled in hts steep. She ran down to the vestibule and with an etTort opened the heavy street doors. The Rue dc la Seine was empty. A dull yellow moon peeped through a gap between the mansards. Zoe's heart sank. She glanced up at the disc of the moon that hung over the sleeping city. “Oh, my God, how terrifying, how gloomy." \ritli both her hands she pulled her hat down over her forehead and ran to the embankment. 

34 

The old, three-storeyed house, number sixty-three on the Rue dcs Goheiins, had one wall facing an empty lot. On this side the only windows were in the mansard. Another, a blank wall faced a park. On the side facing the street the ground floor was occupied by a cafe catering for carters and lorry-drivers. The first floor was an over- night hotel and the top floor, the mansard, was let out in single rooms to permanent lodgers. The entrance to the upper floors was through gates and a long tunnel. 

87 

It was past one o’clock, and not a single liglited window on the whole of the Rue des Gobelins. The cafe was closed, the chairs were up-ended on the tables. Zoe stopped in the gateway for a moment, staring at the number sixty- three. A shiver ran down her back. She plucked up courage and rang the bell. There was the rustle of a rope and the gates opened. She slipped into the dark entrance and tiie voice of the concierge growled, “Night’s the time to sleep, you ought to get home earlier,” but did not ask who it was. 

The place was a real den of infamy and Zoe w’as genuinely frightened. Before her stretched a low, dark tunnel. A gas jet burned on the rough wall, the colour of ox blood. Semyonov’s instructions were: at the end of the tunnel turn left, up a spiral staircase to the top floor, turn left, to number eleven. 

Half-way down the tunnel Zoe stopped. She fancied she saw someone peep out at the far end and then disappear again. Perhaps she ought to turn back? She listened but did not hear a sound. She ran to a bend in the tunnel where there was a sort of a smelly hallway out of which led a narrow spiral staircase faintly lit from above. On tiptoe Zoe climbed the stairs, afraid to put her hand on the clammy rail. 

The whole house was asleep. On the first-floor landing an arch with flaking plaster led into a dark corridor. As she continued up the stairs Zoe looked back and again she fancied that somebody peeped out of the arch and then disappeared. Only it wasn’t Gaston Bee de Canard. “No, no. Gaston hasn’t been here, he can’t have been, he hasn’t had time to. . . 

On the top-floor landing a gas jet ivas burning, throw- ing its light on a brown wall covered with inscriptions and drawings that told a tale of unsatisfied desires. If Garin were not at home she w’ould wait for him here until morning. If he were at home and asleep, she would not 

8B 

leave until she had got what he took from the desk in the office on the Boulevard Malesherbes. 

Zoe took off her gloves, pushed hack her hair under her hat, and went along the corridor that took a sharp turn to the left. On the fifth door the number 11 was painted in big white figures. Zoc turned the handle and the door opened easily. 

The moonlight fell through the open window of a small room. On the floor lay an open suitcase. Scattered papers showed up white in the moonlight. Between the washstand and a cheat<oF<drawers, a mao wearing nothing hut a shirt was sitting on the floor by the wall with his bare knees drawn up; his feet looked enormous.... The moon lit up one half of the face, showing a bright, wide>open eye and gleaming white teeth in a grinning mouth. Zoe gasped, she could not get her breath as she stood staring at that face with its ghastly grin — it was Garin. 

That morning in the Cafe Globe she had told Gaston Bee de Canard to steal the apparatus ond the drawings and, if possible, to kill Garin. But in the evening she had seen Garin's eyes through the smoke over a glass of cham< pagne and felt that if stich a roan wauled her she would abandon and forget everything in order to Follow Inm At night, when she realized the danger and had set out to intercept Gaston, she had not known what it was that drove her in such olarm through the Paris night, from bar to bar, into gambling houses and other places where Gaston might have been and had ftnalW hroiighi her to the house in the Rue des Gobelins. Wliat was it tliat urged the clever, cold, cruel woman to enter the room of the man she had condemned to death? 

She stared at Garin's white teeth and protruding eye. With a hoarse half-siipprcsscd cry she ran and bent down over him. He was dead. His face was blue and his neck swollen with bruises. It was the same face — haggard, attractive, with excited eyes, with confetti in the silken 

39 

beard Zoc grasped the ice-cold marble of the washstand 

and pulled herself up with difficultj\ She had forgotten what she came for. Bitter saliva filled her mouth. “That’s all I need, to fall in a faint.” With a final effort she tore off the button on the collar that was strangling her, and turned towards the door. In the doorway stood Garin. 

His teeth gleamed white, his face %ras frozen in a grin, the very counterpart of the man on the floor. He lifted a warning finger. Zoe understood and covered her mouth with her hand to smother a scream. Her heart was heating madly as though she had just come up out of the water. “He’s alive. . . . He’s alive. . . 

“You didn’t kill me,” said Garin in a whisper, con- tinuing to shake his finger at her, “you killed Victor Lenoir, my assistant. . . . Rolling will go to the guillo- tine. . . 

“Alive, alive . . .” she said hoarsely. 

He took her by the elbows. She immediately threw back her head in complete surrender, offering no resist- ance. He pulled her towards him and feeling that her legs were giving way under her, put his arm round her shotil- ders. 

“Why arc you here?” 

“I was looking for Gaston.” 

“What Gaston?” 

“The man I sent to hill yon.” 

I foresaw that,” he said, looking into her eyes. 

She answered as though in a dream: 

If Gaston had killed you I Avould have killed myself.” 

“I don’t understand,” 

She repeated his words as though in a trance, in a soft, falling voice; 

I don’t understand myself.” 

This strange conversation took place in the doorway, t he moon, sinking behind the slate roofs, shone through the windon-. Against the wall Lenoir grinned. 

Garin spoke in a low voice. 

“You’ve come for Rolling’s autograph?” 

“Yes. Have mercy.” 

“On whom? On Rolling?” 

“No. On me. Have mercy on me,” she repeated. 

“I’ve sacrificed my friend in order to ruin your Roll- ing. I’m as much a murderer as you are. Mercy? . . . No . . . no. . . .” 

Suddenly he grew tense and listened. \l^ith a brusque movement he pulled Zoe out of the door. Still squeezing her elbow he looked through the arch on to the staircase. 

‘‘Come along. I’ll take you out of here through the park. Listen, you’re an unusual woman.” His eyes flashed with mad humour. “Our paths have crossed, D’you feel it, too?” 

Taking Zoe with him he ran down the spiral staircase. She did not resist, overcome by a strange sensation that surged up inside her like turbid wine just beginning to ferment. 

On the lower landing Carlo turned away into the dark* ness, stopped, lit a wax vesta, and with an effort opened a rusty lock that had obviously not been opened for years. 

“You see I've thought of everything.” 

They went out under the dark, damp trees of the park. At that same moment a police squad, called for by Garin a quarter of an hour earlier oo the telephone, entered the gateway from the street. 

35 

Shelga well remembered how be bad lost a pawn at the house on Krestovsky Island. During their talk on the Trade-Union Boulevard he bad realized that Pyankov- Pitkcvich was certaiu to be back for what was hidden in the cellar of the cottage. That same day, at dusk, Shelga 

91 

had gone back to the island, had entered the cottage without disturbing the watchman and descended into the cellar with a dark lantern. The pa^ra was lost right away: Garin stood t%vo paces away from the trap- door in the kitchen. Just a second before Shelga arrived he had climbed out of the cellar with a suitcase in his hand and had flattened himself against the wall behind the door. With a crash he closed the trap-door over Shelga’s head and piled sacks of coal on it. Shelga raised his lan- tern and smiled ironically as dust poured down through the cracks in the trap-door. He intended to start peace negotiations. Suddenly, however, there was silence in the kitchen. Shelga heard running footsteps, revolver shots, and a wild scream. This was the tussle with Four-J'ingers. An hour later the police arrived. 

Having lost his pawn Shelga made a clever move. In the squad car he drove straight from the cottage to the Yacht Club, woke up the hoarse-voiced, tousled old sailor who served as caretaker and without more ado demanded: 

“In what quarter is the wind?” 

The old salt responded unhesitatingly: 

“South-west.” 

“Strength?” 

“Fresh to strong.” 

“Are you sure all the yachts are at their moorings?” 

“I'm sure they arc.” 

“Is there a night watchman there?” 

“Yes, Petka.” 

“Let me take a look at the moorings.” 

Aye, aye,” answered the sailor, still half-asleep, fumbling to get his arms into the sleeves of his jacket. 

Petka! he called in a hoarse voice that told of quantities of consumed spirit as they went out on to the club verandah. There was no answer. “He must he asleep somewhere, sink him,” said the sailor, turning up his coat collar against the wind. 

92 

They found the night watchman near by in the bushes, snoring heartily with his head covered by the big collar of his sheepskin coat. The sailor let out a stream of profanity. The night watchman groaned and got up. Tliey went out along the landing-stage where a forest of masts swayed above the steel-grey water, tinged blue by the approaching dawn. Waves broke against the landing-stage, there was a fresh wind blowing, with squalls. 

“Are you sure ail the yachts are in place?" asked Shclga again. 

“The Orion isn’t here, she’s at Peterhof. And two boats were driven into Strelna by the wind.*’ 

Slieiga walked along the spray-splashed landing-stage and picked up the cod of a painter fastened to a ring — ^tlic rope had obviously been cut. The sailor slowly examined the end of the painter. He pushed his sou’wester forward on to his nose but said nothing. He walked along counting the yachts with his dnger. Then he slashed at the air with his band. Club discipline forbade the use of curses belonging to the imperialist past and so he confined him- self to a number of vivid extraneous expressions. 

“The so and so," he shouted with unbelievable vigour. “A marlinespike in his liver! He’s taken the Bibigonda, the crack yacht in the fleet, the son of a hitch, a rope’s end where he wouldn't like it.... Petka, may you be tliirty times drowned in stinking water, where were your e^es, you parasite, you lousy swede-basher? The Bibigonda b gone, damn your soul." 

The night watchman Petka groaned, expressed astonish- ment, and beat his thighs with the long sleeves of his sheepskin coat. The sailor raced on before the wmd into unfatliomed depths of the Russian language. There being nothing left for him to do Shclga went off to tlie port. 

At least three hours had passed before lie reached the open sea in a swift motor-boat. There was a heavy swell running and the boat took a bad tossing. Spray dimmed 

the glass of his binoculars. When the sun came up a sail was sighted in Finnish waters far beyond the lighthouse and close offshore; it was the unfortunate Bibigonda tossing about amidst submarine crags. Her deck was de- serted. They fired a few shots from the motor-boat just for the sake of doing something and returned with empty hands. 

And so that night Garin had fled across the frontier, winning yet another pawn. Only he and Shelga knew of the part played by Four-Fingers in that game. Shelga’s general train of thought on his way back to the port was somewhat as follows: 

“Garin will either sell his mysterious apparatus or exploit it himself abroad. For the time being the inven- tion is lost to the Soviet Union and who can tell hut that it may play a decisive part in future events. Garin, how- ever, is in danger abroad — Four-Fingers. Until he’s dis- posed of, Garin won’t dare bring his apparatus out into the open. If I take Garin’s side in the fight I might win in the long run. In any case I couldn’t do anything more foolish than arrest Four-Fingers in Leningrad, which is just what Garin wants.” The conclusion to be drawn from this line of thought was simple enough. From the port Shelga went straight back to his own apartment, changed into dry clothes, rang up his office to inform them that the “case had petered out,” cut off the telephone, and went to bed smiling at the thought of Four-Fingers, poisoned by gas and perhaps Avounded, at that very moment, clearing out of Leningrad as fast as his legs Avould carry him. This Avas Shelga’s ansAver to the “lost paAvn.” 

Then came the telegram from Paris: “Four-Fingers here. Menacing developments.” This was a cry for help. 

The more Slielga thought of it the more obvious it became he must leave for Paris immediately. He tele- phoned for the time of departure of passenger planes and 

94 

went bdck on to the verandah where Taraihkin and Ivan were Bitting in the white twilight of the northern Biimmcr night. Ever since Shelga had read the inesiage on the waiffi hack the hoy had calmed down and had not left Tarashkin’e side. 

Voices, women*! laughter, and the aplashing of oars came drifting to them from the oronge-colotircd water vis* ible through (he hranche! of (he trees. The oldcBt game in the world was being played under the dark foliage of the wooded islands where birds called to each other in alarm and nightingales were singing. All living things, having emerged from the rains and blizzards of winter, were now in a hurry to live and were hungrily drinking in the inebriating heaiily of the night. Tarashkin was standing perfectly still, leaning on the verandah railing, with one arm round the hoy’s shoulders and gazing through the trees at the water where hoats slid noiselessly past, 

“Well, Ivan, how goes it?** asked Slielga, drawing up a chair and bending down to look into the hoy's face. “D’you like it better in Leoing:rad or out to the Far East? You probably went hungry most of the time out there, didn’t you?” 

Ivan stared at Shelga without batting an eyelid. In the twilight his eyes had a sad look, like those of an old man. Shelga took a sweet out of his waistcoat pocket and tapped it against Ivan’s teeth until he opened them and the sweet slid into his mouth. 

“We’re kind to little boys, Ivan. We don’t make them work, we don't write letters on (heir backs and don’t send them five tlioiiiand miles under railway coaches. It’s nice here on the islands, isn’t it? And do you know whose it is, all of it? We’ve given it to the children for keeps. The river, the islands, the boats, bread and saotigc — eat as much as you like — it’s all yours.” 

“You’ll gel the hoy all mixed up,” said Tiraihkin. 

95 

“Oh, no, he’s smart, he’ll understand. Wl: from, Ivan?” 

“We’re from the Amur, Mother died and killed in the war.” 

“How did you live?” 

“I worked for all sorts of people.” 

“A kid like you?” 

“Yes. I went out wth horses to graze.” 

“And then what?” 

“Then they took me.” 

“Who did?” 

“Some people. They needed a hoy to climb ! mushrooms and nuts, catch squirrels for food, sorts of errands.” 

“So you were taken on some expedition? (1 but did not answer.) Did you go far? Don’t tell me all about it. We won’t give you away, of us now.” 

“We went eight days hy steamer. We wouldn’t live through it. Then we went eight d. until we came to a fire mountain.” 

“Huh, huh, so the expedition went to Kamt 

“Yes, to Kamchatka. We lived there in didn’t know anything about the revolution for When wc did hear about it three of them wc then two others went. There was nothing 1; stayed there with him.” 

“With whom? Who’s the ‘he’? 'W'Tiat’s hi 

Ivan turned sulky again and wouldn’t a! soothed him for a long time, stroking his h head. 

He 1! kill me if I tell von. He promise 

“Who?” 

“Nikolai Khristoforovich Mantsev, He 6 ten a letter on your back, don’t you wash, c 

shirt and waistcoat, not even if it is a year, or two years, until you get to Petrograd and find Pyotr Petrovich Garin; show him what’s written on your back and he’ll pay you well.’” 

“Why didn’t Mantsev come to Petrograd himself if he wanted to see Gann?” 

“He was afraid of the Bolsheviks. He said, ‘They’re worse than devils. They’ll kill me. They’ve ruined the whole country,* he said. ‘Trains don’t run, there’s no post, there’s nothing to eat, people have all run away from the towns. . . .’ How could he know, he's been sitting on bis mountain six years.” 

“What’s he doing there? What’s be looking for?” 

“D’you think he’d tell me? But all the same I know. (Ivan’s eyes flashed merrily and with cunning.) He’s look* ing for gold under the earth.” 

“Did he find any?” 

“He? Of course he did.” 

“Could you find the way to that mountain where Mantsev is sitting if you had to?” 

“Of course I could. Only don’t you give me away, he’ll get awful mad at me.” 

In rapt attention Shelga and Taraslikin listened to the boy’s story. Shelga again studied the inscription on the boy’s back and then photographed it. 

“Now go downstairs, Tarashkin will give you a good wash with soap and you can go to bed,” said Shelga. “When you came here you had nothing, no father, no mother, nothing but an empty belly. Now you’ve got everything you need, you can live, learn, and grow up well. Tarashkin will teach you what you have to know and you do what he tells you. Good-bye. I'll be seeing Gann in a couple of days and I’ll give him your message.” 

Shelga laughed and soon the light of his bicycle lamp went jumping away behind the dark hushes. 

36 

Aluminium wings swept across the green carpet of the aerodrome and the six-seater passenger plane disappeared behind the snow-white clouds. The small group of people who had come to see their friends off craned their necks to look into the radiant blue sky where a hawk was lazily circling and swallows darted through the air, but the dur- alumin bird had disappeared the devil alone knew where. 

The six passengers, sitting in their creaking wicker chairs, looked down at the receding bluish-green earth. Roads ran across it like threads. Groups of buildings, belfries, all slightly leaning, looked like toys. Far away to the right stretched an expanse of blue water. 

The shadorv of a cloud slipped over the surface of the earth hiding its irregularities. Soon the cloud itself was below them. 

Glued to the windows all six passengers smiled with that somewhat strained smile of people who know how to control themselves. Air travel was still something new. Despite the comfortable cabin, the magazines and catal- ogues littering the tables, despite the appearance of cosi- ness and safety, the passengers still had to convince them- selves that air travel was far less dangerous than, say, cross- ing the street. There are no obstacles in the air — if you meet a cloud you dive into it and all that happens is that the windows get moist, or hail rattles on the metal wings, or the machine jumps as though it were going over ruts in the road — you hold on tight to the arms of your wicker chair and open your eyes wide but your neighbour just winks and laughs — nice little rut, that! ... If the metal bird is struck by one of those squalls that break the masti of sailing-boats, smash the rudder and sweep the lifeboats and crew into the raging sea, it just doesn’t care; strong and agile, it tips over on to one w'ing, the engines roar 

98 

aad it is well away* three thousand feet above the centre of the storm. 

In short, before an hour had passed the passengers were getting used to the tossing of the aircraft and to the idea of space underfoot. Some of them put on headsets with earphones and microphones and conversation began. Opposite Shelga sat a thin man of about thirty>6ve in a rather shabby overcoat and a check cap he had probably bought for his trip abroad. 

He had a pale face with thin skin, a clever, frowning but handsome profile, a light beard and a calm and firm mouth. He sat hunched up with his hands on bis knees. 'With a smile Shelga made a sign to him. The man put on his earphones. 

'‘Didn't you attend the technical school in Yaroslavl?" asked Shelga. The man nodded his head. "1 remember you. You're Alexei Semyonovich Khlinov aren't you? (A nod.) Where are you working now?" 

“In the Physical Labor 8 tor 7 of the Polytechnical Institute," came Khlinov's faint voice, drowned by the roar of the engines. 

“Dusiness trip?" 

“To Reicher in Berlin.’* 

“Secret?" 

“No. Last March we heard that Reicher's laboratory had effected the nuclear disintegration of mercury." 

Khlinov turned to face Shelga and peered straight at him, his eyes betraying his excitement. 

“That’s beyond me, I'm not a specialist," said Shelga. 

“So far the work has been confined to the laboratory. It has still a long way to go before it can be applied in industry. Although," Khlinov glanced down at rolling snow-white clouds far below that hid the earth from view, “from the scientist’s study to the factory is not a very far cry. The principle by which the atom can be forcibly 

disintegrated ought to be very simple. You know, of course, what an atom Is?” 

“Something very small.” Shelga indicated the size with his fingers, 

“An atom compared with a grain of sand is as a grain of sand compared with the earth. Nevertheless we can measure the atom, the velocity of the electrons that cir- culate around the nucleus and the strength of their elec- tric charge. We are getting close to the very heart of the atom, to its nucleus. In that nucleus lies the whole secret of power over matter. The future of mankind depends on whether or not we can master the atomic nucleus, a tiny fragment of material energy one hundred billionth of a centimetre in size.” 

At a height of six thousand feet above the earth Shelga heard a story more wonderful than any told by Scheherazade, but this tvas no fairy-tale. At a time when the dialectics of history had led one class to a destruc- tive war and another class to insurrection, when cities were burning, when clouds of dust and ashes and poison gas hid ploughlands and orchards, when the very earth shuddered at the wrathful shrieks of suppressed revolu- tions and, as in days of old, torturers tvere busy in prison dungeons with rack and pincers, when at night monstrous fruits with their tongues hanging out grew on the trees in the parks, when the cloak of idealism that mankind had so lovingly painted fell off — in that monstrous and titanic decade the amazing minds of scientists gleamed here and there like torches. 

37 

The aeroplane circled low- over Ko\’no. The green fields, wetted by the rain, rushed to meet it. The aircraft taxied along the runway and came to a standstill. The pilot jumped out on to the grass and the passengers got 

100 

out to stretch their legs and smoke a cigarette. Shelga lay down on the grass, placed his hands behind his head, and looked up wonderingly at the distant bluedined clouds, lie had just come from there, he had been Hying amongst those light, snowdike mountains and azure valleys. 

His recent companion, the slightly round*shoiildcred Khlinov, v^as standing beside him, in his shabby overcoat, near the wing of the plane. He looked very ordinary, even his cap came from a Leningrad factory. 

Shelga laughed. 

“It’s good to he alive, anyway. It's devilish good.” 

When they took off from Kovno Aerodrome Shelga sat beside Khlinov and, without naming any names, told him what he knew of Garin's extraordinary experiments; he told him that very great interest had been displayed in these experiments abroad. 

Khlinov asked whether Shelga had seen Garin's machine. 

"No, nobody has seen the machine.” 

"So it's all a matter of guesswork and assumptions, to say nothing of a vivid imagination, eh?'* 

Then Shelga told him about the cellar under the ruined cottage, about the pieces of steel that had been cut, about the boxes of carbon pyramids. Khlinov nodded. 

"I see.” He nodded. "Pyramids. Very good I under* stand. Tell me, if it isn't too much of s secret, are you by any chance talking about Engineer Carin^” 

For a moment Shelga did not answer but looked Khli* nov straight in the eyes, 

"Yes,” he answered, "about Garin D'vou know him?” 

"A very, very capable man.” Khhnov pulled a face as though he had something sour in h'* mouth “An ex- traordinary man. Btit lie's no scientist He * ambitious. An nhsoliitely isolated individual An adientiirer. a cynic M’ith the makings of a genius. Too much temperament. A monstrom imagination. But that wonderful mind of hig is always motivated by the lowest desires He will go a long 

m 

way but will finish up either as a hopeless drunkard or by trying to ‘horrify mankind.’ A genius needs disci- pline more than anybody else, he has too much responsi- bility to bear.” 

Again reddish patches blazed on Khlinov’s cheeks. 

“An enlightened, disciplined mind is the holy of holies, the miracle of miracles. The earth is like a grain of sand in the universe and man on that earth is no more than a billionth part of the smallest measure. That speculative particle, living on an average some sixty revolutions of the earth around the sun, has a mind that grasps the whole universe. In order to understand this we should use the language of higher mathematics, Wliat would you say, for example, if somebody took the most valuable micro- scope from your laboratory and used it to hammer in nails? That’s exactly the way Garin uses his genius. I know that he has made an important discovery concerning the transmission of infra-red rays over a distance. You’ve heard, of course, of the Rindel-Matthcws Death Ray? That death ray proved to be a fake although he hod the right principles. Heat waves at a temperature of a thou- sand degrees centigrade transmitted parallel to each other constitute a monstrous weapon of destruction and defence in time of war. The whole secret lies in the transmission of a ray that docs not disperse. So far nobody has been able to do this. Judging by your story Garin has con- structed a machine that will do it. If it is so it is an extremely important discovery,” 

“Tve been thinking for a long time that this invention smells of higher politics,” said Shclga. 

For sonic time Khlinov sat silent, then flushed so that even his cars turned red. 

Find Garin, take him by the scruff of the neck, and bring^ him back to the Soviet Union together with his machine. Our enemies mustn’t get it. Ask Garin whether he knows what his duty is, or whether he’s just a Philistine. 

m 

If he is, give him money, as much as he wants. Let him have expensive women, yachts, racing cars. Or kill him.’* Shelga raised his hrows. Khllnov placed the micro* phone on the tabic, leaned back, and closed his eyes. The aeroplane was flying over level, green chequer-board fields and roads as straight as an arrow. From their altitude they could see in the distance the brown outlines of Berlin amidst the bluish patches of the lakes. 

38 

As usual, at half past seven in the morning, Bolling awoke in the Emperor Napoleon’s bed on the Rue de la Seine. Without opening his eyes he took a handkerchief from nnder his pillow and blew his nose with determi- nation, chasing away the left-overs of yesterday evening's amusement together with sleep. 

Not quite refreshed, it is true, but in full possession of Ills faculties, he threw the handkerchief on to the car- pet, sat up amongst the silk pillows, and glanced round. The bed was empty, the room — alio empty. Zoe’s pillow was cold. 

Rolling pressed the belt push and Zoe's maid appeared. Looking past her he asked, "Madame?” The maid raised her shoulders and turned her head this way and that like an owl. She went on tiptoes into the lavatory, from there, in a hurry now, to the dressing-room, slammed the door of the bathroom, and returned to the bedroom, her fingers tremblingly pulling at the lace of her apron. "Madame is nowhere here.” 

"Coffee,” said Rolling. He filled the bath himself, dressed himself, and poured out his own coffee. Meanwhile the household was in a state of a quiet panic, everybody walking on tiptoes and talking in whispers. As Rolling went out of the house he jabbed the porter with his elbow 

103 

when the latter, terrified, rushed to open the door. He was twenty minutes late at the office. 

There were fireworks that morning on the Boidevard Malcsherbes. The secretary’s face expressed absolute non- resistance to evil. Visitors came out of the walnjit doors with distorted faces. “Mr. Rolling is in a bad mood today,” they reported in a whisper. Exactly at one o’clock Mr, Rolling glanced at the clock and broke a pencil. It was clear that Zoe Montrose would not cal! for him to go to lunch. He waited until a quarter past one. During that terrible quarter of an hour two grey hairs appeared on the secretary’s impeccable parting. Rolling went to lunch at Griffon’s, alone. 

The restaurateur, M’sieur Griffon, a tall, stoutish man, formerly a cook and owner of a bar, now chief consultant on the Grand Degustatory and Digestive Arts, met Rolling with an heroic wave of the hand. In a dark-grey frock- coat, with an immaculate Assyrian beard and a noble forehead, Arsicur Griffon stood in the middle of the small hall of his restaurant, resting one hand on what was almost an altar, the silver pedestal of special design on which his famous roast — saddle of mutton with haricot beans — was braising under a domed dish-cover. 

The habitues of the restaurant sat on red leather couches placed along the four walls behind long narrow tables; they were mostly businessmen from the Grands Boulevards, and a few women. Except for the altar, the middle of the room was empty. Turning his head, the res- taurateur cotdd observe the process of degustation in each of his clients. Not the slightest grimace of dissatisfaction escaped him. Furthermore — he anticipated much; the mysterious process of the secretion of juices, the helical workings of the stomach and the whole psychology of eat- ing based on memories of something eaten some time before and on the flow of blood to various parts of the body all this was an open book to Monsieur Griffon. 

104 

With a severe and at the same time fatherly expression he would walk over to a client and say to him with charm* ingly gruff tenderness, “Your temperament today, M’sicur, demands a glass of I^Tadeira and a little Poullly, tres sec — you may send me to the guillotine hut I won't give you a single drop of vin rmige. Oysters, a little boiled turbot, the wing of a chicken and a few stalks of asparagus. That collation will give you hack your strength." Only a Pata* gonian, used to a diet of water rats, could object under such circumstances. 

M'sieur Griffon did not run with servile haste to the Chemical King's table as might have been expected. Here, in the Academy of Degustation, the multimillionaire and the bookkeeper, the man who thrust his wet umbrella to the porter and the man who stepped importantly out of a Rolls Royce smelling of Havana cigars— all paid the same bill. M'sieur Griffon was a republican and t philosopher. With a benign smile he handed Rolling the menu and advised him to begin with honey*dew melon, and follow it by lobster baked with truffles and saddle of mutton. Mr. Rnlling did not drink wine during tbe day, he knew that. 

“Give me a whiskey and soda and put a bottle of champagne in ice," said Rolling through his clenched teetli. 

M'sieur Griffon stepped back and for a moment aston* ishment, fear, and disgust flashed up in his eyes a client was beginning with whiskey, that dulled the palate, and svanted to continue with champagne, that bloated the stomach. M'sieur Gri^on's eyes grew dull, he bowed his head respectfully: his client was lost for today, he could only reconcile himself to that undoubted fact 

After his third whiskey Mr Rnlhng began to crush Iiis napkin. A man with such a temperament hut standing at tbe other end of tbe aocial ladder. Ca«ton Dec de Canard, for example, would have found Zoe Montrose before sundown — tbe bitch, the filtliv hu«sT picked up out of the gutter — and yvoutd have sunk the blade of a clasp* 

lOS 

knife deep into her side. Different methods were more becoming to Bolling. As he looked at the plate on which the lobster was growing cold he was not thinking of batter- ing the nose of the harlot who had fled from his bed dur- ing the night. 

The most refined and morbid ideas of revenge emerged from the yellow whiskey fumes, blended and grew in Rolling’s brain. It was only now that he realized what beautiful Zoe bad meant to him. In his torment be dug his finger-nails into the napkin. 

The waiter removed the untouched food and poured out champagne. Rolling seized the glass and drank down the contents thirstily, his gold teeth chattering against the edge of the glass. At that moment Semyonov rushed into the restaurant from the street. Seeing Rolling he pulled off his hat, leaned across the table, and whispered to him: 

“Have you seen the newspapers? I’ve just come from the morgue. It’s him. "We know nothing about it. I could swear it under oath. We have an alibi. We spent the whole night on Montmartre ndth the girls. It has been established that the murder took place between three and four in the morning, I got it from the newspapers, the news- papers. . . .” 

An earthy, twisted face jumped up and down before Rolling’s eyes. His neighbours turned to look at them. A waiter approached with a chair for Semyonov. 

“Go to hell,’’ said Rolling through a curtain of whis- key, “you’re disturbing my lunch.” 

“All right, excuse me. I’ll wait for you in the car at the corner,” 

39 

All those days there had been nothing of importance in the Paris newspapers, everything was as calm as a forest lake. The bourgeois yawned as they read leading articles 

106 

on literary Bubjects, feailletons about tbeatr* ahowat and stories from tbe lives of artistes. 

This untrammelled calm of the press was preparing the way for a hurricane attack on the purse of the petit bour- geois. Chemical King Bolling's organization had been set up, petty competitors had been crushed, and he was about to launch a campaign to raise prices. The press had been bought, the journalists had been armed with the necessary information on the chemical industry. Really staggering documents had been prepared for leading articles on polit- ical themes. A couple of faces slapped and a couple of duels had got rid of the fools who had said something that ran counter to the general line of the cartel. 

Peace and repose reigned id Paris, the sales of the dailies had dropped so that the murder at number sixty- three Rue dt» Gobelins came as a teal godsend. 

The next morning all the eeveniy-five newspapers came out with heavy headlines featanog “tbe mysterious, night- mare crime." The identity of tbe murdered man had not been established, his papers bad been stolen, at the hotel he had registered under an obviously false name. The mur- der was apparently not commiUed for the sake of robbery, gold articles and money in the dead man's pockets had not been touched. It eoold not possibly have been a crime of revenge since room number eleven bore very obvious signs of a thorougb seareb. Mystery, baffling mystery- Tlic two o'clock editions reported an astounding detail: a lady’s tortoisc'shcll coaib decorated with five Urge dU- monds had been found in the fatal room. On the floor there were tnces of a woman's shoes- Pa”s ' dered at the story cf tie comb. The murder had mitted hy a woman of elegance. A society *^*’\*. bourgeois? A cour.eein of the upper Mystery.... ^ ^,-3 

The four o'clock editions filled their U 

intervirwi pr-c U the most famous vres?c» * 

107 

one voice they all exclaimed, “No! No!” It could not be a Frenchwoman, this was the work of a German, a Boche. A few voices hinted at Moscow, hut that was not a success. The well-known Mimi, from the Olympia Theatre, pro- nounced an historic phrase, “I am prepared to give myself to whoever solves the mystery for me.” That statement was an undoubted success. 

In short. Rolling, as he sat at Griffon’s, was the only man in the whole of Paris w'ho knew nothing of the murder on the Rue des Gobelins. He was in a very bad temper and deliberately made Semyonov wait in the taxi. Appear- ing at the corner of the street at last, he got into the taxi and ordered the driver to take them to the morgue. On the way Semyonov, in his most ingratiating manner, told Rolling everything that was in the papers. 

At the mention of a tortoise-shell comb with five diamonds Rolling’s hands trembled on the knob of his walking-stick. As they neared the morgue he sud- denly leaned towards the driver with a gesture to stop, but thought better of it and only gave a snort of fury. 

There was a crush at the doors of the morgue. Women in expensive furs, snub-nosed raidinettes, suspicious char- acters from the faubourgs, curious concierges in knitted capes, reporters with perspiring noses and limp collars, actresses hanging on to the arms of fleshy actors — all were trying to get a glimpse of the murdered man on the marble slab, his shirt torn, his feet hare, and his head towards the semi-basement window. 

These bare feet made a ghastly impression — they were big and bluish, with untrimmed nails. The deadly pale face was “convulsed in horror.” The beard jutted upwards. The women surged eagerly around that grinning mask, they stared with dilated pupils, uttered soft cries and twit- ters. There he lay, the lover of the lady with the diamond- studded comb. 

ScojonoT »r,5slra ll.roiiet, tl,e „o«d like an eel, lakio? «a? for Kollius, Itolliog looked Bxedly into lie ice of lie dead man. Me scrulinized him for a zecond. lia ejes iere»ed op. his Dealt, iioee wrinkled, hie fold rtti 9**b«L 

Jis hha. isn'i ixT vW«perea Semyonor. 

THs mae Houlag aosivered him: 

’^Asoiher cocale.^ 

ties-. r»n ■t'jris hzi scnxirW hews pnJOcaepd ^rh-ra i blaaii 'citsa gp'p^sorrd fna behia9 thcsldrr, 

aflizc ES Cssk xs photaiyiphais aad 

a 

stolen from the office. And then that “Rolling, Rolling, we’re done for . . followed by her disappearance; the corpse of the double at the morgue; the comb with the diamonds ... he remembered that the night before those five diamonds had sparkled in her luxuriant hair. 

In the whole chain of events one thing was quite obvious: Garin had employed his old method of diverting the blow from himself to a double. He had stolen papers in Rolling’s handwriting to leave on the scene of the murder and bring the police to his office on the Boulevard Malesherbes. 

For all his habitual composure Rolling felt a cold shiver run down his hack, “Rolling, Rolling, we’re done for. . . .’’ She must have anticipated, must have known of the murder. It took place between three and four in the morning. (The police had arrived at half past four.) Rolling remembered that the last sound to which his brain had been receptive as he fell asleep was the clock striking a quarter to two. After this Zoe had disappeared. Obvi* ously she had hurried to the Rue des Gobelins to destroy anything in his handwriting. 

How could Zoc have known exactly when the murder was to take place unless she had planned it herself? Roll- ing went over to the fireplace, put his elbows on the marble mantlcshclf, and covered his face with his hands. Then why had she whispered in such terrified tones, “Roll- ing. Rolling, we’re done for”? . . . Something must have happened yesterday to upset her plans. But what? At what particular moment? In the theatre, in the bar, at home? . . . 

Suppose she wanted to correct some error she had made. Had she done it? Garin was olive. Rolling’s hand- writing had not yet been discovered, and the double had been killed. Did this mean salvation or ruin? Who was the murderer, an accomplice of Zoe’g or Garin himself? 

And why had Zoe disappeared, why, why, why? In his memory he sought for the moment when the change had 

110 

come OTer Zoe — he tried to recall every vrord, every gesture she had made during the previous day, racking a brain that was accustomed to work of a dilTerent kind until his head ached. 

As he stood there by the fire he felt that if he could not remember every detail of what happened the game would be lost, he would be defeated, ruined. In three days he was to launch his grand offensive on the stock mar* ket and the mere mention of bis name in connection with the murder would mean an uproar on the stock exchange and consequent collapse.... A blow struck at Rolling would mean a blow at huge sums of money moving thousands of enterprises in America, China, India. Europe, and the African colonies. It would disturb the precision working of the whole mechanism.... Railways, steamship lines, mines, factories, banka, hundreds of thousands of clerks, millions of workers, tens of millions of sharehold- ers— the whole thing would wobble, slop dead and then- panic. 

Rolling was in the position of a man who did not know from which side the blow would fall. He was in mortal danger. His brain was working as furiously as if he had been paid a million dollars per tfiougbt-second. That quar- ter of an hour by the fireside might have gone down in history as a parallel of Napoleon's famous presence of mind on the Pont d'ArcoIc. 

But then at this most decisive moment (and for the first time in his life) Rolling, the collector of billions, the almost symbolical figure, suddenly abandoned himself to a most absurd . occupation as he stood with dilated nostrils before a mirror without teeing his own reflection: instead of analyzing Zoe's actions he began to imagine her person, her delicate, pale face, her icy eyes, her passionate mouth. He sensed the warm smell of her chestnut hair, the touch of her hand. He began to imagine that he. Roll- ing, with all his desires, tastes, ambitions, thirst for power, 

III 

ivith all his bad moods born of indigestion, and his bitter thoughts of death — that all of him had transmigrated to a new shell, into that of a clever, young, and attractive wom- an. She was not there. It was as if he had been thrown out on a slushy night. He was no longer necessary to him- self. She was not there. He was homeless. What use were his global enterprises without her? Heartache, the heart- ache of a naked, pitiful mannikin! 

The Chemical King was startled out of this state of mind by the sound of two feet landing on the carpet. The bedroom window (it was on the ground floor), leading to the park, was open. Rolling trembled all over. In the mir- ror appeared the reflection of a thickset man with a big moustadie and a wrinkled forehead. He bowed his head and stared at Rolling with unblinking eyes. 

41 

“Wliat do you want?” squealed Rolling, fumbling for the Browning in his hip pocket. The thickset man had apparently anticipated this move and jumped back behind the curtain. From that point of vantage he poked out his head. 

“Keep quiet. And don’t shout. I don’t intend to kill you or steal anything,” he raised his hands, “I’ve come on business.” 

“This is no place for business. Take your business to 48b Boulevard Malesherbes, from eleven a.m. You came in by the window like a thief.” 

I beg your pardon,” answered the man, politely. “My name is Gaston Leclaire. I have the rank of sergeant and a w’ar medal. I never go in for petty business and have never been a thief. I advise you to apologize to me imme- diately, Mr. Rolling, otherwise our conversation cannot continue.” 

112 

"Go to heni” 8aid KolHng, already calmer. 

"If I go to that address then Mademoiselle Mootroie, a lady not unknown to you, will die." 

Rolling’s face changed. He went straight to Gaston. The Utter spoke with the reaped due to the owner of many Qillioas and at the same time there was a suggestion of that rough friendltoess a man uees when speaking to the hatband of bis mistress. 

"And so, monsieur, you apologize?” 

"Oo you know where Mademoiselle Montrose is hid* 

bg?" 

"And BO, monsieur, before we continue our conversa* tion am I to understand that you apologize to me?" 

"I spologiae," roared Roiling. 

“I accept}" Gaston came away from the window, iiaoDihed hii moustache with an accustomed gesture, (oDghed, and continued, "Zoe Montrose is in the bands of the murderer of whom all Paris is talking.” 

"^here is she?" Rolling’s Ups trembled. 

“At Ville d’Avray, near the Parc Saint Cloud, at an OTemight hotel close to the Musee Cambetta. Last night Hollowed them in a car to Ville d’Avray, today I found out the exact address." 

"Did she go with him yoluntarily?" 

“That’s what I’d like to know more than anything die," answered Gaston so maliciously that Rolling looked *t him in astoniahment. 

^cuse me. Monsieur Gaston, but I don’t quite under* ‘trad where you fit into this story. What have you ts do with Mademoiselle Montrose? How comes it f«^bw her at night and establish her whereahou”- EBoughi" Gaston held out his hand 1 aaderstacd you. You had to ask * 

^ »mwer: I am in love and S am jtsbus* 

^a!" exclaimed Rolling. 

“You want the details? Here they are; last night as I came out of a cafe where I had drunk a glass of grog I saw Mademoiselle Montrose. She was driving at great speed in a hired car. Her face was ghastly. It was a matter of a second to jump into a taxi and follow her. She stopped her car on Rue des Gobelins and went into the gateway of house number sixty-three. (Rolling blinked as though he had been stung.) Beside myself with jealousy I strode up and down the pavement in front of that house. Exactly at a quarter past four Mademoiselle Montrose came out of the house, not through the street door as 1 had expected hut through a gateway leading into an adjacent park. A man with a black beard, dressed in a cloth coat and a grey hat, held her by the shoulders. The rest you know.” 

Rolling sank on to a chair (a period piece from the time of the Crusades) and for a long time sat silent, his fingers clutching the carved arms. Here was the missing information. The murderer was Garin, Zoc — his accom- plice. The criminal plan was obvious. They had killed the double on the Rue dcs Gobelins in order to involve him, Rolling, in crooked business and then browbeat him into giving them money to build the machine. The honest ser- geant and classical idiot, Gaston, had accidentally dis- covered the crime. It was all so clear. He must act reso- lutely and without mercy. 

There was an evil gleam in Rolling’s eyes. He stood up and kicked the chair aside with his foot. 

“I’ll ring for the police. You will come with me to Ville d’Avray.” 

An evil grin spread over Gaston’s hewhiskered face. 

Mr. Rolling, I don’t think it would be advisable to have the police mixed up in this business.. We can manage on our own.” 

I want to have the murderer and his accomplice arrest- ed and handed over to justice.” Rolling straightened him- self up and his voice was as hard as steel. 

[h.l ,|.,„g «' 

vfUo've eeeo hour po\»ce. 

Qg on tnc 

X"''”"'''' ore to‘>'“''- 

Uo . >WnVr or -"’trC-'o • T" »Co>- 'r ft- ">• “''''"t oo o--* 

i Oh b*W’- «« both lo 

latul. jon’l pboo«- \ ^i\\ bt»oB 

*r"sw ’'“''‘rn" •''^'^°'''';o .’"^ 

•^” ^ "^3:. 

eance '» mj 

--SsSggsS 

hovue S\.e'6» '"■ ,L back- Oo l'” 

0V18C el s\««'6« '"‘'X hack. On iht 

. louring" ,hal«P®"*” . woreheJo^® .• t. 

>ag->eo«cc 

nal justice, there now stood the Eiffel Tower; two and a half million electric candles \wnked and blinked from its iron carcase, fiery arrows drew pictures and wrote the whole night through for all Paris to read: “Buy Citroen cars — cheap and practical. . . 

42 

It was a warm, damp night. The ■«cindow, stretching from floor to ceiling, was open, and through it came the occasional rustling of unseen leaves. The room on the first floor of the Hotel A la Grive Noire was dark and quiet. The damp odour of the park mingled with that of perfume. The ancient drapings on the walls, the worn carpets, and the huge wooden bed that had in the course of years given refuge to a whole procession of lovers — all were permeated with these odours. It was a good old place for love in solitude. The trees rustled outside the windows, the breeze brought sad, earthy odours from the park, and a warm bed nurtured the short happiness of lovers. It was also said that Beranger had written his songs in that room. Times had changed, of course, llurrymg lovers, escaping from seething Paris to get away for an hour from the blinding, howling lights of the Lillel Tower, bad no time for the rustling of leaves, no ime for love. In our days who could stroll dreamily along Uic boulevards with a volume of Musset in his pocket? 

t aj c\erytiing was speeded up, everything was done at a speed dictated by petrol. “Hallo, ma petite, we have < lour and twenty minutes at our disposal! In that time must sec a movie, eat dinner, and get in a spot of love. 

zatiol” " 

Bcnlle chnt? lime-trees and the 

of t clS t tree-frogs outside the windows 

of the Hotel A la Grive Noire did not fit in with the gener- 

116 

al flow of European civilization. AU was quiet and peace- ful. Inside the room a door squeaked and steps could be heard on the carpet. The vague outline of a man halted in the middle of the room. He spoke softlf and in Hitssian. 

“You must decide. In thirty or forty minutes the car will arrive. What is it to be — yes or no?” 

There was movement in the bed but no answer. He drew nearer. 

“Zoe, be sensible.” 

The only answer was a mirthless laugh. 

Garin bent over Zoe's face* peered at her, and then sat at her feet on the bed. 

“Yesterday’s adventure can be regarded as not having occurred. It began somewhat unusually and ended in this hed—'I suppose you would call that banality? I agree. Regard it as expunged. Listen, I don't svant any other woman but you— how can I help itl” 

“Vulgar and stupid,” said Zoe. 

“1 agree with you completely. 1 am just a vulgar Philistine, I'm primitive. Today I discovered what I need money, power, and fame for — to possess yon. Later on, when you woke up 1 explained my viewpoint to you: I don't want to part with you and don't intend to.” 

“Oho!” said Zoe. 

“‘Ohol’ means nothing. I understand that you are a clever and proud woman and that you are very indignant at the idea of somebody forcing your hand. What else can I do? We have the nexus of blood holding us together. If you go hack to Rolling I shall fight. And as I am a vulgar Philistine I will send us all to the guiUoline, Rolling, you, and myself.” 

“You've said that before. Don't repeat yourself.” 

“Aren’t you convinced?” 

“What have you to offer in exchange for Rolling? Pm an expensive woman.” 

“The Olivine Bell.” 

“What?” 

“The Olivine Belt. H-m-m, it would take too long to explain what that is. We’d need a free evening and refer- ence hooks. In twenty minutes we have to leave. The Olivine Belt is power over the whole world. I’ll hire yonr Rolling as my door-porter, that’s what the Olivine Belt is. It’ll be in my hands in two years. Yon will not be just a rich woman, or even the richest in the world — that’s insipid. But power! The inebriation of power never before known on earth. We have means to achieve this more perfect than those of Genghis Khan. You Avant to be Avorshipped as a goddess? We'll order temples to he built to you on all five continents and in each of them your statue Avill he croAvned Avith Avreaths of vine leaves.” 

“Hoxv terribly bourgeois!” 

“All right. I’m not joking noAv. If you Avish it yoti may he the vicar of God or the Devil on earth, Avhichevcr is the more to your liking. If you feel a desire to kill — some- times one feels such an urge — you Avill have poAver over all mankind. A Avoman like yon, Zoe, Avill find plenty of tise for the Av’calth of the Olivine Belt. I am making yoti a good offer. Tavo years of struggle and I’ll reach the Olivine Belt. Don’t you hcIicA'c me?” 

For some time Zoe did not ansAver and then said in a loAV A’oicc: 

“Why should I take the risk alone? ShoAv some courage yourself.” 

Garin, it seemed, Avas cndeavotiring to sec her eyes in the darkness, then, almost sadly, almost tenderly, he said: 

If not, you may go. I shall not folloAv yon. Make your choice voluntarily.” 

Zoii hcaA'cd a short sigh. She sat up in bed and lifted her hands to adjust her hair (this Avas a good sign). 

In the future avc have the OliA'ine Belt. Wliat have you got noAc? ’ she asked, holding hairpins betAveen her teeth. 

118 

**At the tnoment I have my apparatus and carbon pyra> mids. Get up. Come to my room and HI sliow you the apparatus.” 

“It’s not much. All righu 1*11 look at it. Let’s go.” 

43 

In Garin’s room the balcony vrindow was closed and curtained. Against the wall stood two suitcases. (He had been at the Hotel A la Grive Noire over a week.) Garin locked the door. Zoe sat down, put her elbows on the table, and shaded her eyes from the ceiling lamp. Her grass-green silk mackintosh was crumpled, her hair was put up carelessly, and her face wore a tired expression — all of which made her more attractive than ever. Garin, as he opened a suitcase, kept glancing at her with burning eyes framed in blue rings. 

’’This is my apparatus,” he said, putting two metal boxes on the table: one of them was narrow, like a piece cut from a pipe, the other was a flat, twelve-sided a^air three times the diameter of the first. 

He placed the two boxes together and fastened them with bolts. The pipe he pointed towards the fire-grate and then took the round lid off the twelve-sided box. Inside this housing a bronxe ring stood on edge with twelve por- celain cups attached to it. 

”This is a model,” he aaid, taking a box of pyramids out of the other suitcase. ”U won't stand up to more than an hour's work. The machine must be built from ex- ceptionally durable materials and ten times stronger than this. It would be very heavy to carry and I am constantly on the move, (lie placed twelve pyramids to the twelve cups.) From the outside you can't see or understand any- thing. Here is a diagram, the long cross-section.” He leaned over Zoe's chair, inhaling the perfume of her hair, and 

119 

opened out a drawing about half the size of a sheet of neivspaper. “You want me to risk everything in this game as you do, Zoe. Look here. This is the general scheme. 

Tkrelyt sided housing. 

Oneofthefyeko\!^’'^”^ porcelain cups - 

Second tabular housing 

figperbolic mirror (A) (Astronomic bronzel 

Direction of the rags 'rag cord.’ 

-•sn—Sy^ffgaerbotoid of shamonife(B) (Pure carbon, almost os hard as a diamonct: itigb fuse point) 

^One of /be f tee fee porcelain cups 

Bronze ring 

“It's as simple as ABC. It’s the purest accident that nobody discovered it before me. The whole secret is in this hyperbolic mirror (A), shaped like the reflector in an ordinary searchlight, and this piece of shamonite (B), also made in the form of a hyperbolic sphere. The hyper- bolic mirror functions in this way: 

Cross-section of hgpertolic mirror 

Rays of light falling on the inner surface of the hyper- bolic mirror meet at one point, at the focus of the hyper- bola. This is common knowledge. Here is something new: in the focus of the hyperbolic mirror I place a second hyperbola (B) in reverse, as it were, in relation to the 

m 

other — this is the revolving hyperboloid, turned from shamonile, a mineral that polishes well and has a very high fuse point — there are inexhaustible deposits of it in the north of Russia. \(liat happens to the rays? 

**The rays concentrated at the focus of the mirror (A) are directed on to the surface of the hyperboloid (B) and are reflected from it geometrically parallel — in other words the hyperboloid (B) concentrates all the rays into one ray, or into a ray cord of any thickness. By turning the micro* meter screw I adjust the hyperboloid (B) and can produce a ray of any thickness. 

A .HvptrboOe mJrrer 

ftsi/s te’Ktntrafed If cent, fAt Toy cof^ 

B -HyptrMBli e! tyroinofift 

“Tlieencrgy lost by transmission through the atmosphere is negligible. In actual practice 1 can reduce the *ray cord' to the thickness of an ordinary needle." 

Hearing this Zoe got up, pulled and cracked her fingers, and eat down again, clasping her knee. 

“For my first experiments 1 used ordinary tallow* candles as the source of light. By adjusting the hyperbo* lotd (B) 1 reduced the ray to the thickness of a knitting needle and easily cut through an inch board with it. Then I realized that the whole secret lay in the discovery of sufficiently powerful but compact sources of radiant energy. Three years of work which have cost the lives of two of my assistants have produced these carbon pyramids. There is so much energy in these pyramids that If I place them in tlie apparatus and light them (they burn for about five minutes), they give me a ‘ray cord’ powerful enough to cut through a railway bridge in a few seconds. ... Do 

ni 

you realize what possibilities this offers? There is nothing in the whole world that can stand up against the power of the ray. . . . Buildings, fortresses, dreadnoughts, air- slrips, rocks, mountains, the earth’s crust... my ray will pierce, and cut through and destroy everything.” 

Garin stopped suddenly and raised his head, listening. He heard the crunching of gravel, and the dying sound of motor-car engines as they were shut off came drifting into the room. He leaped to the window and slipped behind the curtain. Zoe watched Garin’s motionless figure out- lined behind the dusty red velvet; then the figure seemed to waver as Garin came from behind the curtain. 

“Three cars and eight men,” he said in a wdiisper. “They’re after us. I believe one of the cars is Rolling’s. There’s nobody in the hotel but the concierge and us. (He quickly pulled a revolver out of the drawer of a bedside table and thrust it into his jacket pocket.) They won’t let me out of here alive.” Suddenly he rubbed the side of his nose gleefully. “Well, Zoe, make up your mind: yes or no? There’ll never he another moment like this.” 

“You’re mad.” Zoe’s face flushed and she looked young- er. “Get away ■»rhilc you can.” 

Garin stuck his beard out defiantly, 

“Eight men. . , , That’s nothing!” He lifted the appa- ratus and turned it with the muzzle towards the door. He slapped his pockets. His face suddenly changed colour. 

“Matches,” he whispered, “I’ve no matches.” 

Perhaps he said that in order to test Zoe. Perhaps he really had no matches in his pocket — and his life depended on matches. He looked at Zoii dumbly, like an animal awaiting death. As though moving in her sleep, she took her bag from a chair, opened it, took out a box of wax vestas, and gave them to him slowly, with difficulty. As he took them he felt the icy coldness of her thin hand. 

From the spiral staircase came the sound of wary foot- steps. 

2Z2 

4i 

A number of men stopped outside their door. They could hear the sound of their breathing. 

“\nio’8 that?" asked Cano loudly in French. 

“A telegram,** ansvrered a gruff ^oiee. “Open the door.** 

Zoe, withont a vrord, grasped Garin by the shoulders and shook her head. He drew her towards the comer of the room and forcefully sat her down on the carpet. Then he went straight back to the apparatus and shouted: 

“Push the telegram nnder the door.** 

“Open the door when you're told,** growled the same Toice. 

Another roiee asked cautiously: 

“Is the woman there with yon?** 

“Yes, she's here.” 

“Give her to us and we'll leave you in peace.” 

“I’m warning you,” said Garin viciously, “if you don’t get to hell out of here not one of you will be alive in a minute's time.” 

“Oh, ladil... Oh.ho-ho!... Hi-hi!...” voices whined and braved; bodies were hurled against the door, the china door handle turned, plaster fell from around the door frame. Zoe did uot take her eyes off Garin. His face was pale, hit movements were swift and confident. He squatted on his heels and turned the micrometer screw of his apparatus. He took out a few vestas and placed them on the table beside the box. Then he took out his revolver, straightened up, and stood waiting. The door was giving way. Suddenly glass fell from the window with a Crash and the curtains bulged, Garin fired into the window. He squatted down, lit a match, pushed it into the apparatus, and shut the round lid. 

After the shot came a few aeconds’ silence, then came an attack at the door and window simultaneously. They banged on the door with some heavy object and the ptnelt 

I2S 

were splintered. The curtain covering the window was twisted and fell together with the curtain rod. 

“Gaston!” screamed Zoe. Bee de Canard came craAvling over the AvindoAv grille Avith an apache-knife in his mouth. The door still held. Garin, as Avhite as a sheet, turned the micrometer scrcAv of his apparatus and the revolver danced in his left hand. A flame jumped and roared in- side the machine. The circle of light on the Avail (oppo- site the muzzle of the machine) greAV smaller, the Avall- paper began to smoke. Gaston, his eye on the revolver, Avas creeping along the Avail, crouched for a spring. He noAV held the knife in his hand, Spanish fashion, point towards his OAvn body. The circle of light became an in- candescent spot. BcAvhiskered faces peered through the broken panels of the door. Garin seized the apparatus in both hands and turned the muzzle toAvards Bee de Canard. 

Zoe saAV it all: Gaston opened his mouth, either to scream or to gasp for air. A strip of smoke passed across his chest and the hands that he tried to raise fell. He fell backAvard on to the carpet. His head together Avith his shoulders fell from the loAver part of his body like a piece of bread cut off a loaf. 

Garin turned the machine tOAvards the door. On the Avay the ray from the apparatus cut through the electric lighting Avires and the lamp on the ceiling Avent out. The dazzling, dead straight ray, as thin as a needle, played above the door and pieces of Avood fell doAvn. The ray craAvled loAvcr doAvn. There came a short hoAvl, as though a cat bad been trodden on. Somebody stumbled in the dark. A body fell softly. The ray danced about tAvo feet from the floor. There Avas an odour of burning flesh. Suddenly there Avas silence broken only by the flame roaring in the apparatus. 

Garin coughed and said in a hoarse voice that almost refused to obey him: 

“They’re all Gnished AA-ith.” 

124 

Outside the broken window the breere played lo the Invisible lime-trees and they rustled sleepily. Out of the darkness below, where the cars were standing motionless, a voice called out in Russian: 

“Pyotr Petrovich, are you alive?” Garin appeared at the window. “Careful. It is I, Shelga. Remember our agree- ment? I've got Rolling's car. You must get away. Save the apparatus. I’m waitiog.” 

4S 

Following his usual Sunday evening custom Professor Reicher was playing chess on the little balcony of his third-floor flat. On this occasion his opponent was Hein- rich Wolff his favourite pupil. They smoked in silence, their eyes fixed on the chess-board. The last glow of eve- ning had long since died away at the end of the long street, the night air was heavy, there was not a movement amongst the leaves of the ivy that covered the balcony. Below them the asphalted square lay deserted under the starry sky. 

Grunting and snorting the professor was thinking out his move. His hand with its yellow Gngcr-nails hovered over the board but did not touch any of the chessmen. He removed the cigarette end from his mouth. 

“I must think about this.” 

“As you please,” answered Wolf. His handsome face with its high forehead, clean-cut chin and short, straight nose gave one the impression of a mighty machine at rest. The professor was more temperamental (he belonged to the older generation) — his steel-grey beard was dishev- elled and there were red patches on his wrinkled forehead. 

A tall lamp under a wide, coloured shade threw its light on their faces. A few consumptive, green creatures fluttered around the Jamp-or sat on the (resblf ironed table-cloth twitching their whiskers, staring with their 

125 

tiny dots of eyes, little dreaming that they were watching the gods at play. Inside the room a clock struck ten. 

Frau Reicher, the professor’s mother, a neat-looking old lady, sat motionless; she could no longer read or knit by artificial light. In the distance, where the lights of a high house showed bright through the darkness of the night, the huge stone expanse of Berlin could be faintly discerned. If it had not been for her son at the chess-board, the soft light of the lampshade, the green creatures on the table-cloth, the horror that had long since filled her soul would have risen up again as it had done so often in the years that had drained the blood from her dried-up face — the horror of the millions that were advancing on the city, advancing towards that stone balcony. These millions were not called Fritz, Johannes, Heinrich or Otto, they were called “masses.” They were all alike, badly shaven, with paper shirt-fronts, grimy with iron and lead dust — and from time to time they filled the streets. They thrust out their chins and made many demands. 

Frau Reicher remembered those happy days when her fiance, Otto Reicher, had returned from Sedan after the victory over the Emperor of France. He smelled of leather, like a real soldier, wore a beard, and talked in a loud voice. She went to meet him outside the town, in a blue dress with ribbons and flowers. Germany raced on from victory to victory, to happiness, together w'ith Otto’s beard, together with pride and hope. Soon the whole tvorld would be conquered. . . . 

Frau Reicber’s life was over. A second war had come and gone. Somehow they had managed to drag their feet out of a morass in which millions of human bodies were rotting. And then came the masses. Look anyone of them in the eyes under the peak of his cap. They tvere not German eyes. Their expression was stubborn, morose, and incomprehensible. There was no way of approach to those eyes. Frau Reicher was filled with horror. 

126 

Alexei Semyonovich Khlinov appeared on the balcony. He was neatly dressed in his grey Sunday suit. 

Khlinov bowed to Frau Reicher, wished her good eve* ntng, and sat down beside the professor who frowned good- humouredly and winked jokingly at the chess-board. Maga- zines and foreign newspapers lay on the table. The pro- fessor, like all other intellectuals in Germany, was poor. His hospitality was confined to the soft light of the lamp on the freshly ironed cloth, the offer of a twenty-pfennig cigar, and to conversation that was probably worth more than a supper with champagne and other superfinities. 

From seven in the morning till seven at night, on working days, the professor was business-like, severe, and uncommunicative. On Sundays he willingly accompanied his friends on an “excursion into the realms of fantasy.” He liked talking from “one end of the cigar to the other.” 

“Yes, I have to think this over,” repeated the profes- sor through a cloud of smoke. 

“As you please,” answered Wolf, coldly polite. 

Khlinov opened the Paris newspaper L’lntransigeant and under the headline “Mysterious Crime at Ville d'Avray” saw a picture showing seven men cut to pieces. “Oh, well,” thought Khlinov. But what he read farther made him sit up and think. 

“. .. It is assumed that the crime was committed with some weapon hitherto unknown, either a hot wire or heat ray working at extremely high tension. We have succeeded in establishing the nationality and appearance of the crim* inai: he is, as could be expected, a Russian. (Here fol- lowed a description given by the proprietress of the hotel.) On the night of the crime be had a woman with him. All else is wrapped in mystery. It may be that the bloody find in the forest at Fontainebleau, where an unknown man was found unconscious some thirty yards from the road, will throw some light on it. Four bullet wounds were found on the body. Papers and everything else that might 

127 

have established the identity of the man had been stolen. The victim had apparently been thrown from a car. Up to time of going to press he was still unconscious. . . .” 

46 

“Chech!” exclaimed the professor. “Check and mate. Wolf, you’re defeated, your territory is occupied, you’re on your knees, you’ll have to pay reparations for sixty- six years. Such is the law of higher imperialist politics.” 

“Revenge?” asked Wolf. 

“Oh, no. We’re going to enjoy all the advantages of the conqueror.” 

The professor tapped Khlinov on the knee. 

“What was that you were reading in the paper, my young and irreconcilable Bolshevik? About the seven dissected Frenchmen? What else can you expect? Victors are always inclined to excesses. History always strives to establish an equilibrium. The victors carry pessimism home with them together with their booty. They start eating too richly. Their stomachs cannot handle the fat and their blood is tainted with poison. They cut people to pie- ces, hang themselves on their braces, and jump over bridges. They lose their love of life. Optimism is all that is left to the conquered in place of what they have lost. It is a superb quality of the human will to believe that every- thing is for the best in this best of worlds. Pessimism must be uprooted. The morose and bloody mysticism of the East, the hopeless sorrow of the Hellenic civilization, the unbridled passions of Rome amidst the smoking ruins of conquered cities, the fanaticism of the Middle Ages when people awaited the end of the world and the Day of Judge- ment at any moment and, lastly, our own age that is build- ing card houses of well-being and swallows the intolerable twaddle of the cinema — on what foundation, I ask you, is 

m 

ibt ftcblt FJTci!' 1'rf of XaKrr bolt? It? fo=ci- 

,ioa i, p«ii=. Da=o4 F«s==i»=a. T-.. jo= 

Leain, my fnes^i. Hs* » » grtat cssssis*- I »i=ir« 

“You're is earsllesi frr=i trcay, Fsofessorr Vrli, 

,, » . t- 

“Do you tso» -wiy?^ prcfesscr lexsrec t-icx sa -25 wicW ch*. bis eiii falirf c? irta iL> rra 

veie merri aid TOi*-if=! <=<:= iia tran t” 'o®- To' made ibe most csrious i-jcut^sy. 1 Lr»e « aisss- 

ber of reports »sd is ersipirts:? certais cit» I sudd-mly came to a remarkable ecseiss.js. If tie G«id crxera* meat were not a gaaa ef liresizrers. if I venr r=r- tbzt mj discoTery »ocld set tali tsia c5 adrettsTcrs 

and iwuadreli, I vo's’d prtiaily ysilisi: it. i^s it ii. It i» better to keep 

‘‘But you can akire yuu? wmt ta, tzst ytrsT* latd Wolf. 

The proftsjop »isk?d it e2y. 

“iXliat -would you «y, for exx=p!e. try faead. ff I were to offer an hoscft Oeiuszs rs^eruusuct ... juu iwar 

me, I stress the word "koaert,* I tr»e ti a ep“t:£.e saessors 

if I were to offer them cnlfruited caastttan cf cold?^ 

“Where itonT" asked T*olI, 

“Out of the earth, of course'* 

“Where is that earth?'' 

Anywhere. At aay point os the earth's enrfatJt. Is Aft eeaire of Berlia if tob the. Sot I voc't xsshe th^t tStr. I a.i't bcUcre tha sold -.oold oi=»~ cs. sE u,- te'r v,-ldi^bob;, b, „oi, -i. 

•» 1- * *•*' timed b» crr» htrsc ^ztc 

iti lion s mane lowardi Khliaor --tp^ 

pot^ a proper ase for fold. Yos 

KMmov emdtd and fcit he*'* 

tn, pec^ 

tate you 

“I’ll try to be serious. In Moscow the frosts go down to thirty degrees below zero centigrade in winter. If you splash water out of a third-storey window it falls to the ground in little balls of ice. The earth has been re- volving in interplanetary space for ten thousand, fifteen thousand million years. It should have grown cold in that lime, shouldn’t it? I maintain that the earth has long since grown cold, that it has irradiated all its heat into interplanetary space. You will naturally ask: what about the volcanoes, the molten lava, the hot geysers? Between the hard crust of the earth, slightly warmed by the sun, and the basic nuclear mass there is a belt of molten metals, the so-called Olivine Belt. It owes its existence to the constant atomic disintegration of the central mass. This central mass is a sphere with the temperature of interplan- etary space, that is two hundred aud seventy-three degrees below zero centigrade. The products of this disintegration — the Olivine Belt — are nothing more than metals in a state of flux: olivine, mercury, and gold. According to numerous data the Belt does not lie very deep in the earth — from ten to fifty thousand feet. It is possible to sink a shaft in the centre of Berlin and molten gold will pour out spontaneously, like oil, from the Olivine Belt.” 

“Logical, tempting, but impracticable,” said Wolf after a short silence. “With the appliances we have at present it is impossible to sink a shaft that depth.” 

47 

Khlinov plaecd his hand on the outspread pages of L'lntrausigeant, 

Professor, that picture reminds me of a conversation that I had on board the plane when I was on my way to 

130 

Berlin. The task of boring as far as the disintegrating elements of the earth’s centre is not quite so impossible.” 

“What has that got to do with chopped up Frenchmen?” asked the professor, lighting another cigar. 

“The murders at Ville d’Avray were committed with a heat ray.” 

Hearing these words Wolf moved to the table, an ex* pressiou of caution on his cold face. 

’’Ach, those rays again.” The professor screwed up his face with a sour look. ”Nonsense, blulT, a canard spread by the British War Office.” 

”The apparatus was designed by a Russian, I know him,” answered Khlinov. ”Me is a talented inventor and 8 ruthless criminal.” 

Khlinov told them all that he knew of Engineer Carlo: about his work at the Polytechoical Institute, the crime on Krestovsky Island, the strange finds in the cellar of the cottage, ahout his calling Shelga to Paris, and ilie mad bunt after Garin's apparatus that was apparently going on at the moment. 

”Here is the evidence.” Khlinov pointed to the pliolo* graph in the paper. “That’s Garin’s work.” 

Wolf frowned as he examined the picture. Tbe profes* sor continued absent'mindedly: 

“You think that heat rays could be used to bore throiigli the earth? Allliough . . . yes, clay and granite melt at three thousand degrees centigrade. Very, very inlereslmg. Couldn't we get bold of that Garin by telegraph? H-m*m. If we were to combine the drilling with artificial refri* geration and use electric lifts to remove tbe rocks as they arc dug out we could dig pretty deep. My friend. Pm devilishly interested in wbal you have said.” 

Contrary to his custom the professor walked up and down the balcony until two o’clock in tbe morning, puffing at his cigar and evolving plans each more astounding than its predecessor. 

48 

When they left the professor’s house, Wolf and Khlinov usually parted company on the square. On this occasion, however. Wolf walked on beside Khlinov, his head bowed; he tapped the ground moodily with bis walking-stick as they went along. 

“So you think that Garin disappeared with his machine after that business at Ville d’Avray?” he asked. 

“Yea.” 

“And what about the ‘bloody find in the forest at Fontainebleau’? Couldn’t that be Garin?” 

“Do you mean that Shelga might have got the appa- ratus?” 

“I do.” 

“I hadn’t thought of that. Yes, that wouldn’t be at all bad,” 

“I suppose not,” said Wolf, mockingly, and raised his head. 

Khlinov cast a swift glance at his companion. They both stopped. A distant street-lamp lit up Wolf’s face, his malicious sneer, his cold eyes, his stubborn chin. 

“In any case it’s all guesswork, so far we’ve nothing to quarrel about,” said Khlinov. 

“Yes, I know.” 

“Wolf, I’m not trying to be smart with you, but I tell you in all seriousness that Garin’s apparatus must be in the U.S.S.R. That one desire of mine is enough to make me your enemy. On my word of honour, my dear Wolf, you have a very vague idea of what is good and had for your country.” 

“Are you trying to insult me?” 

Oh, hell. Although . . . yes.” Khlinov, in true Russian style, which Wolf immediately noticed, pushed his hat over one car and scratched behind the other. “After wc’vc killed 

132 

aboQt seven tnillion men between ns is there anj sense in getting insulted at a word?... YouVe a German from head to foot — armoured infantry, a maker of machines, I suppose your nerves are made of different stuff from mine. Listen, ^Tolf, if Garin's apparatus fell into the hands of somehodj' like you, the devil alone knows what ;ou would do with it.” 

"Germany will never become reconciled to her abase* ment.” 

When they reached the house where Khlinov rented a room on the ground floor they parted in silence. Khlinov went in and Wolf stood outside for some time slowly roll* Ing hit extinguished cigar between his teeth. Suddenly a ground window hurst open and Khlinov leaned out ex* citedly. 

“All. You’re still here. Tliank God. Wolf, I've got a telegram from Shetga in Paris Listen. ‘Criminal escaped. Am wounded, shall be inactive long time. Danger of world calsraity. Your presence essential.'” 

“I’m coming with you,” said Wolf. 

49 

Shadows of leaves flitted across the white window* curtains beyond which could be heard the constant gurgle of water. Portable sprays oo the hospital lawns set up fine showers of water that turned to rainbows in the sun* shine and dripped from the leaves of a plane-tree under the window. 

In a high, white room Shelga lay dozing in the soft light penetrating through ihe curtain. 

The noises of Paris came drifting in from a distance. Nearer sounds were the rustling of the trees, the voices of the birds, aud the monotonous splashing of the 

Wlienever a car hooted near by or there were footsteps in the corridor Shelga swiftly opened his eyes and glanced sharply at the door in alarm. He could not move. Both his arms were rendered immobile by plaster casts, his chest and head were bandaged. His only defence were his eyes. And again the sweet sounds from the garden lulled him to sleep. 

A Sister of the Carmelite Order, in white from head to foot, woke Shelga: with her plump hands she carefully raised a porcelain gravy bowl filled with tea to his Ups. After she had gone the fragrance of lavender remained. 

The day passed in sleep alternating with alarm. This was the seventh day since Shelga, bleeding and uncon- scious. had been picked up in the forest at Fontainebleau. 

A juge ({'instruction had twice questioned him already. Shelga's deposition was the following: 

“At twelve o’clock, midnight, I was attacked by two men. I defended myself with my stick and my fists. I was four times wounded and remember nothing more.” 

“Did you see the faces of your attackers?” 

“The lower parts of their faces were covered with handkerchiefs.” 

“And so you defended yourself with a walking-stick?” 

“Actually it was a branch I had picked up in the forest.” 

“How did you come to be in the forest at Fontainblcau so late at night?” 

“I had been for a walk, had had a look at the palace, wanted to come back through the forest, and lost my way.” 

“How do you account for the fact that fresh traces of a car were found near the place where you were attached?” 

“Tlic criminals must have used a car.” 

To kill or rob you?” 

“Neither the one nor the other, I think. Nobody knowa me in Parii. I do not work at the Emhatsy. I have no political miasion to fulfil. I had very little money with me.” 

“Then it could not have been you the criminala were waiting for when they atood under the double oak in the glade where one of them amoked and the other lost a cuff* Jink with a valuable pearl in it.” 

In all probability they were young society scapegraces who had lost a lot of money at the races or in the casino. They were probably looking for an opportnnitv to retrieve their fortunes. A man wtthhts pocket.book full of thousand- franc notes might very well come their way in the Fontainebleau Forest. 

At the second interrogation, when the jupe tTimiruc- tion confronted him with the telegram he had sent to Klilinov in Berlin (given to the /uge iTinstruction by the Carmelite Sister) Shelga said: 

“Thai’s in code. It concerns the arrest of an Important criminal who escaped from Russia.” 

“Can’t you be a little more frank with me?” 

“No, it’s not my secret." 

Shelga answered all «iue8tions precisely and clearly, looking straight into his interlocutor’s eyes honestly and even a little foolishly. There was nothing left for the jugc rf’insfruc/ion to do but believe in bis sincerity. 

The danger, however, was not past. There was danger in the columns of the newspapers that were filled ^ith details of the “nightmare crime at Ville d’Avray,” there was danger behind the door, behiod the white curtains that quivered in the breeze, there was danger in the gravy bowl lifted to his lipa by the plump hands of the Carmelite Sister. 

There was only one way out: to get the plaster casts and the bandages off as quickly as possible. Shelga lay motionless, half asleep. 

ISS 

50 

"■"47 .(.err """ ’'w-p^J^io^vr" ?""" 

t„rn here. Th. . 

<’«l»-ccn ,j," ,'“^7 j *'“'’'’5' '' “•” 

7 ll'e „arfi ,; 7 ’“ • 'landsffll '"''■ P»»<l 

" ■mrsecl lite ''"P'lyra C V"'°"® 

, ®"i" iTOncJ ® ■■■>•<. ,tV u '‘""P-'Pe »vcr 

'■“■I ta Z„e-7 ^ 0" .0 .1,, 7 7"" 6l.jr 

.7" car aid' H'''"' ‘''‘'™ o^ofZ^ S"' '■■'»' 

‘''™f -1 1.0, '"0 focc ,0 %, 7 "; 

1.0, Wad „;. 

'oice “T ° *^xeciifi'r,„ I 

I offer ,.„7,a„ « To 7 j"”,""- I" tl.c 

“",'.7P'»«...Ir. ‘"Ot -oJard. 7 ”■»■ Wo-’' 

•4 “"M '.ove t„,a, ' ««.•» .poke 

«*^nsotn’” you thf>..» » 

■>:c,>a;j 

cntlrprisef?”"'”^ o„t 

75(5 

“Yes. You ought to remember. ... On the Boulevard Malesherbes I told you. . . .** 

“Good," answered Rolling, “tomorrow I’ll receive yon. I must think over your proposal again." 

Zoe said in a low voice: 

“Rolling, don’t talk nonsense." 

“Maderaoiselle!’’ Rolling jumped and his bowler hat fell on to his nose. "Mademoiselle. . . . Your conduct is unheard of. You’ve deceived me.... You whore...." 

Zoc answered him in the same low voice: 

“Go to hell! You can talk to Garin." 

Rolling and Garin moved over to the double oak. Over there an electric torch was switched on and two heads bent close together. For a few seconds nothing could be heard except the splashing of the water amongst the stones. 

“. . . But there aren’t three of us . . . there’s a fourth here , . . there's a witness," Rotliog’s sharp voice reached Shelga’s ears. 

“Who’s there, who’s there?" mtittered Shelga, shudder* ing and still half*sfleep. His pupils distended in alsrm. 

Before him on the white chair sat Khlioov with his hat on his knees. 

SI 

“I had no time to think out their move," Shelga told him, “I acted like a fool, that’s all.’’ 

“It was a mistake to take Rolling with you in the car," answered Khlinov. 

“Like hell I took him! When the shooting and killing began in the hotel Rolling crouched in his car like a rat In its hole, with a couple of Colts ready for action. I had no Weapon with me. I climbed on to the balcony and saw how Garin dealt with the gangsters. I told Rolling about it. He got scared, hissed something at me but refused to 

get out of the car. Then he tried to shoot at Zoe Montrose but Garin and I twisted his hands behind his back. There was no time to spare so I jumped into the driver’s seat and made off.” 

“"When they went into a huddle under the oak-tree surely you must have realized what was going on?” 

“I knew they meant to finish me off. Wliat could 1 do? Kun for it? You know. I’m a sportsman, after all.... Apart from that, I had a plan worked out. I had a fake passport for Garin with half a dozen visas on it. His machine was within reach ... in the car. . . . Under those circumstances how could I think of my own skin?” 

“I suppose you couldn’t. And so they came to an agreement. . . .” 

“Rolling signed some paper, there under the tree, I saw that quite clearly. After that I heard what he said about the fourth witness, about me, that is. In a whisper I said to Zoe, ‘Listen, we just passed a policeman and he noted the number of the car. If I’m found dead you’ll all three be in handcuffs tomorrow.’ D’you know what she answered me? What a woman! . . . She didn’t look back but over her shoJilder she said, ‘All right. I’ll hear that in mind.’ And how lovely she is! . . . A real she-devil. But never mind, Garin and Rolling came back to the car. I acted as though nothing had happened. Zoe got in first and then leaned out and said something in English. Garin said to me, ‘Comrade Shclga, now gel going, full speed westwards.’ I stooped down in front of the radiator. . . . That was where I blundered. And that was the one chance they had. Once the car was mo\'ing at speed they would have been afraid to do anything. And so I started the entcine. . . . Suddenly on the top of my head, in my brain ... it was like a house falling on me, hones cracked, something hit me. light scared mv eyes, and I went out. The only thing I noticed was Rolling’s distorted mug. The 

.on of 0 bitch. Ho pot foot hnllet. into me. When J opoood ray oyM I trjs in tbu room." 

Shrlga had grown tired from talking. He lay Eilent lof a long time. 

‘‘\n\ere can Rollm? he nowr* ashed Khlinov. 

“^ere? DThy, in Paris of cpnne. He’s handling the press. He’s making a grand offensive on the chemical front. He’s simply shovelling in the money. The point is that at any moment I’m expecting a bullet through the window or poison in that gravy howl they feed me from. He’ll hnish me off, of course.” 

“Then why do you keep quiet? . . . You must commu* nicate with the Prefect of Police at once.” 

“3Iy deaf comrade, yoo're out of your mind! I'm only alive heeaase I keep qniet.*’ 

“And to TOO aetcifly saw the machine at work, Shelga?" 

“I saw it and now I know — guns, gas, aeroplanes, and all that are Jnst toys for babies. Don't forget that Garin isn't alone. Garin pins Rolling. A death-dealing machine and Rolling’s billions. ITe can expect anything from that eomhinatjoo.” 

Khlinov raised the blind and stood for a long time at the window staring ool at the emerald green Ibwji- at the old gardener who was having difhcuhy in draconc tat metal pipes of the sprinkler over to the shady rid? o: ti»f garden, at the black thmshes that were bnsy huntinr -jrir- worms under the verbena bushes. The skr. dtiigrtTn!?' blue, gave the garden an air of etemai peact 

“Suppose we leave them to lhe»f?)rei Je- Tmunr and Garin unfold (heir scheme sa ai) it- n:z=iiinr-E«=.“ began Khlinov, “and it will soon In- orci 'Tc- weri ^ inevitably perish. Here ocJt the icresne rr- 

Khlinov turned away from the window. “Stone-age man was undoubtedly greater. He decorated the interiors of his caves because he felt an artistic urge and not for pay; silting by bis fire he thought about mammoths and thunder- storms, about the strange cycle of life and death and about himself. The devil knows that was really dignified! His brain was still small, his skull thick, but spiritual energy radiated from his head. Wliat the hell do people of today %vant with flying machines? I’d like to take some dandy from the boulevards and confront him with a paleolithic man in his cave. That hairy gentleman would ask him, ‘Wliat has your brain been doing these hundred thousand years, you son of a sick bitch?’ And that dandy would twist and turn: ‘Ah, d’you know I don’t go in much for brainwork, I prefer to enjoy the fruits of civilization. Monsieur Ancestor. ... If it were not for the danger of the hoi polloi revolting our world would be truly beautiful. 'Women, restaurants, a little excitement over cards in the casino, a little sport. . . . But the real trouble is these constant crises and revolutions — they make one tired. . . .’ And the ancestor woidd fix his burning eyes on the dandy and would say, ‘As for me, I like to think, I sit here and admire the genius of my mind. I would like it to penetrate into the universe.’ ” 

Khlinov stopped talking. He smiled, staring into the half-light of a paleolithic cave. He shook his head. 

“Wliat do Garin and Bolling want? They want to be tickled. Let them call it power over the whole world, if they like, all the same it’s nothing more than just tick- ling. Thirty million people perished in the last war. This time they want to kill three hundred million. Spiritual energy is in a state of coma. Professor Reicher only dines on Sundays. All the week he cats two pieces of bread with margarine and jam for lunch and boiled potatoes with salt for dinner. Such is the reward for brainwork. . . . And that s how it will be until we have blown up all that 

140 

^civilization* of theirs. We’ll pat Garin In a lunatic asylum and send JloIIing away to use his administrative ability on some Wraogel Island... « You’re right. We must fight. I’m ready. Garin’s machine must belong to the U.S.S.R.” 

“We shall have that machine,” said Sbelga, closing bis eyes. 

“Where do we begin?” 

“With a spot of intelligence work.” 

“In what direction?” 

“Garin is moat likely building machines at top speed DOW. That was only a model be had at Vilte d’Avray. If he manages to build a full-size machine it will be difficult to get it away from him. The first thing we want to know is— where Is be building bis machines?” 

“That will take money.” 

“Go today to Rue Crenelle and talk with our ambassador. I’ve already told him a little. He'll give you money. The second thing: we must find Zoe Montrose. That’s very important. She’s a clever wotnan, cruel and with a tremendous imsgioatioo. She has brought Garin and Rolling together to the death. She is the spring that works their whole mechanism.” 

“Excuse me, hut I'm not going to fight women.” 

“Alexei Semyonovich, she’s stronger than you and I together. She’ll spill plenty of blood yet.” 

S3 

Zoe got out of the low round hath and offered her back — the maid placed a bath-robe of Turkish towelling on her shoulders. Zoe, still covered with little bubbles of aea foam, aat down on a marble bench. 

Flickering sun-rayi slanted through the portholes, a greenish light played on the marble walls, the bathroom swayed slightly. The maid wiped Zoe’s legs cautiously, like 

t4I 

something very precious, and drew on stockings and white shoes. 

“Your lingerie, madame.” 

Zoe got up lazily and the maid dressed her in cobweb- by underwear. She glanced past the mirror and frowned. The maid dressed her in a white skirt and a white jacket with gold buttons, cut sailor fashion, all proper and fitting for the owner of a three-hundred-ton yacht in the Medi- terranean Sea. 

“Make up, madame?” 

“You’re crazy,” answered Zoe, looked slowly at the maid and went up on deck where breakfast was laid on a low wicker table on the shady side. 

Zoe sat down at the table. She broke a piece of bread in her fingers absent-mindedly and looked over the side. The narrow white hull of the yacht slid over the mirror- like surface of the water — the sea was a clear blue, a little darker than the cloudless sky. An odour of freshly-washed decks pervaded the air and a tvarm breeze caressed her legs under her skirt. 

On both sides of the slightly curved deck of narrow yellowish planks stood wicker armchairs and in the centre a silver Anatolian carpet was spread, on which a number of brocade cushions lay scattered. Prom bridge to stern stretched a blue silken awning with fringe and tassels. 

Zoij sighed and began her breakfast. 

Stepping softly. Captain Jansen came smilingly up to her — he was a Norwegian, clean-shaven, rosy-checked, like a grown-up boy. He slowly raised two fingers to a cap worn over one car. 

“Good morning, Madame Lamolle.” (Zoe sailed under that name and under the French fiag.) 

The captain was all in white, well-groomed and elegant in a clumsy, sailor fnsliion. Zoe looked him over from the gold oak-leaves on his cap to his white, ropc-solcd shoes. She was satisfied. 

“Good morning, Jansen.** 

“Permit roe to report: course, north-west by west, lati* tude and longitude (such and such), Vesuvius is visible on the horizon. We shall see Naples in less than an hour.** 

“Sit down, Jansen.*' 

With a movement of her hand she invited him to par- ticipate in her breakfast. Jansen sat down on a wicker stool that creaked under the weight of bis strong body. Me refused breakfast, be had eaten at nine o'clock. Out of politeness he took a cup of coffee. 

Zoe examined his sun-tanned face with its blond eye- brows — it gradually was suffused with colour. Without even tasting Ins coffee be placed the cup back on (he table. 

“We must take in fresh water aud oil for the engines," he said without raising his eyes. 

“What? Put into Naples? flow boring. If you must have water and oil, we can stand in the outer roads." 

“Aye, aye, madame," answered the captain softly. 

“Jansen, weren't your ancestors pirates?" 

“Yes, madame." 

“That must have been thrilling! Adventure, danger, revelry, the rape of beautiful women. . . . Aren't you sorry you're not a buccaneer?” 

Jansen did not answer. His reddish eyelashes flick- ered. There were wrinkles on his forehead. 

“Well?" 

“1 was well brought up, madame." 

“I don't doubt it." 

“Is there aaythiag about me (hat leads you to suppose that I am capable of illegal or disloyal acts?" 

“Huh," said Zoe, “a big. strong man, the descendant of pirates, and all he can do is carl a capricious female about on a hot and boring pood. Hub!" 

“But, madame...." 

“Do somelliing silly, Jansen, I'm fed up. . . 

“Aye, aye, madame, I will." 

143 

“When there’s a big storm run the yacht on to the rocks.” 

“Aye, aye, madame. I’ll run the yacht on to the rocks. . . 

“Do you mean to do that, seriously? . . 

“If you order it.” 

He looked at Zoe. The hurt that showed in his eyes was mingled with admiration. Zoe reached over and placed her hand on his white sleeve. 

“I’m not joking, Jansen. I’ve only known you for three weeks but it seems to me that you’re the sort that can be loyal (he clenched his teeth). It seems to me that you are capable of actions that go beyond the bounds of loyalty, if ... if. . . 

At that moment running feet appeared on the lacquer and bronze companion-way leading from the bridge. 

“It’s time, madame . . .” interjected Jansen, 

The first mate descended to the deck. He saluted. 

“Madame Lamolle, it’s three minutes to twelve. There will be a wireless call now. . . .” 

54 

Her white skirt bellied out in the breeze as Zoe went towards the radio cabin on the upper deck. She screwed up her eyes and breathed deeply of the salt air. From that height, from the captain’s bridge, the sun-filled ex- panse of ruffled, glassy sea seemed boundless. 

Zoe looked around and was lost in admiration as she stood at the rail. The narrow hull of the yacht with its raised bowsprit flew along amidst the breezes on that sparkling sea. 

Her heart beat faster from sheer joy. It seemed that if she took her hands off the rail she would fly away. Man is a wonderful being — what measure can be used to 

144 

gauge the (inexiiectcdrteia of ItU irAiufunuatioiu? radiattoQs of will power, the venomou* fluid «f lu»t, a Af***! that leemcd to have liccn ahalteml— nU Zrtl''t touui'uUu?. and dublnua pa»v had hven jmaUed a»UW, dU*ft\\U\p. Uv t\»»V bright Bunfhinr. . , . 

“rm young . . . 1‘in yotiiig . . ft Brcuipd to hct on tlio deck of a vectel with iti howaprlt raiiril to ihr min, "INn beauttfuh I’m kind. . . .** 

The bre«« carened her neck nm! fare. riirii|«tnro«l. Zo? desired happineti. Scarcely able lo drag b<*r«rU *^a' fr«3 the light* the »Viy, the aea, abe tiiriicil the rohl dooi tanCe and imteTed a g\an caWn in wbUb the WiniU vctc ♦frrvs R-a i?y» *sony tide. She look up the earplionpi Shr rwteri ter efie/v« on the table and covfml brr e\e< vitb ter fa-gm— ter hejiri wa« alilt beftlinp faxl. 7 tn*n?*»'' 6.1 sSie ffnt 

*Toa anry f 

Et -tn't of the cahin with » mde'jUnc-e a: 

SCuCmtrt- t4mrtO. She wa* iiol only dcMliNhS beantifii, graftef if, ei^^tnt—aome jnexpiitaMt 

TTue terote* of ibr chronowrtrr. iikr a «ut% 

iie‘11. rituf'r.'jt' <b*' hour of twchc. 7of SRiflrn. iiarx iiniuu»e» iirtit! ■•Cryt^^J lincp »lie r<*<r irorc t-r cs3-t 

:t<e 

-tiipfi: '^f-A-ra lo feel, to turc cvrri =u:int- rote an di**- ihought. “1 mn<l fcnrv tia: -aSeaH o? me a«» rfuillrtHip .<'? minntPii, mllliMs o: etrrsazirsr* 

^iui'u*^d the n*i{fh enr je ij.=; -junrH the ^twveuiti^^ io *a a viirifsrtj: tc * iinocrrd and ihirtr tniiit* €rf mptrtx. Froa: zh- hla^ 

.ttftie RoI!ir;\ -tv*.. <vnlrT; ' 

“Madame Lamolle, Madame Lamolle, Madame La- 

niolle Are you listening, are you listening, are 

you. . . 

“Hallo, yes, Fm listening, calm yourself. ...” 

“ . . . Is everything all right? Hav'c you any trouble? Do you need anything? Today, at the same hour as usual I shall be happy to hear your voice. . . . Use the same wave- length as usual. . . . Madame Lamolle, do not go too far from fourteen degrees east longitude, forty degrees north latitude. It is quite possible that we shall meet soon. Everything here is all right. Things are fine. The man who has to keep his mouth shut, does so. Don’t worry, good luck and pleasant sailing. . . 

Zoe took off the earphones. A frown marred her fore- head. Glancing at the hands of the chronometer, she muttered between her teeth, “I’m fed up!” These daily voAvs of love by wireless were getting on her nerves. Roll- ing could not and would not leave her in peace. He was prepared to commit any crime as long as she permitted iiim to croak into the microphone every day, “Don’t worry, good luck and pleasant sailing.” 

56 

Zoe and Rolling had not met since the murderous in- cidents at Ville d’Avray and Fontainebleau and a mad ride with Garin along the empty, moonlit road to Havre. He had fired at her that evening, had insulted her and then calmed down. Zoe imagined he was weeping in silence as he sat hunched up in the car. 

In Havre she boarded Rolling’s yacht Arizona and at dawn put out into the Bay of Biscay. In Lisbon, Zoe was banded papers in the name of Madame Lamolle and be- came the owner of one of the most luxurious yachts in t c west. Leaving Lisbon, the Arizona entered the Mcdi- 

146 

terranean and had since been cruising in the vicinit^r of 14® E. long, and 40® N. lat., keeping within reach of the Italian seaboard. 

Rolling immediately estabUehed contact with the yacht through his private wireless station at Mention near l’ati<. Captain Jansen reported all details of the trip to Rollinc. Rolling called Zoc every day. Every evening she reported to him on her “moods”. Ten days had passed in this tno- notony when the Arizona** wireless operator heanl short- wave signals in an unknown language. Zoe was informed and she heard a voice that caused her heart to mi«* a beat 

“Zoe, Zoe, Zoe. , . 

Garin's voice butzed in her earphones like a bine- bottle buzzing against a window-pane. He repeated her name and then after a short pause said, “Answer me be- tween one and three tonight.” 

Then again: “Zoe, Zoe, Zoe.,.. Be careful. Be care- ful. ...” 

That same night, over the dark sea, over sleeping Europe, over the ancient ash-heaps of Asia Minor, over the datt-eoveeed thorns of the sac-dried vegetation cf Africa's plains, radio waves carried the voice of a woman. 

“I am calling to him who asked for in answer between one and three. . , 

Zoc repeated this call several times and then said: 

“I want to see you. Call it madness if yon like. Kamp any port iu Italy. . . . Don’t call me by name. Til recognize your voice...,” 

Wliile ZoS was persistently repeating her call in the hope that Gariu — be he in Europe, Asia or Africa — wonld pick up the electro-magnetic waves emitted by the Arizona. more than a thousand miles away in Paris a telephone bell rang on the little table beside the double bed where Rolling slept alone, his nose tucked into the blankets. 

Rolling jumped up and Snatched up the receiver. Se- myonov’s voice told him in a hurry: 

■‘Rolling, she’s talking.” 

“With whom?” 

“I can’t hear, she doesn’t mention him by name.” 

“O.K. Continue listening. Report tomorrow.” 

Rolling put down the receiver, got back into bed, but sleep had already left him. 

Semyonov’s task was no easy one: he had to pick out Zoe’s weak voice amongst the dance music, advertisements, church choirs, bulletins on international affairs, operas, symphonies, stock exchange reports, and jokes of famous comedians that raged hurricane-like over Europe. 

Day and night Semyonov sat in the wireless station at Mendon. He managed to pick up a few phrases in Zoe’s voice and that was enough to arouse Rolling’s jealousy. 

Rolling felt very bad after the night in Fontaine- bleau. As long as Shelga was alive a terrible threat hung over Rolling’s head. He had been forced to sign an agree- ment with Garin, whom he would willingly have lynched like a Negro. Perhaps Rolling would have held out even then — better death, the scaffold, anything rather than this alliance — hut Zoe had broken his will power. By coming to an agreement with Garin he was gaining time: perhaps that crazy woman would think better of it, repent and return to him. . . . Rolling actually had wept in the car, wept silently in his corner. . . . The devil alone knew why. . . . On account of a wanton, mercenary harlot. . . . But the tears were, nevertheless, bitter and tormenting. . . • One of the terms of the agreement had been that Zoe should take a long trip on his yacht. (This was essential to cover up all traces.) He hoped to persuade her, to appeal to her conscience, to attract her to him by daily talks over the wireless. His hopes were, if possible, even more foolish than the tears in the car. 

In accordance with his agreement with Garin, Rolling immediately launched a “general offensive on the chemical front.” On the day when Zoe had hoarded the Arizona 

m 

at Harre, Holling had returned to Parit train. He in* formed the police that he had been in Havre and on the way back had been attacked by bandits at night (three of them, their faces covered with handkerchiefs). They had robbed him of his money and his car. (Garin in the meantime had driven Rollmg's ear across France from west to east, had crossed the Luxembourg border and sunk the car in the first canal he came across.) 

“The offensive on the chemical front** had begun. The Paris newspapers set up a tremendous hullabaloo. “The Riddle of the Ville d’Avray Tragedy,’* “Mysterious Attack on Russian in Fontainebleau Park,** “Audacious Robbery of Chemical King,” “American Billions in Europe,** “Twi* light of German National Industry,** “Rolling or Mos* cowP^-^all these taken together made a lump that stuck in the throat of the man in the street, especially if he hap* pened to be a shareholder. The stock exchange was shaken to the very foundations. A horde of madmen, with eyes ready to pop out of their heads, shouted and milled around the blackboards between its grey columns, where feverish hands wrote, rubbed out, end rewrote the prices of falling stock. 

This, however, was nothing, only the small fry gasping for air. The bigger Csh, the industrialists and the bankers, clenched their teeth and sat tight. Even Rolling's buffalo horns found it hard to throw them. It was for that serious operation Garin was making his preparations. 

As Shclga had rightly guessed, Garin was in Germany, “feverishly" building a full-sized machine from his model. He travelled from town to town ordering parts in different factories. He kept in touch with Paris through the adver* tisement columns of a Cologne newspaper while Rolling inserted brief announcements in one of the cheaper Paris dailies: “Concentrate all attention on aniline...'*, “Every day of value, don’t begrudge money...”, etc. 

Garin replied: “Finishing earlier than expected....” 

i49 

“Place found. . . “Beginning. . . “Unexpected de- lay. . . .” 

Rolling: “Worried. Name the day. . . 

Garin: “Count thirty-five days from signing of con- tract. . . .” 

The last communication coincided with Semyonov’s night telephone call to Rolling. Rolling was furious — ^he was being fooled. Apart from everything else, secret com- munications with the Arizona were dangerous. Not by a single word, however, did Rolling betray himself when he talked to Madame Lamollc the follo%ving day. 

In the hours of insomnia that were now Rolling’s usual lot he pondered over the “game” he was playing with Iiis mortal enemy. He discovered blunders. Garin’s defence was not as strong as it seemed to be. He had made a mistake when he agreed to Zoe’s voyage on the Arizona — the end of the game was predetermined. Rolling would checkmate him on hoard the Arizona. 

57 

^nsona, however, things were not quite " lat Rolling imagined. He remembered Zoe as a clever, calmly calculating, cold, and loyal woman. He knew her disdain for all women’s foibles. He could not believe that icr infatuation for that penniless tramp, the bandit Garin, "oil ast ong. A good trip in the Mediterranean should 

U in a sort of delirium when she had 

oar c t c yac It at Havre. A few days of loneliness on 

through the 

and tl 1 amidst blue light, bright, lucid water, 

inr in waves as tranquil as eternity. Shudder- 

n.ne, glessy.cvcJ body of U„„ir, ,1,, bubHiog, smoky 

isa 

streak across Bee de Canard’s ctsest, the damp glade at Fontainebleau, and Bolting’s frenzied shots, just as though he sverc shooting a mad dog.... 

Nevertheless her brain did not clear in the way Boll* ing hoped. In her sleeping and waking hours she dreamed of delightful islands and marble palaces with staircases leading down to the sea.... Crowds of beautiful people, music, waving flags. . . . And she — the mistress of this fan* tastic world. . . . 

Her dreams and her visions in the chair under the blue awning were a continuation of her talk with Garin at Ville d'Avray (an hour before the murders). Only one man on Earth, Garin, would have understood her at that moment. With him, however, were connected the glassy eyes of Lenoir and the horrible, gaping mouth of Dec de Canard. 

This explains why Zoe’s heart stood still when Garin’s voice suddenly muttered to her in the earphones. . . . Since then she had been calling him daily, imploring and threat* ening him. She wanted to aee him but feared the meeting. She visualized him as a htack spot in the azure purity of the sea and sky. . . . She longed to rrlate her daydreams to him. She wanted to ask him where that Olivine Belt was. Zoe wandered restlessly about the yacht, robbing Captain Jansen and his first mate of their peace of mind. 

“Wait,” came Garin’s answer. “Everything will he as you wish. You must only wish hard enough. Desire! Go out of your mind — that’s good. That is just the way I need you. Without you my enterprise means nothing to me.” 

That was his last radio message, also intercepted hy Bolling. Today Zoe awaited an answer to her question — precisely on what day was she to expect him on the yacht? She went up on deck and leaned on the rail. The yacht was scarcely moving. The wind had died down. In the east there lay a haze over the still invisible land and a column of ashy smoke hung over Vesuvius. 

151 

On the bridge Captain Jansen lowered the hand hold- ing his binoculars and Zoe felt that he was looking at her enthralled. How could he do other than gaze at her when all the marvels of heaven and sea were created only to be admired by Madame Lamolle standing at the rail above that milky-blue abyss. 

How improbable, how ridiculous seemed those times when, for a dozen pairs of silk stockings, for a dress from a famous house, or simply for a thousand francs, she had permitted those bounders with pudgy fingers and florid 

cheeks to slobber over her! Phew! . . . Paris, drinking 

dens, foolish street girls, swinish men, the stink of the streets, money, money, money — what squalor! . . . Restless activity in a cesspool! . . . 

That night Garin had said to her, “If you wish it you may be the vicar of God or the Devil on earth, whichever is the more to your liking. If you feel a desire to kill — sometimes one feels such an urge — you will have power over all mankind. A woman like you, Zoe, will find plenty of use for the wealth of the Olivine Belt. . . 

Zoe thought: 

“Roman Emperors deified themselves. It must have given them pleasure. It ought to be quite amusing now- adays, too. All these miserable little beings ought to be useful for something. The incarnation of God, a living goddess surrounded by fantastic magnificence. . . . Why not? The press could prepare the way for my deification quickly and easily. The world ruled by a marvellously beautiful woman. That would have undoubted success. Somewhere in the islands I could build a beautiful city for selected youths, the predestined lovers of the goddess. It would be something new in the way of sensations to ap- pear as a goddess amongst those sex-starved hoys.” 

Zoe shrugged her shoulders and again looked towards the captain. 

“Come over here. Jansen.” 

He came, walking with big. loft itrides over tlie hot deck. 

“Jansen, don’t you think I*m mad?” 

“I don’t think so, and shall not think so, no matter what you may order me to do.” 

“Thank you. I appoint you Grand Master of the Order of the Divine Zoe.” 

Jansen’s blond eyelashes blinked. Then he raised his hand and saluted, lowered it, and blinked again. Zoe laughed and his lips also formed a smile. 

“Jansen, there is a possibility of the wildest dreami coming true.... Everything that a woman could think of on a hot afternoon like this. But it means struggle....” 

“Aye, aye...” answered Jansen, shortly. 

“How many knots can the Arizona do?’’ 

“Up to forty.” 

“TTliat vessels could overtake her in the open sea?” 

“Very few.” 

“We might have to hold out through a long chase.” 

“Do you want me to take on board a fnll reserve of fuel?” 

“Yes. And canned goods, fresh water, champagne. . . . Captain Jansen, we’re going on a very dangerous enter* prise.” 

“Yes, madame.” 

“But, I’m sure of victory, do you hear?” 

The ship’s bell rang once. Zoe went to the wireless Cabin. She sat down at the table and turned the switch of the receiver. At first she picked up a few bars of a fox* trot from somewhere. 

She glanced at the chronometer and frowned. Garin was sileot. She again turned the switch, trying to control her trembling fingers. 

. . . An unknown, slow voice spoke into her ear in Russian: 

• . If you value the life of... on Friday land in 

153 

Naples . . . await news at the Hotel Splendide nntil Saturday noon. . . 

That was the end of a message sent out on a wave- length of four hundred and twenty-one metres, that is, the wavelength Garin had been using all the time. 

58 

For the third night in succession the Carmelite Sister had forgotten to close the shutters of Shclga’s room. Every evening he pointed out this oversight to her. He w'atclied carefully to make sure that the catch fastening the two halves of the shutters was snapped into place. 

In the course of these three weeks Shclga had so far convalesced that he could get up and sit by the window, where he could sec the luxuriant foliage of the plane-tree, the black thrushes, and the rainbows playing in the spray in the centre of the lawn. 

From his vantage-point the hospital garden, surrounded by a solid brick wall, lay open before him. In the eight- eenth century the building had belonged to a monastery destroyed by the revolution. Monks do not approve of curious eyes and so the wall was high and was topped by a fringe of broken glass. 

It was only possible to climb over the wall by placing a ladder on the outer side. The narrow streets around the hospital were quiet and empty, nevertheless the street- lamps shone so brightly and the steps of the policeman so often hrokc tlic silence that the use of a ladder was out of the question. 

It goes without saying that an active man could easily have scaled the wall without a ladder if it had not been for the broken glass. Every morning Shclga examined c^ cry brick of the wall from behind the curtain. Danger threatened from that direction alone; Rolling’s man would* 

154 

hardlf risk entering throagh the hospital. Shelga had no doubt, however, that sooner or later, one way or another, assassins would come. 

He was now awaiting an eaamination in order to gel discharged from the hospital. The doctor usually came five times a week. But now it seemed that he was ill. Shelga was informed that he would not be allowed to leave with* out the sanction of the head doctor. He did not even try to protest. He got a message to the Soviet Embassy asking them to send him food; the hospital soup he poured down the sink and the bread he fed to the thrushes. 

Shelga knew that Bolling had to get rid of the only witness. He was so tensed that he hardly slept any more. The Carmelite Sister brought him newspapers and he worked all day with his scissors and studied the cuttings he made. He had forbidden Khlinov to come to the hoa* pital. (Wolf was in Germany, in the nhinelaod, where he was collecting information on Bolling's battle with the German Aniline Company.) 

Tlie next morning, going to the window as usual, Shelga glanced round the garden and immediately stepped back behind the curtain. He even felt glad about what he saw. At last! On the northern side of the garden, half hidden behind a lime.trec, a gardener's ladder had been placed against the wall so that its upper end extended nearly a yard above the row of broken glass. 

“The swine arc clever!" exclaimed Shelga. 

Tliere was nothing left to do hut w'ait. He had thought everything out. His right arm, although it was no longer in bandages, was still weak. His left arm was still in a plaster east and the nurse had bound it tightly to his body. That left arm with its plaster cast weighed about fifteen pounds and was the only weapon of defence left to him. 

On the fourth night the Carmelite Sister again forgot to close the shutters. On this oceasion Shelga did not pro- test and by nine o'clock be pretended to be asleep. He 

Naples ... await news at the Hotel Splendide until Saturday noon. . . .” 

That was the end of a message sent out on a wave- length of four hundred and twenty-one metres, that is, the wavelength Garin had been using all the time. 

58 

For the third night in succession the Carmelite Sister had forgotten to close the shutters of Shelga’s room. Every evening he pointed out this oversight to her. He watched carefully to make sure that the catch fastening the two halves of the shutters was snapped into place. 

In the course of these three weeks Shclga had so far convalesced that he could get up and sit by the window, where he could see the luxuriant foliage of the plane-tree, the black thrushes, and the rainbows playing in the spray in the centre of the lawn. 

From his vantage-point the hospital garden, surrounded by a solid brick wall, lay open before him. In the eight- eenth century the building had belonged to a monastery destroyed by tlie revolution. Monks do not approve of curious eyes and so the wall was high and was topped by a fringe of broken glass. 

It was only possible to climb over the wall by placing a ladder on the outer side. The narrow streets around the hospital were quiet and empty, nevertheless the street- lamps shone so brightly and the steps of the policeman so often broke the silence that the use of a ladder was out of the question. 

It goes without saying that an active man could easily have scaled the wall without a ladder if it had not been or the broken glass. Every morning Shclga examined every brick of the wall from behind the curtain. Danger threatened from that direction alone; Rolling’s man would- 

1S4 

hardly rial^ entering through the hospital. Shelga had no doubt, however, that sooner or later, one way or another, assassins would come. 

He was now awaiting an examination in order to get discharged from the hospital. The doctor usually came five times a week. But now it seemed that he was ill. Shelga was informed that he would not be allowed to leave with- out the sanction of the head doctor. He did not even try to protest. He got a message to the Soviet Embassy asking them to send him food; the hospital soup he poured down the sink and the bread he fed to the thrushes. 

Shelga knew that Rolling had to get rid of the only witness. He was so tensed that he hardly slept any more. Tlie Carmelite Sister brought him newspapers and he worked all day with his scissors and studied the cuttings he made. He had forbidden Khlinov to come to the hos- pital. (Wolf was in Germany, in the Rhineland, where he was collecting information on Rolling’s battle with the German Aniline Company.) 

The next morning, going to the window as usual, Shelga glanced round the garden and immediately stepped back behind tbe curtain. He even felt glad about what be saw. At lastl On the northern side of the garden, half hidden behind a lime-tree, a gardener's ladder had been placed against the wall so that its upper end extended nearly a yard above the row of broken glass. 

“The swine are clcverl” eicloimcd Shelga. 

There was nothing left to do but wait. He had thought everything out. His right arm, although it was no longer in bandages, was still weak. His left arm was still in a plaster cast and the nurse had bound it tightly to his body. That left arm with its plaster cast weighed about fifteen pounds and was the only weapon of defence left to him. 

On the fourth night the Carmelite Sister again forgot to close the shutters. On this occasion Sbelga did not pro- test and by nine o'clock he pretended to be asleep. He 

155 

heard shutters closing on both storeys of the hospital but his •Hundow’ again remained wide open. "When the lights were put out he jumped out of bed and with the aid of his teeth and his weak right hand began to unfasten the ban- dage holding his left arm. 

He stood still and listened, holding his hreath. At last the arm hung free. He could unbend it half-way. He looked out into the garden and there, in the light of the street- lamp, saw the ladder still standing against the wall behind the lime-tree. He rolled up his blanket and pushed it under the sheet so that in the semi-darkness it would look like a man lying there. 

It was quiet outside, the only sound coming from water dripping from the leaves. Reflected in the clouds above Paris was a faint bluish glow. The noises of the boule- vards did not reach him. The black branches of the plane- tree hung motionless. 

A motor-car engine growled near by. Shelga strained his ears — it seemed to him that he could hear the beating hearts of the birds asleep in the plane-tree. A long time must have passed. From the garden came a scraping and grating sound as though some wooden object were being rubbed over plaster. 

Shelga pressed himself against the wall behind the cur- tains. He lowered his arm in its plaster cast. “Who? is it? Surely not Rolling himself?” he wondered. 

Leaves rustled and the thrushes W'cre disturbed. Shelga watched the patch of moonlit parquet floor where the intruder’s shadow' should fall. 

He won’t shoot, of course,” thought Shelga. “I must 

expect some sort of filth like phosgene .” The outline 

of a head W'ith a hat pulled dow'n hard began creeping across the moonlit floor. Shelga drew' back his arm to give greater force to the blow. The shadow increased to include the shoulders, and a hand was lifted up with the fingers outstretched. . . . 

**S!ieIga, Comrade Shelga,** the sbadov whiipered id Russian, “it’s me, don’t be afraid. . . 

Shelga had expected almost anything with the possible exception of those words and that voice. He let ont an involuntary gasp. He had given himself away and the man immediately leaped into the room, clearing the window* sill with a single spring. He held ont both hands in front as though to defend himself. It was Garin. 

“You were expecting an attack. I thought so,” he said in a hurry. “They were planning to kill you tonight. That wouldn’t suit me. The devil alone knows what I am risk* ing, but I must save you. Come along, I have a car." 

Shelga moved away from the wall. 

Garin's teeth flashed in a smile as he saw Shelga’s raised arm in its plaster cast. 

“Listen, Shelga, it’s not my fault, by God, it’s not. Do you remember our agreement in Leningrad? 1 play fair. The unpleasantness at Fontainebleau you owe entirely to that awine Rolling. You may trust me — come along, every second is precious. . . ." 

At last Shelga spoke. 

“All right, you’ll take roe away and then what?” 

“I’ll hide you. It’s only for a short time, don’t worry. Until I get a half from UoHing. ... Do you read the news- papers? Rolling's having the luck of the devil but he can’t play fair. How much do you want, Shelga? Name any figure you like! Ten, twenty, fifty million? I’ll give you .a note of hand. • . 

Garin spoke softly hut hurriedly as though in a deli- rium; his face was twitching all the time. 

“Don't be a fool, Shelga. Are you trying to play the man of principle or what? I’m offering you an opportunity to work with me against Rolling. Well? Come along." 

Shelga stubbornly shook Ids head. 

“I don’t want to go with you.” 

“If you don’t tbey'll kill you.” 

/57 

“We’ll see about that.” 

“The nurses, nightwatchman, the administration have all been bought by Rolling. They’ll strangle you. I 

know You won’t live till morning. . . . You’ve warned 

your embassy, haven’t you? Good, very good. The ambas- sador will demand an explanation. At the very most the French government will apologize. But that won’t do you any good. Rolling must get rid of the witness. He’ll not allow you to cross the threshold of the Soviet Embassy.” 

“Fve told you I won’t go. I don’t want to. . . .” 

Garin breathed heavily and looked out of the window. 

“All right then, if you won’t go I’ll take you.” 

He stepped back and thrust his hand into his overcoat pocket. 

“Oh, you will, will you....” 

“Yes, like this. . . .” 

Garin pulled a gas-mask out of his pocket and hurried- ly covered his face with it; before Shelga had time to cry out, a stream of some oily liquid hit him in the face. All he saw was Garin’s hand squeezing a rubber bulb. Shelga swallowed some sweet asphyxiating narcotic. . . . 

59 

“Any news?” 

“Yes. Good morning, Wolf.” 

‘ I’ve come straight from the station as h\ingry as I was in 1918.” 

You look happy. Wolf. Have found out anything?” 

I VC found out a few things. Are we going to talk here?” 

“If you like, only quickly.” 

Wolf sat down beside Khlinov on a stone scat under the equestrian statue of Henri IV, their backs to the black towers of the Conciergerie. Below them, where the 

lie de Cite ended in n eliarp point, g weeping willow hung over tlie water. Here, eeotoriea ago, the Knightg Templars hod been burned at the stake. In the disloncc, beyond the dozens of bridges reflected in the river, the sun sank in a cloud of orange-coloured dust. Along the embankment and on steel barges loaded with sand sat Frenchmen with their flshing-rods, good bourgeois who had been ruined by the inflation, Holling and the world war. On the granite parapets of the left bank, as for as the Quai d’Orsay, seller# of second-hand Looks lounged listlessly in the evening sun beside wares that were no longer needed by anybody in that city. 

This was the Old Paris that was fast coming to an end. Elderly gentlemen with sclerotic eyes and moustaches that covered their mouths, to long dust-coats and old atraw hats, still hovered around the bookstalls, the cages of birds on the quays and the despondent anglers. . . . There had been a time when this bad been their bailiwick. Over there in the Coociergerie, sacrehhu, Danton had roared like an ox being led to the slaughter. And over there on the right, beyond the slate roofs of the Louvre, where the Jardins des TuUleries lay in the dusk, there had been great doings when General de Calliffet’s grape-shot had whistled down the Rue de Rivoli. And how much gold there had been in France! Every stone here had a story to tell to those who were able to listen, a story of the great past. But now, mille diables, a foreign monster by the name of Rolling bad become master of the city and the good bourgeois had nothing left to do but throw his line into the Seine and ait there with bowed bead. . . . Eh- he-be! Oh, la-la! . . . 

Volf lit a pipe loaded with strong tobacco. 

*This is the way things are,” he began. ‘The Cernian Aniline Company is the only one that will not eater into any agreement with the Americans. Tbe compaor has been giren a government subsidy of twenty-eight million 

marks. All Rolling’s efforts are now concentrated on over- throwing the German Aniline Company.” 

“Is he speculating on a fall in prices?” asked Khlinov. 

“He’s selling huge quantities of Aniline stock for de- livery on the 28th of this month.” 

“That’s very important information, Wolf.” 

“Yes, I think we’re on the track. Rolling is appar- ently sure of his game although the shares haven’t dropped a single pfennig yet and today is already the twentieth. . . . Do you know what he must be relying on?” 

“They must have everything ready, then?” 

“I believe the apparatus has already been erected.” 

“Where are the Aniline Company’s factories?” 

“On the Rhine, near K. If Rolling brings about the collapse of the company he will be master of the entire European chemical industry. We mustn’t allow a catas- trophe. We must save German Aniline. (Khlinov shrugged his shoulders but he did not say anything.) I understand: what is to be will be. You and I alone cannot stop the onslaught of America. All the same history sometimes plays some strange tricks.” 

“Like revolution, for example.” 

“May be even that.” 

Khlinov looked at him with something like astonish- ment. Wolf’s eyes were round, yellow, and malicious. 

“Wolf, the bourgeois won’t lift a finger to save Europe.” 

“I know.” 

“Do you?” 

“During this trip I’ve taken a good look round. The bourgeois, be he French, German, English or Italian, is blindly, criminally, and cynically selling up the old world. This is where this culture of ours ends, at the auction, under the hammer.” WoIFs face grew red. 

I have applied to the authorities, I have hinted at the danger, 1 ve asked for help in the search for Garin. I’ve 

poken about Ibc most terrible ibings to tlicm. They lugbcd in my face. To bell with them! I’m not the sort fiat gives up.” 

“Wolf, what did jou learn on the Rhine?” 

“I learned. . . . The Aniline Company has been given lig war orders by the German Government. Production at be Aniline factories has reached the most dangerous tage. They have almost five hundred tons of tctryl being irocesscd at the moment.” 

Khlinov jumped up from his seat, the walking.stick on ki'hJch he leaned bent under bis weight. He sat down again. 

“There hag been an article in a newspaper on the leccssity of shifting the workers’ housing estates farther from those damned factories. There are more than fifty thousand workers employed at the Aniline factories,... The newspaper that published that article was Sued. The hand of Rolling,” 

“Volf, we mustn’t lose a single day.” 

“I’ve ordered tickets for the eleven o’clock train to- day.” 

“Ve’re going to K.?” 

“I think that’s the onl) place where we can get on Garin’s tracks.” 

“Now lake a look at what I’ve managed to find out.” Khlinov pulled a bundle of newspaper cuttings out of his pocket. “A couple of days ago I went to see Shclga. . . . He told me the whole course of his deductions; Rolling and Garin have to keep in touch with each other. . . 

“That goes without saying— every day.” 

“By post or telegraph? Vbat do you think?” 

“Under no circumstances. Nothing in writing.” 

“Wireless then?" 

“For all Europe to hear? No.” 

“Through B third person?” 

“No. I get what you mean. That Shelga of yours it 

a smart fellow. Let’s have a look at the ciitt'""* ” 

161 

He spread them out on his knees and began to read what was underlined in red; 

“Concentrate all attention on Aniline.” “Beginning.” “Place found.” 

“ ‘Place found,’” whispered Wolf, “that’s a newspaper 

from E., a little to^ra near K ” ‘Worried. Name the 

day.’ ‘Count thirty-five days from signing of contract. . . .’ That could only be from them. The night the agreement was signed in Fontainebleau was the twenty-third of last month. Add to that thirty-five days and that will be the twenty-eighth, the day the stock has been sold for. . . .” 

“Further, Wolf, read further. ‘Wliat measures have you taken?’ That’s from K. Garin asking the question. The next day we have Rolling’s answer in a Paris newspaper: ‘Yacht ready. Arriving day after tomorrow. Information by wireless.’ And then, four days ago, Rolling asks: ‘Won’t there be any light?’ and Garin answers: ‘District deserted. Distance three miles.’ ” 

“In other words the machine has been erected in the hills; to send a ray over a distance of three miles height is required. Listen, KJilinov, we have very little time. If we take a radius of three miles with the factories as the centre we’ll have to examine an area within a cir- cumference of over twenty miles. Arc there any other indicants?” 

“No. I was just going to phone Shelga. He should have cuttings from yesterday’s and today’s papers.” 

Wolf stood up. His muscles swelled visibly under his shirt. 

Khlinov suggested phoning from the nearest cafe on the left bank. Wolf dashed across the bridge in such a hurry that an old man with a chicken neck, wearing a stained jacket, saturated, perhaps, with lonely tears for those who had been lost in the war, shook his head and gazed for a long time after the hurrying foreigners. 

162 

“Oh, Ihoie foreigqcrt. . . . TThca they have money in their pockets they push and shove as though they were at home. Ah, the savages! . . 

Standing at the ainc counter in the cafe Wolf drank a glass of soda water. Through the glass door of the tele* phone booth he could see Khlinov’a back: he saw him sag over the tefephone. Khh'nov siraiglilencd up and /eft the call-hox, his face was calm hut as white as a mask. 

“They tell me at the hospital that Shclga disappeared during the night. Everything is being done to trace him. I imagine he's been killed." 

60 

The twigs crackled on a hearth that was ttained with two centuries of smoke,* above it hung huge rusty hooks for sausages and hams and two stone saints guarded it on either side; on one of the saiols hung Csrin’s hat and on the other an officer's greasy cap. Four men were silting at a table lit only by the light from the fire. In front of them stood a straw-covered bottle and glaiirs of wine. 

Two of the men were dressed in town eloihci — one of them, a husky fellow, had high ebeek-bonet and short- cropped stiff hair; the other had a long and evil face. The third, the owner of the farm in whose kitchen the confer- ence was being held, was General Subbotin; be sat there in a dirty linen shirt with his sleerci rolled up. Tlie closely-shaven skin of bis scalp twitched and hii fat face with a dishevelled moustache was red from the wine he had drunk. 

The fourth, Garin, was dressed as a toomt; he ws» speaking and pairing his finger ntgligenily round the edge of his glass. 

u» 

Its 

"All that's quite all right Nevertheless I insist 

that my prisoner, even if lie is a Bolshevik, should not suffer any injury. Food three times a day', wine, vege- tahles, and fruit. In a week’s time I’ll take him away. How far to the Belgian frontier?” 

“Three quarters of an hour by car,” said the man with the long face, leaning forw'ard, 

“The whole thing wdll be kept quiet. I understand, general, and you gentlemen, that as officers and aristo- crats (Garin smiled) who are selflessly loyal to the memory of the martyred emperor, you are acting from higher, purely ideological motives. Otherwise I should not have turned to you for help.” 

“V7e are all gentlemen, is there any need to say more?" said the general in a hoarse voice, wrinkling the skin on his bald pate. 

“The terms as Fvc said arc a thousand francs a day for the full board and lodging of my prisoner. Do yon agree?” 

The general turned his bloodshot eyes in the direction of his companions. The man w'ith the high cheek-bones showed his white teeth, the long-faced man lowered his eyes, 

“Oh, yes,” said Garin, “excuse me, I almost forgot . . . the deposit .” 

He pulled a bundle of thousand-franc notes from his revolver pocket and threw them on the table into a pool of wine. 

“Take them, please.” 

The general gave a snort of satisfaction pulled the notes across the table, wiped them on his belly and be- gan to count them, sniffing with his hairy nostrils as he did so. His companions edged towards him, their eyes gleaming. 

Garin rose to his feet. 

“Bring in the prisoner.” 

164 

61 

Slielga’s eyes were bltnilfolded with a handkerchief. A leather motoring coal was tlirown over his shotilderi. He felt the warmth coming from the fireplace and his legs trembled tinder him, Garin immediately pushed a stool towards him and Shelga sat down, dropping his plaster* hound arm on to his knees. 

The general and the two officers glared at him with such hatred that it was olmous that at the slightest sign, a mere wink, they would have pounced on him and tom him to pieces. Garin, however, did not make a sign. Tap- ping Shelga on the knee he said in cheerful tones: 

**Yon'lI not want for anything here. You are in the hands of decent people and they have been well paid. I will set you free in a few days. Comrade Shelga, give me your word of honour that you will not attempt to escape, cause trouble or attract the attention of the police." 

Shelga shook Ids Lowed head in refusal. Gorin bent over him. 

“If you don’t it will he difficult for me to guarantee you a comfortable stay here. "Will you give me jour word?" 

Shelga spoke slowly, in soft tones. 

“I give you ray word of a Communist. . . ." The skin on the general's shaven pate immediately wrinkled into waves that travelled towards his ears, the officers glanced at each other and smiled malignantly. “I give >oii my word of a Communist to kill you at the first oppiirtiinity, Garin. I give you my word to take the machine away from you and bring it to Moscow. I give my word that on the 28th. . . •" 

Garin did not let him finish, hut seized him by the tlirool. “Slop! Idiot.... Lunatic,..." 

He turned round and said imperiously: 

“Gentlemen, I warn you, lids man is dangerous, he has an idee fixe,*' 

“I told you the host place to keep him is in the uinr- /6> 

cellar,” said the general’s bass voice. “Take the prisoner a%\'ay.” 

Garin made a motion Avith bis beard, the two officers grabbed Shelga and dragged him through a side door to- wards the wine-cellar. Garin drew on his motoring gatint- Icts. 

“I shall be here on the night of the twenty-ninth. On the thirtieth Your Excellency may put an end to his ex- periments in rabbit-breeding, book a first-class berth on a transatlantic liner, and live a life of luxury in New York, on Fifth Avenue if yon like.” 

“You must leave some sort of document to identify that son of a bitch,” said the general. 

“Here you have the choice of any passport you’d like.” 

Garin pulled out a bundle of papers tied together with string — the documents he had taken from Shelga’s pocket in Fontainebleau but which he had not yet found time to examine. 

“These look like passports prepared for me. "What excellent forethought. Here, take this, Your Excellency.” 

Garin threw a passport on to the table and continued examining the contents of Shclga’s wallet — something in- terested him and he moved nearer the lamp. His eyebrows knitted. 

“Hell!” He rushed towards the side door through which Shelga had been dragged. 

<52 

Shelga lay on a mattress on the stone floor. A liny oil-lamp lit up the vaulted cellar and the empty barrels draped with cobwebs. Gatin’s glance travelled round the cellar, seeking Shelga; then he w'cnl and stood over him, biting his lip. 

I lost my temper, Shelga, don’t be angry with me. I 

166 

BtiH thinfe We may find a common language. We can come to terms. If you want to, that is.” 

“Try.” 

Garin spofce ingratiatingly, quite differently from the way he had spoken ten minutes tefore. This put Shelga on his guard but the excitement he had experienced that night, the after-effects of the gas still ringing in his ears, and the pain in his iniured arm made him less alert. Garin sat down on the mattress and lit a cigarette. His face hore a thoughtful look and his whole appearance was one of combined elegance and heneToIcnce. 

“What’s the swine getting at? Wljal’s he want?” thought Shelga, his face wrinkled from the pain in his head. 

Clasping his knee and puffing clouds of smoke, Garin looked up at the vaulted ceiling. 

“It's like this, Shelga, first of all you have tohelicve that 1 never lie. Perhaps it’s only because I despise people but that*s not what matters. I need nolling and his billions for a short time only, tic needs me just as long. I believe he realizes this in spite of his stupidity. Rolling came here to colonize Europe. If he doesn’t succeed in that he will crack up in America together with all bis millions, tolling is a brute beast — his one idea is to push forward, butt, and trample everything underfoot. He hasn’t a ha’p’orth of imagination. The only wall apamst vhich he may crack his skull is the Soviet Russia. He knows this and all his fury is directed against your beloved country. I don’t con- sider myself a Russian (lie added harriedly). Pm an inter- nationalist.” 

“That goes without sayiop.** raid Shelga with a of contempt. 

“Our present relations arc — cp to a certain prise wr work together. . . 

“Until the 28ih....” 

Garin cast a rapid glance at Shelga, humour in his flashing eyes. 

“So yon worked it out. did you? From the newspapers?” 

“May he.” 

"All right. Let’s say until the 28th. After that we’re bound to get at each other’s throats. If Rolling wins it will be doubly dangerous for Soviet Russia: he’ll have iny apparatus and it will be very hard for you to fight against him. To leave you here for a week to keep the spiders company will give me a better chance of victory.” 

Shelga closed his eyes. Garin sat at his feet and puffed furiously at his cigarette. 

“What the devil do you need my consent for?” asked Shelga. “You can keep me here as long as you like without it. Tell me straight out what you want.” 

“That’s what yovi should have said long ago. Y^ou, and ) our ‘word of a Communist’. . . . My God, you certainly got under my skin just now . . . still, it seems to roe that you're beginning to understand at last. It’s true wc’rc enemies. Nevertheless we have to work together. From your poijit of view I’m just a degenerate, I’m individualist number one. ... I, Pyotr Petrovich Garin, by the grace of the powers that made me what I am, with the brain of a genius — dou't laugh, Slielga — with unsuppressed passions, that both torment and scare me, with my greed and lack of principle, pit myself, literally, against all mankind.’’ 

“A thorough-paced scoundrel,” said Shelga. 

■ Quite right: a tliorough-paccd scoundrel, now you understand me. I'm a voluptuary by nature and I strive to devote every second of niy life to pleasure. I’m in mad haste to gel rid of Rolling becaxise I am losing val- uable seconds. You people there in Russia, you arc just a militant, materialized idea. I have no ideology, I con- sciously. religiously shun everything in the nature of an idea. I have set myself a goal: I intend to create such conditions (1 will not give you the details, they would only 

768 

tire you), to aurround tnyeelf with auch superabundance that tbe Hanging Gardens of Semiramis and all tliat other oriental nonsense will be just an anaemic dream compared to ray paradise. I will muster all science, all industry, all the arts to serve me. Shelga, you understand that for you 1 am a distant and fantastic danger, while Kolling is a close, concrete, and terrifying danger. For this reason you and I travel together up to a certain point, until such times as Kolling is crushed. That is all I ash of you.*' 

“What form do you expect my help to take?** asked Shelga hetween his teeth. 

**I want you to take a short trip Ly sea.’* 

other words you want to keep me a prisoner." 

“Yes.” 

“What do you offer in return for my not calling out to the first policeman for help when you take me to the Bcacoast?” 

“Any sum you like.** 

“I don’t t»ant money.** 

“Clever," said Garin, fidgeting unessily on the mattress. “Will you do it for a model of my apparatus? (Shelga snorted.) You don't believe nie? You think I’d swindle you, that I won’t give it to you? Think it over — whether I’m likely to swindle you or not. (Shelga shrugged hit shoulders.) I mean it. The idea of the apparatus is so simple as to be almost ridiculous. I couldn't possibly keep it secret for long. Such is the fate of all great inventions. After the 28th all the newspapers will describe the action of infra*red rays and the Germans, most certainly the Germans, will build just such ao apparatus within six months. I’m not risking anything. Take the model to Russia with you. Incidentally I have your pa«sports and other papers. Take them, I don’t need them any longer. Excuse me for having rummaged in them. I’m tcrribl> curious. \i1iat’s that photo of a tattooed boy you have?" 

“Just a waif we picked up ” ansnered Shelga. realizing 

“lour Dame and Christian name?** 

“Captain Alexander Ivanovich Vohhin of the Kulnev, sky Regiment,” answered the officer with high cheek-hones, standing to attention in front of Garin. 

“On what income do yon live?” 

“I assist General Suhhotin in the breeding of rabbits at twenty sous a day and food. I was a taxi-driver, earned decent money, but my Mlow-ofScers persuaded me to go as a delegate to a royalist congress. At the first session I bashed the face of Colonel Sfaersiobitov, one of Kirill's followers. I lost my credentials and my job.” 

“I’m offering you dangerous work with excellent pay. Do you agree?” 

“I agree.” 

“You will go to Parts. Yoo will receive a recommen* datton and wilt be enrolled on the staff. Yon will go to Leningrad with papers and credentials. . . . Using this photograph you will search for a boy . . >” 

64 

Five days passed. iVothing bad disturbed the tran- quillity of the little Rliioeside town of K. hidden in a green, humid valley in the vicinity of the famous factories owned by the Aniline Company. 

From early morning the winding streets with their narrow pavements resounded to the clatter of school children’s clogs and the heavy tread of the workers; women trundled their prams along in the shade of the lime-trees on the road leading to the river. A barber in a canvas waistcoat came onl of his shop and placed a step-ladder on the pavement. His lather boy climbed on to the ladder to polish an already glittering trade sign— a brass bowl 

and a white horge'g tail. The plate-glass windows of the cafe ^vcvc being cleaned. A high-wheeled brewer's dray loaded with empty barrels rumbled past. 

It was a neat, cleanly-sw'cpt old town, quiet in the daytime when the sun warmed the eurved stone-paved streets and coming to life in the evening when, at sundown, the working men and women returned from the factories and filled the air with their draw'ling voices, when the lights went up in the cafes and the lamplighter, in a short cape God alone knew how many years old, shuffled along the streets in his elogs. 

Women with shopping baskets, the wives of workers and burghers, came out of the market gates. In former days the baskets contained poultry, vegetables, and fruit worthy of Frans Snyders’ still lifes. Today they contained a few potatoes, a bunch of onions, some swedes, and a lump of grey bread. 

How strange! Germany had beeome the devil alone knoAvs hoAv rich in the past four centuries. What glory her sons had tasted. Wliat hopes had brought sparkle to blue German eyes! Hoa»' much beer had trickled dotvn upturned blond beards! Hoav many billions of kilowatts of human energy had been liberated! 

And all in vain. In the kitchens — a bunch of spring onions on the table and long-standing yearning in the women's hungry eyes. 

Wolf and Khlinov, their boots dusty, their jackets throAvn over their arms, their broAvs damp with perspira- tion. crossed a humped bridge and plodded up the lirae- shoded higlnray toAvards K. 

The sun Avas sinking behind the Ioav hills. In the golden light of evening the chimneys of the Aniline Avorks Avere still smoking. Factory buildings, chimneys, railAvay lines, and the tiled roofs of As'archouscs ranged doAvn the hillside to the very edge of the toAvn. 

I ni sure that s the place, OA'er there,"’ said Wolf. 

{lOiDling with his hand to tliffs that sunset. “If I had to select the best the factory that’s the only place Fd 

“That’s right enough, 'Wolf, bnt srr 

days left.” 

“Well, what about it? There cti be l the southern side, it’s too far r*rj. "Ve* northern and eastern sectors t2I <r* isr Three days will be enonglu^ 

Khlinov turned to the blue i 

shadows between them- Dcriss 6ie rasl Wolf and Khlinov had {earthed e struclnre— a cottage or a shed wri. factories— might he hidderi. 

For the fifth day in metesses sc and during the darkest Ectr* c srs down to sleep wherever they 'lAyyssi = were so numb that they hH rst-c stony roads and path*. *=■ 

over fences, they had erT?r«d assir • around the towu, N'ovhere- hevr*^ saz ' slightest trace of Garis:, Feaacrr. 

country bungalows, ferett'eri. > ■ « _. , 

their shonlderi in annrer »• ^“rr y_— “There are no c-rvc’— -» body who lives h^r^” 

Only the westers s'-rot ing to the map tier- »» g Totky platean e= — - * castle, SchloS it, I was fitUnj -- garden, Zan In the r 

remains of a dungeon and behind the iron grille a gigantic skeleton sitting in rusty chains. The same skeleton was depicted on picture postcards, on paper knives, and on beer mugs. For twenty pfennigs visitors could also he photographed beside the skeleton and send the picture to relatives or to a girl friend. On Sundays plenty of holiday-makers came to see the ruins and the beer garden did a good trade. At times there were foreign visitors. 

Since the war, however, interest in the famous skeleton had declined. The townspeople %vere undernourished and had not the energy to climh that steep hill on holidays — they preferred their sandwiches and half-bottles of beer far from historic reminiscences under the lime-trees on the river-hank. Mine host of Zum gefesselten Gerippe was no longer able to keep the ruins in good condition. For weeks on end now the famous medieval skeleton would sit undisturbed by anybody’s presence, gazing through empty eye sockets down the green valley where, on one fatal day, the owner of the castle had knocked him out of his saddle; he gazed at churches with spires and weathercocks, at the chimneys of factories where poison gas, tctryl and other hellish products w'crc being manufactured on a world-wide scale, products that de- prived the local people of all zest for historic reminiscen- ces, postcards of the skeleton and, probably, for life itself. 

It was in this direction that Wolf and Khlinov now set off. They first dropped into a cafe on the town square for a bite and there the}- examined a map of the locality and questioned the waiter. It seemed that in the western environs of the town the sights worth seeing included, in addition to the ruins and the beer garden, a villa belonging to a typewriter manufacturer who had recently lost his money. Standing on the western slope of the hills, the villa was not visible from the toirn. The manu- facturer lived there alone, never leaving the place. 

174 

66 

A full moon rose just before dawn. The vague and seemingly sbapelcss heaps of rocks and stoQcs now loomed clear-cut in the moonlight, casting velvet shadows into the ravine from the still standing arches and the remains of the castle walls overgrown with stunted, twisted trees and a tangle of hlackherry bushes; a square Norman tower, the oldest part of the castle, the Torture Tower, as it was called on the postcards, came to life. 

Brick arches clung to the eastern wall helonging, ap. pareotlf, to a gallery that had connected the ancient tower with the living quaticts in the castle. All that now re- mained were the foundations, heaps of rubble and capitals from sandstone columns. The skeleton sal in his fetters under the cross-vault of a dungeon below the tower. 

\l^olf took a long look at the skeleton, resting his elbows on the grille, then be turned to Khlinov and said: 

“Now look over here.” 

Deep down below them in the moonlight lay a hollow wrapped in haae. Silver scales glittered on the river in those places where the water appeared from under the tree-tops. The town looked like s group of toy houses. Not a single window showed a light. Away to the left be- hind the town glowed hundreds of lights of the Aniline factories. Clouds of white smoke welled up where chim- neys belched pinkish flames. Engine whistles and rumbling sounds came drifting across the valley. 

“I was right,” said ^oU. “The ray can only he used from this plateau. Look, there ate the raw material stock- yards and there, behind that earth rampart, arc the stocks of half.finishtd products — they ate quite open— and those long buildings are where sulphuric acid is produced by the Russian method, from iron pyrites. Over there, on the other side, under those round roofs they produce atu 

175 

line and all those devilish substances that sometimes ex- plode spontaneously.” 

“All right, Wolf. Even if we assume that Garin will not erect his apparatus until the night of the 28th he would have to make some preparations beforehand and there ought to be signs of them.” 

“We must examine the ruins. I’ll take the toAver and 

you take the Avails and arches Still I don’t think you 

could find a better place than Avhere that skeleton thing is sitting.” 

“We meet at the beer garden at 7 o’clock.”’ 

“All right.” 

67 

Shortly after seven in the morning Wolf and Khlinov Avere drinking milk on the verandah of the Zum gefesseltcn Gcrippe. Their nocturnal search had been fruitless. They sat in silence, their cliins resting in their cupped hands. They bad got to knoAv each other so Avell during the last fcAv days that they could read each other’s thoughts. Khlinov, more impressionable and less prone to trust him- self, kept going over the Avholc course of deduction that had brought him and Wolf from Paris to this apparently harmless spot. Wliat Avere these conA'ictions based on? On tAvo or three lines in a ncAvspapcr. 

“Don’t you think avc might be making fools of our- selves, Wolf?” 

“The human mind has limitations,” ansAvered Wolf. 

It is ahvays better, hoAvcA'cr, to rely on that mind rather than doubt it. Apart from that, if avc don’t find anything and Garin’s fiendish plan proves to be a figment of our imaginations avc can only thank God for it. We shall haA'c done our duty.” 

A Avaiter brought them omelettes and tAVo mugs of beer. Mine host appeared, rcd-chcekcd and fat. 

176 

“Good morning, gentleinenr’ Wheezing from shortness of breath he waited with a worried air until his guests had broken their fast. Then he waved his hand towards the valley, still bluish and glistening with dew. “I've been watching it for twenty years. Things are coming to an end, that's what I say, meine Ilerren. I saw the mobilization. The troops marched off along that road there. They were fine German columns." The host's fat forefinger shot over his bead like an opening spring. “They were the Sleg* frieds, those of whom Tacitus wrote: powerful, sowing terror, in winged helmets. Ober, two more mugs of beer for the gentlemen. ... In 1914 the Siegfrieds marched ofi' to conquer the world. Only the shields were missing — do you remember the old Germanic custom of holding the shield to the mouth when shouting the war-cry to make the warriors' voices more terrifying? Yes, I saw the cavalrymen's behinds firmly planted in their saddles. . . . What has happened, I would like to know? Have we for- gotten how to die on the battle-field? I saw the troops come back. The cavalrymen, damn them, still sat firmly in their saddles. . . . The Germans were not beaten on the battle-field. Tliey were pierced wiib swords in tbeir own beds, at their own hearths. . . 

bline host studied the guests with his protruding eyes and turned towards the ruins, his face the colour of red brick. Slowly he pulled a packet of postcards out of his pocket and slapped his hand with them. 

“You've been in the town; I ask you, did you see a single German more than five foot six in height? And when those proletarians come home from the factories do you hear one of them who bad the courage to say the word 'Deutschland!' in a loud voice? Those proletarians squawk about nothing hm socialism over their beer mugs." 

He threw the postcards deftly on to the table so that they spread out fanwise. They were pictures of the tkel- 

ITT 

eton — the skeleton with a German in a winged helmet and the skeleton Avith a Avarrior of 1914 in full field equip- ment. 

“TAventy-five pfennigs each or tAvo marks fifty a doz- en,” said mine host Avith contemptuous pride. “They can’t be sold cheaper, they’re good pre-Avar Av'ork, coloured photographs Avith tin foil in the eyes — that produces an indelible impression. D’you think those coAeardly bour- geois or those fiA'e-and-half-foot proletarians buy my post- cards? Pfui! . . . They Avant me to photograph Karl Lieb- knecht Avith the skeleton. , . 

His face again flushed as the blood rushed to it and he suddenly burst out laughing. 

“They’ll have to Avait! Ober, put a dozen postcards in our oAvn original envelopes for the gentleman. . . . Yes, I have to eke out a living. . . . I’ll sIioav you my patent, tiic Hotel Zum gefesseltcn Gerippe Avill sell them by hun- dreds. Here I keep pace Avith the times and don’t depart from my principles.” 

The landlord Avent into the house and returned Avith a small object, like a cigar box. The inevitable skeleton Avas burned in the lid. 

“You Acant to try it? It Avorks as Acell as a regular receiver Avith valves.” He quickly arranged the leads and the earphones, and put a plug into a jack built under the table. *Tt costs three marks seventy-five pfennigs, AV'ith- om earphones, of course.” He offered the earphones to Khlinov. “You can listen to Berlin, Hamburg, and Paris, if you like. I’ll tune you in to Cologne Cathedral, there’s a service on there noAV, you’ll hear the organ. Kolossal ! . . • Turn that SAvitch to the left. Wliat’s the matter? Is it that damned Stuffer interfering again? No?” 

“Who’s that interfering?” asked Wolf, bending over the receiver. 

A ruined typcAvritcr manufacturer by the name of Stuffer, a drunkard and a madman. He built a radio sta- 

178 

tion at his villa two years ago. Then he lost all his money. The station began working again recently." 

Khlinov, his eyes shining excitedly, dropped the ear* phones. 

“Wolf, pay up and let’s go.” 

A few minutes later, when they had got rid of the garrulous landlord, they passed through the gates of the beer garden and Khlinov squeezed Wolfs arm with all the strength of his fingers. 

“I heard Garin's voice, I could recognize it....’’ 

An hour earlier that same morning, in the semi-dark* ness of the dining-room at bis villa on the western slope of the same hills Herr Stu0er had been sitting at the table talking with an invisible companion. The talk con- sisted mainly of snatches of phrases and curses. Empty bottles, cigar ends, and Stuffer’s collar and tie lay in dis* order on the ash-hespattered table. He sat there in bis underclothes scratching bis flabby cbesl and staring at the single electric bulb that burned in a huge iron chandelier; trying his best not to belch he cursed in the foulest terms all those people whose pictures flashed through his be* fuddled brain. 

In a solemn bass the dining-room clock struck seven. Almost simultaneously a car slopped outside. Garin, fresh- ened by the morning breeze, entered the dining-room, a leather cap on the back of his head and a mocking grin on his face. 

“Deen drinking all night again?” 

Stu0cr turned his bloodshot eyes on him. He liked Garin. lie paid well for everything. He had rented the villa for the summer months without any bargaining, the rent including the wine-cellar, but he allowed Stuffer to 

179 

do as he wished with the old Rhine wines, the French champagne and the liqueurs. The devil alone knew what he did for a living, some sort of speculation, apparently, but he cursed the Americans roundly, and they had ruined Stuffer two years ago, he despised the government and in general called all people swine — that was also to his credit. The foods he brought in his car were such as Stuffer, even in his most prosperous years, would never have dreamed of — precious Strasbourg pates, Russian caviare and Ca- memhert cheeses covered with a mass of white maggots, the Camemherts of a connoisseur. One might even imagine that keeping Stuffer in a state of permanent intoxication was part of his plan. 

“And what have you been doing? Saying your prayers all night?” asked Stuffer in a hoarse voice, 

“I had a very nice time with the girls in Cologne and, as you see, I’m quite fresh and am not sitting around in ray underpants. You’re going doumhill, Stuffer. Inciden- tally, Tve been warned about sometliing not very pleasant. It seems your villa stands too close to the chemical facto- ries. It’s like a powder magazine.” 

“Nonsense!” roared Stuffer. “Again some swine is trying to ruin me. You’re in absolute safety at my villa!’’ 

“So ranch the better. Give me the key to the shed.” 

Swinging the key by its chain, Garin went out into the garden where there was a small glazed pavilion standing tinder aerial masts. Here and there in the neglected flower- beds stood terracotta dwarfs bcfoulded by the birds. Garin unlocked the glass door, entered, and threw open the win- dows. He leaned on the window-sill and stood there for 

some time breathing in the morning freshness. He had spent almost twenty hours in the car finishing off his business with banks and factories. Everything was now ready for the twenty-eighth. 

He did not remember how long he stood at the window. He stretched himself, lit a cigar, started up the dynamo, 

180 

examined llie wireless equipment, anti tuned in. Then he stood before the microphone and spoke loudly and distinctly: 

“Zoc, Zoe, Zoc, Zoe. ... Can you hear me? Can you hear me? Everything will be as you wish. You must only wish hard enough. I need yon. Withojit yon my enterprise means nothing to me. In a day or two I’ll be in Naples. I’ll tell you exactly \then tomorrow. Don’t worry about anything. Everything is going well. . . 

He stopped for a moment, puffed at his cigar and began again, “Zoc, Zoe, Zoe, . . He closed bis eyes. The dynamo hummed softly and invisible magnetic waves left the aerial one after another. 

If a whole regiment of artillery had passed at that mo. ment it is doubtful whctlicr Garin would have beard it. Nor did be bear stones rattling do>«n the slope at tbe end of the glade. Some five paces from the pavilion the bushes part- ed and the hlue muzzle of a Colt revolver appeared at the level of a man’s eyes. 

60 

Holling took up the telephone receiver. 

“Yes.” 

“This Is Semyonov speaking. I’ve just intercepted a wireless message from Garin. Shall I read it to you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Everything will be as you wish, you must only wi«li bard enough,” began Semyonov making a rough transla- tion from Russian into French. Rolling listened without a sound. 

“Is that all?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Take this down.” Rolling began to dictate “Imme- diat.ly tune the transmitter to n wavcieneth of 421 metrr.. Tomorrow ten minute, earlier than the time at which yon 

m 

intercepted todny’e message begin sending this one: ‘Zoe . . . Zoe . . . Zoe ... An unexpected misfortune has occurred. We must act. If you value the life of your friend land at Naples on Friday, stay at the Hotel Splendide and await news until Saturday noon.’ You will repeat this continu- ously. do you hear me, continuously in a loud and convinc- ing voice. That’s all.” 

Rolling rang the hell. 

“Find Tyklinski and bring him to me immediately,” he said to the secretary who appeared at the door. “Go straight to the aerodrome, hire or buy — it makes no dif- ference which — a covered passenger aircraft. Hire a pilot and mechanic. Have everything ready to take off by the twenty-eighth.” 

70 

Wolf and Khlinov spent the remainder of the day in K. They wandered about the streets, chatted idly with the local inhabitants as though they were tourists. Wlien the town grew quiet Wolf and Khlinov made their W’ay to the hills. By midnight they were climbing the slope leading to Stuffer's villa. If the police paid any attention to them they had decided to be tourists M'ho had lost their way. If they were detained by the police their arrest would not lead to any further trouble, the whole town could confirm their alibi. Less than forty minutes after the shot from the hushes, when they had seen chips fly from Garin’s skull, they had been hack in the town. 

Now they climbed over the low fence, crept round the open glade with great caution and, keeping to the hushes, approached Jthc house. They stopped, looked at each other in surprise. All was calm and quiet in the house and in the garden. Some of the windows were lit up. The main door leading to the garden was wide open. A peaceful light fell on the stone steps and on the dwarfs in the 

thick gross. On the top «tep of the porch a fat man ta playing softly on a flute. Beside him stood a ttraw*covcrec bottle. It was the man that had appeared that mom ing on the garden path leading to the pavilion and oi hearing the shot had turned about and run back to tht house at an unsteady trot. Now he was in a happy moot as though nothing untoward had happened. 

“Come on,” Said Khlinov. “We must find out.” 

“I couldn’t have missed,” muttered Wolf. 

They approached the porch. Jlalf'Way up the path Khlinov said softly: 

“Excuse us for disturbing you. Arc there any dogg here?” 

Stuffer put his flute down, turned round on the step where he sat and stretched out Ins neck to peer at the two vague figures. 

“Yes,” he said slowly, “there are savage dogs here.” 

Khlinov explained the situatioo: 

“We’ve lost our way. We wanted to visit the castle ruins. . . . May we take a rest here?” 

Stuffer answered with an indefinite grunt. Wolf and Khlinov bowed to him and sat down on the bottom step, Loth were on their guard and excited. Staffer looked down on them from his seat. 

“By the way,” he began, “when I was rich I used to let dogs loose in the garden. I don’t like uninvited mid. nigbtvisitors. (Klilinovqiiickly squeezed Wolfs arm — keep quiet.) The Americans have ruined me and my garden has been turned into a thoroughfare for loafers although there arc hoards everywhere with a warning that trespassers will be fined a thousand marks. But in Germany people no lon- ger show respect for law or property. I told the man who rented my villa: put barbed wire round the place and hire a night watchman. He wouldn’t listen to me and he's only got himself to blame....” 

71 

A short, solidly.buili msa viih greying hair carefully parted, his ailing eyes protected by blue spectacles, stood beside a tiled stove listening to Kldtoov's story. 

At first Kblinov bad sat on the sofa, then he had moved to the window-sill, and at last bad begun to stride up and down the Utile reception-room at the Soviet Embassy. 

He told what he knew of Garin and UoIUng. His story was precise and consistent, but Kblinov himself rcalired the improbability of that mass of events. 

“Suppose that Wolf and I are mistaken. ... So much the belter, we ahall be very glad if we have drawn the wrong conclusions. The chances are fifty-fifty that there will be a catastrophe. We must consider only the other fifty per cent. You, as ambassador, can convince people, infiuence them, open their eyes. The whole business is an extremely serioas one. The apparatus really exists, Sbelga has actually touched it. Action must be taken immediately, this very minute. We haven't more than twentydeur hours at our disposal. Tomorrow night things are going to hap* pen. Wolf has remained in K, He is doing what he can to warn the workers, the trade unions, the town population and the factory administration. It goes without saying that nobody believes him. Why, even you. . . ." 

The ambassador did not speak or raise His eyes. 

“At the offices of the local newspaper they laughed 

until they cried. At the best we’re considered mad ” 

Khlioov clutched at his head— tufts of uncombed hair stock out between his dirty fingers. His face was drawn and covered with dust. His eyes stared fixedly as though he Were gazing at some horror. The ambassador looked at him cautiously over his glasses. 

“Why didn’t you come to me before? 

“We had no facts. Assumptions, conclusions, esery^ing was on the verge of the fantastic, it w.i mad. . . . Even 

IS5 

now at times I imagine I shall Avake up and sigh in re- lief. ... I assure you that I’m in roy right mind. Volf and I haven’t undressed or lain in a bed for eight days.” 

After a short silence the ambassador spoke in serious tones. 

“I’m sure this is no hoax. Comrade Khlinov. You are probably the victim of an idee fixeJ” He raised his hand to check Khlinov’s gesture of despair. “But your fifty per cent sounds convincing to me. I null go and do whatever I can.” 

72 

Since early morning of the twenty-eighth, groups of citizens had clustered on the to^s'n square of K., some in perplexity, others with a certain amount of fear, discussing the proclamation that had been stuck to the walls of cor- ner houses with masticated bread. 

“Neither the authorities, nor the factory administra- tion, nor the trade unions want to listen to our desperate appeal. Today, wc are absolutely convinced, the factories, the toAvn, and the whole population are threatened with destruction. Ve have tried to prevent it hut were unable to catch the scoundrels in the pay of American bankers. Save yourselves, leave the town for the plains. Believe us for the sake of life itself, for the sake of your children, in the name of God.” 

The police guessed who had written the proclama- tion and set out to find Volf. But Volf was gone. By mid- day the town authorities issued a poster warning the people that under no circumstances must they abandon the town and create a panic as apparently a gang of bandits intended to wreak their will in deserted homes that night. 

Citizens of K.! You arc being hoaxed. Show your Common-sense. The criminals will be discovered and arrest- 

186 

ed today and will be dealt with in accordance with the law,” 

The authorities had struck the nail right on the head; their explanation was extreoielf simple and the citizen* Calmed down, they eyen )aoghed at themiclrag. “7?/af was a smart trick, they'd hare had the run of the shops and houses all night. And we would he the laughing'Stock of the country trembling in fear out there on the plains all night.” 

Evening came the same as thousands of other evenings with the glow of the setting sun reflected in the windows 

of the houses. Bird in their trees grew quiet. Frogs croaked 

on the damp hanks of the river. The clock on the red- brick church played D/c Wacht am Rhein to scare the lousy French as it struck eight. Eight streamed peacefully from the windows of the bars where visitors methodically wetted their moustaches in foaming beer. Even the land- lord of the out-of-town beer garden Zum gefesscUen Ce- r/ppe had calmed down; he walked up and down the deserted verandah of his establishment, for a time cursed the government, the socialists, and the Jeus, ordered the shutters to be closed and set out on bis bicycle to tee his girl friend in the town. 

It was at this time that a motor-car, without hghts and almost without a sound, moved swiftly along a little-used road on the western slope. The sun had set hut the stars were not yet bright and a cold bluish light came from be- yond the hills where the moon was rising. Lights flaslied up here and there on the plain. Only in the factories lift went on as usual. 

• IToIfandKhlinorsatoothcedgeof ihecIilT surmounted hy the castle ruins. Again tliey had examined every nook and cranny of the ruins, had climhed all over the square tower but had not found any trace of Garin s preparations. There was a moment when they thought they beard a car in the distance. They fistened and peered mio the dark- ness. It was a quiet evening redolent of the ancient trsn- 

quillity of earth. Occasionally some movement of air cur- rents brought a dampish smell of flotvers from belov. 

“I looked at the map” said Khlinov, “and if de- scend the Areslern slope weMl cross the railway at a wayside station where the mail-train stops at five-thirty. I don’t suppose the police will be watching there." 

“The end is foolish, ridicnlous,” answered Wolf. “Plan’s adoption of the upright position after moving so long on all fours is far too recent, he is still overburdened by the millions of years of unenlightened brutedom. A mass of bmnans that is not guided by' a great idea is a terrible thing. People must not be left •without leaders. The urge to get back on all fours is too strong for them.’ 

“Why be so hard on them. Wolf?” 

“I'm tired,” said Wolf. He sat on a heap of stones, his strong chin resting on his clenched fists. “Did you for a moment imagine that on the twenty-eighth we’d be bunted like a couple of thieves and scoundrels? If you could have seen the glances exchanged by those representatives of authority when I persisted. What a fool I was! And they’re right, that's the trouble. Tliey’ll never know the danger that threatened them.” 

“If it hadn't been for your shooting. Wolf. . . .” 

“Hell! ... If I hadn’t missed! I'd willingly take ten years penal servitude to show those idiots .” 

Wolfs voice was dully echoed by the ruins. Some thirty paces away from the two men Garin was creeping along the shadow of a half-ruined wall like a hunter stalking his prey. He had a clear view of the silhouettes of the two men sitting on the cliff edge and could hear every word they said. The open space between the end of the wall and the tower he crossed at a crawl. At the point where the foot of the tower adjoined the vaulted cave in which the shackled skeleton sat. lay a piece of a sandstone column. Garin crouched behind it. The crunching of stones and the rasping of iron brought Wolf to his feet. 

‘■Did you hear that?” 

Khlinov looked a! the heap of etoaes hehiad which Garin bad disappeared into the earth. Tliey ran there and tlien walked right round llie tower. 

“There are foxes here,*’ said Wolf. 

“No, it was probably some night bird’s eali.” 

“Let’s get away from here. You and I are beginning to have hallucinations.” 

When they reached the sleep path leading from the ruins to the main road they heard a second noise, like that of something falling and rolling along the ground. Wolf trembled all over. Holding ihcir hreaih they listened for a long time. It seemed that the very silence was ring, ing in their ears, “Wliip-whip*whip,” an unseen nightjar called here and there as it flew low overhead. 

“Let’s go.” 

“Yes, it’s silly to stay here.” 

This tirce they walked resolotrly down the path with* out once turning back. This saved the life of one of them. 

73 

Wolf had not been entirely wrong when be said that he had seen the chips fly off Garin’s skull. When Garin had leaned over to pick up a horning cigar from the table during his moment’s pause before the microphone, the ebonite earphone tbot he held pressed to bis ear to keep check of his own voice suddenly flew to pieces. At the same time he heard the crack of g rcrolver shot and felt a blow 00 ibe left side of hit sJcoll. ilc fell on bis side, rolled over on his face, and Uy ttiU. He heard Stuffer squeal and then the footsteps of people running. 

“Who was it, Rolling or Sbelga?” He was racking his brains over this problem when, two hours Uter, ne off in his car to Cologne. It only when he Ixlened 

to the conversation of those two men on the cliff that he found the answer. Clever chap, that Shelga. Still, he wasn’t playing fair. 

He pushed aside the jiiece of sandstone that covered a rusty manhole, dropped down under the earth, and by tlie light of an electric flash-light climbed up the crumbling stairs to the “stone box,” a solitary cell in the thickness of the wall of the Norman tower. It was a windowless cell two and a half paces square, with the remains of bronze rings and chains cemented into the wall. Garin’s apparatus stood to one side on crudely fashioned scaffolding. Opposite tlic muzzle of the machine a hole had been cut through the wall and was concealed by the hones of the fettered skeleton. 

Garin extinguished his flash-light, pushed the muzzle of the machine aside, plunged his arm through the hole in the wall, and threw the hones away from the aperture. The skull fell off the skeleton and rolled along the ground. Tlirough the opening the lights of the factories could he seen. Garin had very keen eyesight and he could even dis- tinguish liny human figures moving about between the buildings. He trembled from head to foot. His teeth were clenched. He had never thought that it ivould he so diffi- cult when the time came. Again he directed the muzzle of the apparatus through the aperture and adjusted it. He opened the lid at the hack and examined the pyrotechnic pyramids. Everything had been prepared a week before. A second machine and the old model were safe down below in his car. 

He closed the lid and placed his hand on the handle of a magneto that would automatically set fire to the pyr- amids in the machine. The trembling continued. It was not a matter of conscience (as if there were any con- science left after the World War), nor fear (he was too thoughtless), nor pity for the doomed (they were too far away) that raised his temperature and gave him the shiv- 

m 

era by turns. With terrifying cUrity he realized that « single turn of that handle would mate him the enemy of all mankind. This was a purely aesthetic sensation of the importance of the moment. 

He even*took hla hand off the magneto to get a cigar- ette from his pocket but Ins excited brain checked the movement: “Why do you {lesifafe, why do you waste time enjoying the moment, this is madness....*' 

Garin turned the handle. Flames hurst out and hissed inside the machine. Slowly he began adjusting the micro- meter screw. 

71 

Khlinov was the first to call attention to a strange patch of light in the sky. 

“There’s anotlier/’ he said softly. TIjey were stand- ing half-way down the road over the cliff throwing their heads back to look up to the sky. Lower than the first a second ball of fire appeared just above the trees and, shedding sparks like a dying rocket, began to fall. 

“Those arc birds burning,’* whispered Wolf, “look." Across a bright patch of sky over the forest a bird was flying hesitantly, apparently ibe nightjar that had cried its “whip-whip-whip...** It burst into flame, turned over and fell. 

“They’re caught on some wire. 

“What wire?” 

“Can’t you see it, Wolf?** 

Khlinov pointed to a thin incandescent thread as straight as a needle that ran overhead from the rums towards the Aniline Company’s factories. 

Its path was marked by leaves bursting into #me and the burning bodies of birds. How it was s nnmg brightly, a long section of it stood out against the black wall of pines. 

I9t 

“It's dropping . . exclaimed Wolf but did not finish. They both realized what that thread was. They stood root- ed to the ground and could only follow the direction of the ray. Its first blow struck a factory chimney that swayed, broke in the middle, and collapsed. The distance was too great for them to hear the sound of its fall. 

Almost immediately to the left of the chimney a cloud of steam appeared over the roof of a long building, turned red, and mingled with the black smoke. Still farther to the left stood a five-storey building. Suddenly its lights went out. From top to bottom a fiery line zigzagged aeross the fagade of the building, tlien again and again. . . . 

Khlinov screamed like a wounded hare. The building seemed to shrink and then collapsed, in a cloud of black smoke. 

Only then did Wolf and Khlinov dash hack up the hill to the castle ruins. They cut across the bends in the winding road and climbed straight uphill, tearing through the hazel hushes and young growth of trees, fall- ing at times and slipping back downhill. They groaned and cursed, one in Russian, the other in German. Then a dull roar reached them as though the very earth had heaved a deep sigh. 

They turned to look hack. From their point of van- tage they could sec the whole group of factory buildings covering many acres. Half of them were burning like paper houses. Down below, on the outskirts of the town, rose a mushroom of greyish-yellow smoke. The ray of the hyperboloid was dancing madly amongst those ruins seek- ing the most important spot of all, the stock-pile of half- finished explosives. Half the sky was lit up by the glow. Clouds of smoke and huge showers of yellow, brownish and silver-white sparks rose up higher than the hills. 

“We’re too late!” screamed Wolf. 

They could sec a living mass pouring out of the town along the chalk-white ribbons of roods. The river, brightly 

192 

illutninalcd by ibe conQagratton, was covered in Hack spots. People were rushing towards the plains* the popula* tion was seeking safety. 

“Too late, too latcl” acreamed Volf, blood and foam pouring down bis chin. 

It was already too late for the population to get away. The grass held between the town and the factories on which stood rows of ttlc-capped little houses suddenly heaved up. Thai was the first thing the eye saw. Throufh cracks in the earth savage tongues of fire burst out; at the same moment a blinding column of white fire and iscxn* descent gas, of a brilliance never before seen by man. rose up from the Qames. The sky seemed to have bees lifted higher over the whole plain and all space was filled with t greenish.rosy light. It had the effect of an eehpse cf the sun and every branch, every bunch of grass, every tivss aod two white, petrified human (aces stood out clecdy. 

Then came the sound of the explosion. The earth ws torn with a rending roar. The hills trembled. \ k^sssss shook the trees and bowed them to the gread. 5sss and burning brands dew through the air. Qosds cf csrof spread right across the plain. 

It grew dark and in the darkness ease the *e=n. still more awednspiring explosion. The ssect ^ was saturated with a dull, reddob-browr. fretsar 

Tlie blast knocked Kbiioov and cr 2 =r ^ and carried them down the hdlside togelh-r of trees and stones. 

“Captain Jansen, I want to tj aEi=r-'’ 

“Yes, madanje.” 

“And 1 want you to go Jansen flushed . -e 

nished boat dropped h’gfcffv csj sj. sikis=^ 

the side of the Arizona. Three sun-tanned sailors slid down ropes and took their places on the boat’s thwarts, slipped the oars into the rowlocks, and waited. 

Jansen waited by the gangway. Zoe was in no hurry — she stood with a distracted air looking at Naples rising from the sea in terraces that flickered in the hot haze, at the terracotta walls and turrets of the ancient for- tress and at the lazily smoking summit of Vesuvius. There was not a breath of wind and the surface of the sea was as smooth as a mirror. 

Large numbers of boats moved lazily across the bay. In one of them stood an old man rowing with a single stern oar — ^just like a Michelangelo drawing. His grey beard fell on a torn, patched cloak of dark material, his tousled grey curls formed a crown for his head. Slung across his shoulder was a canvas hag. 

This was Peppo, a beggar known to all the world. 

He was pulling out in his own boat to seek alms. The day before Zoe had thrown him a hundred-dollar bill over the side of her yacht. Today he was again rowing his boat to the Arizona. Peppo was old Italy’s last romantic, be- loved of the gods and the muses. All romanticism was irrevocably lost. Today nobody wept as he looked with joy-filled eyes on those old stones. Rotting on the battle- fields were those artists who used to give a gold coin for the privilege of drawing Peppo amid the rnins of the house of Cecilius Jucundus in Pompeii. The world had grown dull. 

Plying his oar slowly Peppo floated along the side of the Arizona, grecn-hued from the reflected water; he raised a wrinkled face with bushy eyebrows maj'estic as an engraving, and held out his hand. He was a god demand- ing sacrifice. Zoe leaned over the rail and spoke to him in Italian. 

Guess, Peppo, odd or even?” 

Zoe’s bored glance swept over the Renaissance beau- ties immortalized on the canvases — they draped them- selves in stiff brocades, did not cut their hair, obviously did not take a bath every day, and were proud of such mighty shoulders and hips as would have been a source of shame to any Paris market-woman. She was still more bored by the marble heads of emperors and the faces of verdigris-covered bronzes — they might well have stayed in the earth. Boring again was the puerile pornography of the Pompeiian frescoes — no, ancient Rome and the Ren- aissance displayed poor taste. The Romans did not under- stand the bite of cynicism. They were satished with diluted wine, unhurriedly kissed florid and moral women and were proud of their muscles and their courage. They dragged along with them centuries of a revered past. They did not know what it meant to drive at one hundred and thirty miles an hour in a racing car. Nor did they know that with the aid of automobiles, aeroplanes, electricity, telephones, radio, lifts, fashionable dressmakers, and a cheque-book it is possible to squeeze the last drop of enjoyment out of every minute of life. 

‘■Jansen,” said Zoe (the captain walked half a pace behind her, dressed all in white, well-groomed, and ready to do anything silly), “Jansen, we’re wasting time and I’m bored.” 

They drove to a restaurant. Between dishes Zoe threw a beautiful bare arm round Jansen’s shoulders and danced with him, her eyes half closed, her face expressionless. Men stared at her hungrily. The dances whetted the ap- petite and raised a thirst. The captain’s nostrils twitched, he stared into his plate afraid to betray the glitter in his eyes. He now knew what sort of mistress a multi- millionaire would have. Never before had he danced with his hand on such a tender, long, and nervous back, never before had his nostrils breathed such fragrance of skin 

196 

and perfume. And her voice . . . singsong and mocking. . . . And she was clever. , . , And chic. . . . 

As they left the restaurant Jansen asked: 

“Where do you wi^h me to be tonight, on board the yacht or at the hotel?” 

Zoe cast a swift and strange glance at him. turned her head away immediately, and did not answer. 

77 

Zoe was intoxicated with wine and dance. “Oh. la-la. as though I have to give an account of cvervihing ** As they entered the hotel she leaned on Jansen's granite arm. As the clerk gave her the key to the room his dark, Neapolitan face spread into a smirking smile. Zoe was Immediately on the alert. 

“Any news?” 

“None whatever, signora.” 

Said Zoe to Jansen: 

“Go into the smoking-room, smoke a cigarette, and if you are not fed up with my chatter — I'll ring.” 

She walked lightly up the red-carpeted stairs Jan«en stood below. At the landing the turned and gave a faint smile. Like a drunken man he went into the smoking- room and sat down beside the teleplione He lit a cigarette, just as she had ordered. Leaning back be pictured her to liim* self: She enters her room ... She takes off her hat, her while cloth cloak..-. Slowly, languidly, somewhat awk* wardlv, like an adolescent, she begins to disrobe. .. Her clothes fall to the floor and slie steps out of them She stands before the mirror ... Seductive, staring with big round eyes at her own reflection . Site -is in no hurry, such is the way of women.... Captain Jansen knew how to wait.... Her telephone — on the bedside table.... Hr 

197 

\s’oiil(I, of course, find her in bed. . . . Leaning on one elbow, she strctcbcB out towards the telephone. . . . 

The telephone, however, did not ring. Jansen closed his eyes so as not to see the damned instrument. Phew, how could he allow himself to fall in love like a silly kid. . . . And suppose she changed her mind? Jansen jumped up. Before him stood Rolling. The blood rushed to the captain’s head, his face flushed. 

“Captain Jansen,” croaked Rolling, “thank you for taking care of Madame Lamolle, she has no further need of your services today. I suggest you return to your duties. . . .” 

“Aye, aye, sir,” muttered Jansen with his lips alone. 

Rolling had changed greatly during the past month — his face had grown darker, his eyes were sunken, his beard had spread over his checks in a reddish-black scrub. He was wearing a warm jacket and his breast pockets were stuffed with banknotes and cheque-books. ... “A straight left to the temple, a right hook straight to the jaw, and all the breath would be knocked out of the swine. . . .” Captain Jansen’s iron fists were itching with animosity. One glance from Zoe, if she had been there at that moment, and nothing would have been left of Rolling but a bag of bones. 

“I’ll be on board the Arizona in an hour,” said Rolling in an imperious voice and with a deep frown. 

Jansen picked up his cap from the table, jammed it down deep over his eyes, and walked out. He jumped into a cab: “To the quay!” He imagined that every passcr-by was grinning at him — “the man who had had his face slapped!” Jansen thrust a handfiil of small change into the cab-driver’s band, ran across the quay, and jumped into the boat: “Row, you sons of bitches.” He ran up the gangway on to the deck, shouted at the first mate, “The deck 8 like a pigsty!” locked himself in his cabin, and without even removing his cap flopped down on his bunk. He growled softly. 

m 

Exactl^r an honr later lie heard the voice of the man on watch and o faint voice answering from the sea. The gangway creaked. In a load and jolly voice the firat male shouted an order, “Pipe all hands on dcchl” 

The owner had arrived. He could only rescue the remnants of his self-respect hy receiving Holling as though nothing had happened ashore. Jansen went on to the bridge with calm dignity. Rolling mounted the bridge, heard a report on the excellent condition of the vessel, and shook hands with him. The official ceremony was over. Rolling lit a cigar — he looked small and entirely out of place in a warm, dark suit that insulted the elegance of the Arizona and the Naples sky. 

It was already midnight. The stars twinkled between the masts and the rigging. Tlie lights of the city and of the shipping in the hay were reflected in water es black as basalt. The siren of a tugboat howled and died away. 

Rolling appeared to he fully engrossed in his cigar— he kept smelling it and emitting clouds of smoke in the captain’s direction. Jansen stood before him in an offi- cial pose, his hands hy his sides. 

“Madame Lamolle wishes to stay ashore,” said Rolling. “That is sheer caprice, hut we Americans olways respect the wishes of a lady, even when they arc obviously only a foolish whim.” 

The captain could do nothing hut nod Ins head in agreement with the owner. Rolling raised his left hand to his lips and sucked the skin on the hack of it. 

“I shall remain on board until morning, perhaps all day tomorrow.... In order that my presence on hoard should not he misinterpreted.... (He held up the hand he had been sucking and examined it in the hghl of the 

open cabin door.) As 1 was saying— misinterpreted 

(Jansen looked at the hand and sow traces of finger-nails on it.) I will satisfy your ciiriosit) by telling you that I am expecting somebody to visit the yacht but he doesn’t 

199 

expect to find me here. He may arrive at any time now. Give an order for me to be immediately informed when he comes on board. Good night.” 

Jansen’s head was on fire. He was making a great effort to understand what was going on. Madame Lamolle had remained on shore. Wlij’? Caprice? Or was she await- ing him? No — hut the fresh scratches on Rolling’s hand. . , . What had happened? Suppose she were lying on her bed with her throat cut? Or in a bag at the bottom of the hay? Multimillionaires are not very particular as to their meth- ods. 

At supper in the saloon Jansen ashed for a glass of neat whiskey to bring some sort of clarity to his brain. Tlic first mate was relating the latest newspaper sensa- tion — the terrible explosion at the German factories of the Aniline Company that had wrecked a near-by town and caused the death of over two thousand people. 

“Our owner has all the luck,” said the mote. “The wreck of the Aniline Company’s works will bring him in enough profit to buy up the whole of Germany with all the trimmings, Hohcnzollcrns and Social-Democrats thrown in. I drink to the owner.” 

Jansen took the newspapers to the cabin with him. He read with great care the description of the explosion and the various explanations, each more improhahle than the others, os to the cause of it. Rolling’s name occurred time and again in all the newspaper columns. The fashion section of the papers said that next season bearded cheeks would he in fashion and high howler hats would he worn instead of soft felts. The Excehinr had a picture of the Arizona on the front page with Madame Lamolle’s pretty head in an oval inset. As he looked at her Jansen lost his presence of mind. His alarm grew greater. 

At two in the morning he came out of his cahin and saw Rolling seated in an armchair on the upper deck. Jansen returned to his cabin. He stripped off his clothes, 

200 

donned a tliin suit of finest vool on Ins tare body sad tied his cap, shoes, and pocket wallet in a rubber hag. Six bclls^ sounded— -three o’clock. Rolling was still sitting in his armchair. At four o’clock he was still sitting there but his silhouette, with the head sunk into the shoulders, showed no^ life, he was asleep. In a minute Jansen had slipped noiselessly down the anchor chain into the water and set out to swim for the quay. 

7ft 

“Madame Zoe, don't bother yourself unnecessarily, the telephone and bell-wires have been cot.” 

Zoe again sat down on the edge of her bed. A smile of anger distorted her Ups. Stas Tyklinski was lolling in an armchair in tiie middle of the room; he curled his moustaches and studied his patest-lrather shoes. lie did not dare smoke, for Zoe had forbidden it with great determination and Rolling had given strict orders that he was to be polite with the lady. 

He had tried to pass the lime by relating stories of his amours in Varsaw and Paris but Zoe looked at him with such contempt that his tongue refused to function. There was nothing for him to do but sit silent. It was nearly five o’clock in the morning. All Zoc*s attempts to free bericlf, to deceive or seduce him had not led to any result. 

“It’s all the same to me, somehow or other I’ll gel Word to the police.” 

“The hotel staff has been bought up. hig money hii been paid.” , 

“\^Tien there are more people in the street Hi hresV: a window and scream.” 

“That’s also been taken care of. *'•* 

been engaged to certify that you are subject lo nervous fils. Madame, for the outside world you ate, so to **7’ 

in the position of a jvife who is trying to deceive her hiishand. You are outlawed. Nobody will help you and nobody ■wdll believe you. Sit still and keep quiet.” 

She pulled at her fingers and said to him in Russian: 

“You’re a swine, a filthy Pole, a lackey, and a boor.” 

Tyklinski began to bluster and his moustaches bristled. He had, however, been ordered not to start a slanging match with her. 

“Ve know how women can curse when their boasted beauty fails to serve their ends,” muttered Tyklinski. “I’m sorry for you, madame. Still you’ll have to sit with me tele a tete for a day or two. You’d better lie down and soothe your nerves. Good night, madame.” 

To his astonishment Zoe obeyed him this time. She threw off her shoes, lay down, arranged her pillows, and closed her eyes. 

Through her eyelashes she could see Tyklinski’s fat, bad-tempered face watching her intently. She yawned once or twice and placed her hand under her check. 

“I’m tired, I don’t care what happens,” she murmured and yawned again. 

Tyklinski made himself more comfortable in his chair. Zoc’s breathing was regular. In a short time he began to rub his eyes. He stood up, walked up and down the room, then leaned against the door frame. Apparently he had made up his mind to keep aw’akc on his feet. 

Tyklinski was a fool. Zo'e had got out of him every- thing she wanted to know and now she was waiting until he dozed off. It was not easy for him to keep standing by tile door. He looked at the lock and returned to his seat. 

A minute later his heavy jaw dropped. Zoe immediately slipped off the bed. With a swift movement she took the key from his waistcoat pocket. She picked up her shoes and fitted the key in the door — the stiff lock suddenly squeaked. 

202 

Tyklinski cried out as though he had seen a nighlniare, Who s that? What?” He juniped out of hia chair. Zac. threw open the door. He acised her hy the shoulders and she sank her teeth in bis hand and hit through the skin with vicious pleasure. 

“You hitch, huncaV* he roared in Polish. He jabbed his knee into the small of her back and knocked her down. He kicked her hack into the room and tried to lock the door. Somelhiog prevented him from doing so and 2oe saw his neck turn red under the strain. 

“Who’s there?” he asked hoarsely, heaving his shoulder against the door. 

His feet slid slowly hack across the parquet floor and the door opened. He grabbed hurriedly at the revolver in his hip pocket hut before he could use il was sent flying across the room. 

Captain Jansen stood in the door. Wet clothes clung to his muscular body. For a second he looked straight into Tyklinskt’s eyes. His audden forward rush was more like propulsion and the blow that had been intended for HoIIing descended on the Poles a double impact— a straight left with the full weight of the body behind it caught him on the bridge of the nose and a right hook to his chin. Tjklinski collapsed on the carpet without a sound, his face battered and a bloody tness. 

Jansen’s third move was to turn and face Madame La* mollc. AH his muscles were in play* 

“At your service, Madame Limolle.” 

“Jansen, to the yacht, as quickly as possible.” 

“Aye, aye, madame.” 

She threw her arm round liii neck as she had done earlier in the restaurant. She did not kiss him but brought her lips very close to bis. 

“The fight’s only just beginning. The greatest danger lies ahead.” 

“Aye, aye, madame. 

79 

“Cabby, drive bell for leather to the quay. I’m listen- ing, Madame Lamolle. While I was waiting in the smoking- room. ...” 

“I went to my room, removed my hat and cloak. . . .” 

“I know. . . .” 

“How?” 

Jansen’s hand trembled behind her baek. Zoe respond- ed ■srith a caressing movement. 

“I didn’t notice that the cupboard in front of a door leading to an adjoining room had been moved. I hadn't had time to get as far as the mirror before the door opened and Rolling confronted me. I knew that yesterday he was still in Paris. I also knew that he’s mortally afraid of air travel. ... If he were here that meant that it was really a matter of life and death for him. Now I know what’s in his mind but then I simply went mad. He had lured me into a trap. I called him all the names I could lay my tongue to. He stuck his fingers into his ears and ran out.” 

“He came do^vn to the smoking-room and sent me back to the yacht. . . .” 

“That's just it. What a fool I was. It’s because of those dances and wine and other foolishness. . . . Yes. my friend, if you want to fight vou’vc got to put all nonsense on one side. . . . Two or three minutes later he returned. I said we must talk it over. And then he told me in sneh rude tones as he had never dared use to me before that there was nothing to talk over and that I was to stay in that room until he released me. Then I slapped his face.” 

"Motive cot guts,” said Jansen in admiration. 

My dear friend, that was my second mistake. But what a coward! He got his cars boxed four times and stood for it. He just stood there with his lips trembling. He tried to 

204 

grab my hand but that cost him dearly, too. Then I made my third raUiakc: I cried.*’ 

“Oh, the acoundrel..,.’* 

“Wait a minute, Jansen, nolling'a a /ool where leara are concerned, he is crushed by tears, he'd prefer to have his face slapped a doaen times. Then he called the Pole who had been standing behind the door and I saw that it had all been arranged beforehand. The Pole settled him- self in an armchair. Rolling told me, ‘As a last resort he's been ordered to shoot.* Then he went away. 1 got busy with the Pole. Within an hour J had all the details of Roll- ing's treacherous plan. Jansen, my dear friend, this is a question of my happiness. If you don't help me all is lost. Cahby, faster, faster. . . 

The cab drove swiftly along the water-front, deserted at that early hour before dawn, and stopped at the stone staircase at the foot of which a number of boats were tied up in the oily black water of the bay. 

A little later Jansen, holding the precious Madame LamoUe ia hi$ arms, climbed noiselessly up a rope ladder thrown over the stern of the Arizona. 

Rolling was awakened by the chill of the morning. The deck was wet, the masthead lights had grown pale; the bay and the town were still in shadows but the smoke over Vesuvius alreadj had a rosy tinge. 

Rolling glanced over shippiog lights and outlines of vessels. He went up to the lookout and stood beside him- He gave a snort and then went on to the bridge. Jansen immediately came out of his cabin, fresh, clean, and well- groomed. He wished Rolling a good morning and Rolling answered with a snort just a little more polite than the one be gave to the lookout. 

SOS 

He stood for a long time in silence, twisting a button on his jacket. This was a had habit that Zoc had once tried to break him of. Now it didn’t matter. Apart from that, twisting buttons would probably be the fashion in Paris next year. Tailors would invent special buttons for twisting. 

Suddenly he asked: 

“Drowned people rise to the surface, don’t they?” 

“If you don’t tie a weight to them,” answered Jansen calmly. 

“I’m not asking that: if a man is drowned at sea is that the end of it?” 

“Yes, a man falls overboard, a wave sweeps him from the deck, or some other mishap — all that is classed as ‘accidental death by drowning.’ The authorities do not usually interfere.” 

Rolling shrugged his shoulders. 

“That’s all I wanted to know about drowning. I’m going to my cabin. If a boat comes up, I repeat, don’t say that I’m on board. Receive the man and then report to me.” 

He went away. Jansen returned to his cabin where Zoe slept behind drawn blue curtains on his bunk. 

81 

Shortly after eight a boat pulled out to the Arizona. The ragamuffin rowing the boat shipped his oars and called ojit: 

“Ahoy there. ... Is that the Arizona?'''' 

Let s suppose it is,” ansAvered a Danish sailor leaning over the side. 

‘Is there anybody by the name of Rolling on board?” 

“Let’s suppose there is.” 

The ragamuffin exposed his magnificent teeth in a smile. 

“Grab tbU.” 

Adroitly be threw a letter on lo ibr derk, ibn •ailor caught it, and the ragamitf/tn cl/ckr«f hli toiigiir, 

“Hi, sailor, aalt>eye«, give ii< a rlgar.” 

While the Dane wai looking round for loinelliltig to throw at the ragamuffin the latter made off, daiirlng aritl grimacing in the boat, and from abrer Joy of life on tliai hot sunny morning lang at the fop of !«]• voire. 

The Bailor picked op the Irtler and went to the rap. tain with it (as he had I/*en ordered to). Jsoien polled back the curtain and leaoed ar^r the a/eepJng fthe opened eyes still heavy with tfeep. 

“Is he here?’’ 

Jansen gave her the fetter aA«? «he read ft; 

“I’m hadly wounded. H«e aieyry r.o roe, I fooghf file a lion in your intereit* bn: tie rm^wD.fe happened. ifj» dsme Zoe Is at liberty. I faC to jwf * 

Zoe tore up the letter witStn* it. 

“Now we can wait eafsijy fsrfij'nt. ff've tviied at J»we •en and held out her hand i-» trm.i' /wreT. dejr, we a*.yM come to an agreement. I lix^e y-tit. I aee/f ys.v. I rvppvie the iaeritjhJe mart happes^.. 

She heaved a short si^ 

“I feel I’m going to have a tse w.rfi If; 

dear friend, that’s all tn in KtV — /’t- 

only, faithfalaesi. ... I km-w the mi'niiniig m int'i--i4<.v.v It’s eleisentab I’m jotl at rrr'^tr i» ?i*v 

to take me — remember [>• '»* -.vne^ '*v 

either I die or Ilf hare po^er tunle- Mwa »ti. 

sen pressed his lips together, a rnnc/ntiesn- ‘J.’**' Zlie lU^-i Yon sriil be the tool of my w-llff'fTTe ’tjt On » 

I am faatasy tU*lf, I'm an a.f '’IU bt-s- >- 

that? f want tv^-nzhir.% t/a L* aime. Ti'-*- v«ert'.>-{ * 

with her arms.) The mao,, the ear tiK -srt S*'* "e 

everythicr. shonM sootf arris^e <in.die trrffoa — s 

log him, to ts R’ofTiiig; ^ y" 

between him and Garin. The settlement with Garin had been thought out to the last detail. Rolling lit a cigar. He deliberately lingered a few moments, then went out of his cabin into the corridor. He opened a door on the loAvcr deck. There stood the boxes containing the hyperboloids. Two sailors, sitting on them, jumped up as he entered. He sent them away to the forecastle. 

Closing the door on the lower deck he ■^v'cnt slowly towards the opposite door, that of the chart*house. As he took hold of the doorhandle he noticed that the ash on his cigar was falling. Rolling smiled with self-satisfaction, his mind was clear, it was a long time since he had been so pleased with himself. 

He threw open the door. In the chart-house, under the plate-glass skylight, sat Zoc, Garin, and Shelga, watching him as he entered. Rolling stepped back into the corridor. He choked, it seemed to him that somebody was stirring his brain with a spoon. Beads of perspiration stood out on his nose. And, strangest of all things, he smiled a foolish and sickly smile like a clerk who has been caught tamper- ing with the firm’s books (he had been caught himself like that some twenty-five years ago). 

“Good morning. Rolling,” said Garin, standing up. “Here I am, old man.” 

83 

Horror of horrors! Rolling had made himself ridic- ulous. 

What could he do? Grind his teeth, storm, shoot? Still worse, still more foolish. . . . Captain Jansen had betrayed him, that was obvious. The crew were not to be relied on and the yaclu was in the open sea. By an effort of will (something gave way inside him) Rolling chased that damned smile away. 

Ah! Rolling raised his hand and waved it in greet- 

OT/J 

to have you. We’ll have a good lime." 

Said Zoe sharply: 

You re a rotten acior» Rolling. Stop trjing to amuse the public. Come in and ait down. There are no strangers here — only your tleatlHcsl enemies. You've only yourscl/ to hlamc for gathering such a joMy party for a Mediterranean cruise.” 

Rolling looked at her with leaden eyes. 

"In hig business, Madame Latnolle, there is no such thing as personal friendship or enmity," 

He eat down at the table between Garin and Zoe as though he were taking bts place on a royal throne. He placed his hands on the table. The silence that ensued lasted a full minute. 

"Very well,” he said, *T’ve lost. How much do I have to pay?” 

Garin answered, his eyes flashing, a smile on his face as though he were ready at any moment to break into a hearty laugh: 

"Exactly one half, old man, one half as we agreed at Fontainebleau. Here is the witness loo.” He jerked his heard in the direction of Shelga who was moodily drum' ming on the table with his /ingers. *'l don't intend to exam* inc your hooks. At a rougb estimate it will be a thoii' sand million in dollars, as a final settlement, of course. The operation will he a painless one as far as you’re con- cerned. You’ve scraped up a hell of a lot of money in Europe.” 

"It will be difllcult to pay a thousand million at once.” answered Rolling, "ril think iT over. 0. K. I’ll go to Pans today. I hope that by Friday, in Marseilles, say. 1 shall be able to pay you tlie greater part of the sum.” 

“Tut'iul-tut,” exclaimed Garin, “but the point i». old man, that you will only be act free after tbc sum has been 


,o . on ot '^‘T,Ao 

\r’ , , atrx I \nvVo\^'’^;,V,c<V 

^ v"'" 'jo'^ A 1 

-tcs, ^ ^ ,uc\^ ^cctcA'^^ 

^ vnvcnca ^tc . _ vo^•^c' 

^ -ovV- . \,o.l'.c^* .^a at\A 



r us toic oi A tacc-^ ' o” 

„ ,\,c n^aAata®' i 

>s-vv\' “ A\.c ”;^cVteA iatac. , 

iivicc^'^^ • n A -voai ^ inVeaa . 

^ oas®^°’^’ nA \ri8V0°“ ^ ^'••'ioU qvi 

'a ^::t j:;r;C='^n:-*“' ’ ,, 

" ^.\ tOVlS^ , \30OJ • -c^r '.a 

,.r .«4 "*; u.«"‘ "”"' . , o» *'= '” 

r-’" .o.P«» *!:nr> r-t;- "u t- 

c\,p\&a ® V uc ■''' ®® \ „rk as \,cca^ \ 

C'> 

'^’■"" „*e- 

V t^cssc*^ eact.^- 

■pOT 

o. vaU'^- %V 

wt.>" .„ .„, W ''“ 

In the first place*** said Garin* leaning forward on his toes, “we have no specific comitjr towards the United States. We shall try to crush any fleet that attempts aggres- sive action against us. Secondly,** he swayed back on his heels, “we do not insist on a fight. If the armed forces of Europe and America recognize our sacred right to the occupation of any territory that we need, our sovereign rights and so on, we shall leave them alone, at least in the military sense. If they adopt a contrary course we shall deal with the ground and naval forces of Europe and America, with their fortresses, hairs, tnilitary supplies, genera! stafTs, and so on, without mercy. Tl>e fate of the Aniline factories. T hope, should convince you that I don't throw words to the wind.** 

He tapped Rolling on the shoulder. 

“To think there was a time, old man. when I asked you to he a partner in my enterprise. You didn't have enough imagination because you are net a man of culture- This htislnris of taking the shirts off the stockhroVers* backs and buying up factories. thal*s all outdated. Vnu missed your opportunitv to work wiih a real man, with the real organizer of your crarv hiiliofis.** 

Rolling was beginning to look like a dreomno*ing corpse. Forcing out the words with he hi*«ed' 

“Vou’re an anarchist.** 

At that Shelga grasped his hair with his sound hand and hurst out laughing so uproarioiislv that Captain Jan- sen’s startled fare appeared at the skylight. Garin turned on Ills heels and again addressed Rolling: 

**No, old man, there’# a screw loose somewhere in that brain host of yours. I'm no anarchist. I'm that great organ- iser that people will he looking for with a lantern in daylight before much more time has passed. We'll diicuii this when wc have more lime. Now write a cheque. And full speed ahead to Jlarseillea.** 

i\ic ^ „Ac aV 

•.^vVvc® 



i! «a» ””” oiiS«'?°.i5o'»" . 

o» '>°!±. »»\'ijeJ 

S '''• . oV. ce»® ' Aris°’^“ A eo o^: „ a _= iV'Cl 

o" "'"'^LtvcA 6°°^ belle 

Sa tete ' 

'''"^'' A^ct. '■? atiA aSeiti “I* 

called \s\a^^®. , ^-Ocf''';^ 

C.<,.^:sV.. 4 '"I 

!>«'?'' oi f'"‘“'t' P”"'” °*c\e=’ ''L ,4r!-»"“' ..spo'"' 

«p >'fa® cetv'^^^ ’ ^a8 ■ v loa^’ ■0-C ^°T 0 

c\icc\ \i\taael • .^_^a ' troT® Ac ^ 'V 'Co-^^ 

_nV r\sc I'” _ toaie , „c\tci 


asVei 

Uc eo'" ,vc al'e'l'"'' \oo6 ol 

(lev Xouv otv e Xw 

^ ccVVvwS ,„A as ® , -Pitiatvee ^ ecs^e" 

Nva® . Y,c •e.xcx ^ epe^et'’, A\oo^ ° \ 

. o clvav^ _„^A\pa °®_.a6PtcS Yv* 

r-*;5p> 

. o clvav^ 

aP^* 

, ftapec. 

COP."'- «»"C*' '’,“C> *« » *"' 

,w« ^ Tw« *' 

eum in sitxling and llie rcmaiodfr in franco at the current rate of exchange. 

A naval cutter bronght the money that creoing. Later, when all vjgitora had gone, Coria and Jansen mounted the bridge. 

'‘Pipe all bands on deekl” 

The crew were drawn up on the ijuarfer-deck and Jansen spoke to them in a firm^ stern voice. 

“The yacht Arizona is setting out on an extremely dangerous and risky voyage. Pm damned if I’ll answer for anybody's life, for the lives of the owners or lor the safety of the vessel. You know me, you sons of. . . , I’ll double your wages and the usual boousrs will also be doubled. All who return borne safely will be given t life pension. I give you until sunset to think things over. Those who do not wish to run the risk may take their traps aibore." 

That evening eight men of the erew went ssbore. Tlje same night the crew was again made up to strength by eight desperadoes that Jansen picked up in the bars of Afarseilles port. 

Five days later the yacht lay in the Solent and Garin and Jansen presented a cheque on the Bank of England for twenty million pounds. (A timid question was put to the Prime Minister by the Labour Party leader in the House of Commons in this connection.) The money was paid. The newspapers raised a howl. There were working' class demonstrations in many cities. Journalists flew to Southampton. IloIIing did not receive any viiiiort. Tlie Arizona took oil on board and sailed away across the ocean. 

Twelve days later the Arizona dropped anchor in the Panama Canal and sent a wireless message calling to the radio telephone MacLinney, the general director of Roll- ing Aniline. At the appointed hour Rolliog. sitting in his cabin with a revolver at his head, ordered the director to pay one hundred million dollars to the bearer of bis cheque, Mr. Gatin. Garin left for New York and returned 

215 

yelfow circles, large and smaH. peered human faces, drawn and haggard from hunger, horedom, and despair. 

National currencies dropped to ralwe, Taaes sky* rocketed. Debts increased. The yellow brand struck hard in the name of the sacred law that demanded respect for duty and justice. Pay tipf 

Money flowed in streams, rivulets, and rivers into the coffers of Polling Aniline, lu directors interfered in the internal affairs of states and in inlernalional politics. They constituted a sort of Order of Secret niilers. 

Oarin raced from one end of the t/nifed Slates to the other accompanied Ly two secretaries, a number of engl> neers, typists, and a host of messengers. He worked twenty hours a day, never questioned prices and did not bargain. 

MacLinney followed his activities with alsrm and surprise. He could not understand what aii these pwrehsses meant, why Rolling’s millions were being so preposterously sr(uandercd. Garin’s secretary, one of his typists, and two messengers were in MacLinney’s pay. They sent him a detailed report to New York every day. Still it was di/fieuJi to make sense of that whirlwind of purchases, orders, and contracts. 

At the beginning of September the Arizona again appeared in the Panama Canal, took Gann on board, steamed through to the Pacific Ocean, and disappeared in a south-westerly direction. 

A fortnight later ten heavily loaded steamers set sail in the aatoe direction under scaled orders. 

85 

The ocean was in a boisterons mood. The Arizona was under almost full s«J with only her loptsili furled. The sleek hull of the yacht, a frail egg-shell wilb a mass of wind-filled sail and humming rigging, would plunge into 

x\ie 

V\ I -'<: r,u*: *' ft 

^ . > Irt tni 

Im'l it 1^' 

t WU iptiad-liotof. 

SM6» ■taB'i''" AmM'” mmn mraS «''> A'" ‘''I-tl”"'*""" 

■ ,1 fte pomt ol 'Jf'”''', 

fc m.m.» tatedUlt wdMAs «>«(»'■■'>' )“ kV. oAtt on »W> oa'A; A'T »«' 

MoU nol exist witloot tie otlet.Ue Clemitsl Kmj i Wins iuS leseUen 4» Utnnntntas Mied siill leietii’i. 

■tn^lla^ liess wbo, in turn, lertiVned the RnUitii iM»n vlth Us monstroni fanust. the^ oujht to hjn j to|»tUf ItOTO tht MTOe hftQ^V. 

'• It vas W&cu\i to ondeMtaod ' a|o\>eea!ed to the EtUvUehad done irhst «i» 

‘’ttt Vimt true eaon^H Gitstt tt4 oot tot 

ifiYion he \iai 4msa&e& W he hid tKrr* 

lundtei end U onjU to he time to |»t rid of btente*. Bot no,iomtthintttjoti*cs Wad these Uo 

■yViitt. 

■Rot «on\i Shelve andtniaad he tad %/.% V./^ sTO>«ti oterhoard in ite PasiEe. U Cai’a. 1ij( 

d«3ed Vm u e tUsd tftnon. i*4 at « *V.wei. ff r^/* 

»1 .ppexseS e. Wtl tV. driven ,'...« litlcnUin nupU luxe xAen. \i ,kU Use Uex r,„V moe, JdS^i lo, RellinE w {., ^ ' 

W le wm ,* 5 , SV.,J, Tl-,^ e . 

oeen cm«U( m &, Ciitlexi S ( 

restncUonv. Bni nw, V- a. 

tnj .Hentiee ^ Sieta^ ix^ t, ^ ‘*^'1 J-nK 

Vii, lae, oi S^nnse^ f.e , 

He use eeisTISlS' '* *'* <«t *■>»', nn 

Wn.Bt.Jt!x,t,l=i,.x.i£xxrt!;!^\>* 

the troughs between the rollers until she was hidden to her trucks by the waves, then she would rise again on the crest and shake off the spray. 

The awning had been taken in and hatches battened down. The lifeboats had been secured to the decks. Bags of sand placed along both sides were fastened with wires to the deck. On the forecastle and the stern stood two pylons built of steel girders with a round, boiler-shaped dome on each of them, which gave the yacht the appear- ance of a semi-naval vessel. 

Garin and Shelga stood on the bridge which only the spray reached. Both were in tarpaulins. Shclga’s arm was now out of its plaster cast but was not yet strong enough for anything more than holding a box of matches or a fork at table. 

“The ocean,” said Garin, “and a tiny, fragile vessel . . . a crystallized atom of human genius and will. . . . We fly along, Comrade Shelga, and nothing can stop us. We struggle. . . . And what waves. . . . Look at them, like moun- tains.” 

A gigantic wave approached from the starboard. Its seething, foam-capped crest rose higher and higher. Below the crest the bottle-green water described an ever sharper curve until the wave collapsed into the sea. The Arizona heeled over to port. The wild wind sang through the sails and rigging, lifting the yacht out of the watery abyss; the vessel lay right over, exposing the red hull to the keel, climbed the curved surface of the wave, reached the crest, and disappeared in a shower of noisy foam. The decks, the boats, all disappeared under the water and the pylon on the forecastle was immersed up to the dome which surmounted it. Water seethed around the bridge. 

“Glorious!” shouted Garin. 

The Arizona regained her equilibrium, the water rushed from the deck and the trysails flapped as they lost the wind; the yacht plunged down again into the trough. 

“Sucli IB man. Comrade She}ga, bucIi is man in the human ocean. . . . I've taken a great fancy to this little boat. lent it like me? We are both wind>borne. ... Eh?...” 

Sbefga shrugged his shoulders but did not answer. It was no use arguing with this man whose self-admiration reached the point of ecstasy.... Let him go into raptures — the superman indeed! He and Rolling were bound to find each other on this earth: they were mortal enemies but one could not exist without the other. The Chemical King's loins had begotten this homunculus filled with feverish, criminal ideas who, in turn, fertilized the Rolling desert with his monstrous fantasy. They ought to bang together from the same bough! 

It was difficult to understand why Rolling bad not long ago been fed to the fishes. He had done what was required of him; true enough Garin had not got the thousand million he had demanded hut he had received three hundred and it ought to be time to get rid of encum- brances. But no, something stronger bound these two men together. 

Mar could Shelga imderstaod why he had not been thrown overboard in the Pacific. In Naples Garin had needed him as a third person and as a witness. If Garin had appeared on board the Arizona alone unexpected difficulties might have arisen. It would have been much more difficult for Rolling to get rid of both of them at once. That was all obvious, Garin had won the game. 

What did he want with Shelga now? While they had been cruising in the Caribbean there had been some restrictions. But now, out in the open sea, nobody paid any attention to Shelga and he did as he pleased. He watched and he listened, and he was beginning to get a hazy idea of some possible ways out of this foul situation. 

The race across the ocean was more like a pleasure trip. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were served luxuriously. 

319 

•t 

rs.e6-,%^sr«p •- 

A , , „oa’^S ^ _ct * A coato^®®’ ,, AecVi®^ 

taac-.sco atarv^txg ^ evetv^^6 a!. 

advctv^'^'^fles T.WeW 

1 — AcTCts^ Arc® ^ frtUt V^vi' *Vitcc 

P'" n P^easa^*^’ scp^ 

- Ir” 

Mtct «o\\\p 6 «®" oP ‘^®‘^'^''v,-ni 

t\»e da"®®"®;^ ViiB P'^®, notice A to 

,na ''■»'''''t,..\6. ."”t '“'='' “'’rp'"' 

rd vV'e otV'Cts- tbc? 

ra- r- 

o”'’” r,t s *' A vc »"« '•”' 

S\iaU'P6 ptopo®''' -A to p'®^ 

i.1 bavc a P , . agteed 

“’S'"'" .cme®'"" ' 

-•Do -S-O"' ^ 

.»«irr\C • 

220 

“By the way- • - - Tut-tut. Was that your man who Bred at me out of the bushes? A hair’# breadth from my skolh” 

“I don’t know anything about it.” 

Garin told him what had happened at Staffer s house. SbeJga shook his head. 

“1 had nothing to do with that. Bot still, it’s a pity he missed.” 

“It must he fate, eh?” 

“Yes, fate.” 

“Shelga, I’m giving yon your choice,” Garin’s eyes, cruel and implacable, came closer to him, his face took on an evil look, “either you stop playing the man of principle or I heave you overboard. D’you get me?” 

“1 get you all right.” 

“I need you. I need yon for something big. We can come to an agreement. You're the only man 1 trust.” 

Before be could Bnish a huge wave, bigger than any of its predecessors, crashed over the yacht. Seething foam swirled round the bridge. Shelga was thrown against the rail, his staring eyes, open mouth, and a band with the fingers spread disappeared under the water. . . . Garin dived into the maelstrom. 

Afterwards Shelga often recalled that incident. At the risk of bis own life Garin had seized him by the skirt of his tarpaulin coat and struggled against tbe waves until they had passed over the yacht leaving Shelga hang- lag over the bridge rail. His lungs were filled with water and he fell heavily to the deck. Sailors with great dif. acuity pumped the water out of him and carried him to his cabin. 

G.rio soon .ppeared. He hail ebanged hi, elolbe, .od »M m a happy mood again. He ordered Iho gUl€t, of 

m 

o. ;^ oush;’ 

J ^pr-*-'!'-®^ *:\' ^rje ?' ^ -rtia*^^^® Vpa-r-v 

- r,’;; "! «'■ -’■ n°-s”»”’ •"«“ 

'= v^o^af '' „0 I.i'*''” 5 r 

<A 

S'-' ^ liio-aS^ a iiier® 

„ „irjt«f<i cwl^a 

a*2:'Sv=.»a *- 

nfi. *-* ii Stt^ ■“ ^-up aiT' "t 

.-t) f 'Ptidl-S’ 

, 0 -^' , v:. -besd I ^ 

A»p''Vp^^ ' , VzcV- ®*' “^’'TiT \ 

' .VtP^ IpH P _.rp 

-VotiT^ ' t',csT^'‘=-''""-.A iCs ®'^': ',n 

f V'lrn 

’:l; drovox^^ 


2 _ •"'■'p vT-'" '*cvip\c- 2 ^ * * ' 2 ao*--^ 

■"' f V,. 2^3it -^e 

T"'V'’,' „= ««" -".'a,. » .A M »>’ 

VtO- ^ --pd 

? 1 . ‘"'7 2 S 

S'/'*- *‘ 2 .V£% s a i-nd ‘■■^ 

is 

tiny follicles on his palate. That's reality. "Wliere is you taster of moral values? Wlial follicles does he use to lest them?” 

“Everything that leads towards the establishment of Soviet power throughout the world is good,” said Shelga. “Everything that hinders it is had.” 

“Superb, marvellous, I know. . . . But what’s all that to you? What binds you to the Soviet Republic? Are you economically dependent? Nonsense ... I offer you a salary of fifty thousand dollars a year. I’m talking quite seriously. Is it a go?” 

“No,” answered She/ga, calmly. 

“That’s just it, no. So you’re not bound economically but ideologically, by bonds of honesty, the higher matter, in short. You are an inveterate moralist, which is what I wanted to prove to you. You want to turn the world upside down. You want to cleanse economic laws of the accumulated rubbish of milleoDia, to blow up the impcri* alist fortresses. All right, I also want to turn the world upside down, but in my own way. I’ll turn it upside down by the strengtii of my genius.” 

“Oho!” 

“In spite of everything, bear that in mind, Shelga. Listen to me: what is man, after all? Is he an insignificant microorganism clinging in indescribable terror of death to a ball of clay called the earth and flying through the icy darkness together with that ball? Or is he a Brain, a divine apparatus for the production of a special, myste* rious form of matter called "nioughl — one micron of which matter can contain the whole universe? Well, what do you say?” 

Cartn settled deeper into his chair and pulled his feet up under him. His usually pale cheeks were flushed. 

“I propose something different. Listen, my dear enemy.... I shall acquire absolute power on earth. Not a single chimney will smoke unless I order it, not a single 

223 

grog, lit his pipe, and continued the interrupted conver- sation. 

Shelga studied his mocking face, his agile body sprawled in a leather armchair. A strange, contradictory nature. A bandit, a scoundrel, a dastardly adventurer. . . . Despite all this, either from the grog or from the shake-up he had received, Shelga found it pleasant that Garin sat in front of him with one foot perched on the other knee and smoked and talked of various matters as though the Anzona’i sides were not creaking from the heavy blows of the waves, as though raging water was not streaming past the closed portholes and there was no pitching and tossing that sent first Shelga in his bunk and then Garin in ins chair high up into the air. 

Garin had changed greatly since the Leningrad days — he had become confident, cheerful, and friendly, such as only clever, confirmed egoists can be. 

“Why did you let such a fine opportunity go?” Shelga asked him. “Or do you need my life so very badly? I don’t understand you.” 

Garin threw hack his head and laughed merrily. 

“You’re funny, Shelga. Wliy should 1 act logically? I’m not a mathematics master. Wliat are things coming to? A simple act of humanity — and it’s not understandable. What benefit do I get out of dragging a drowning man out of the water by his hair? None whatever. Just a feeling of friendship tow'ards you. . . . Humanity. . . 

“You weren’t thinking of humanity •when you blew up the Aniline factories, were you?” 

“No, I wasn’t,” shouted Garin. “You’re still buried under the wreckage of morality and can’t get out into the open. Ah, Shelga, Shelga. . . . Wliat are these little shelves you put everything on — this shelPs good and that shelf’s had. I can understand a w’inctaster: he tastes the wine, spits it out, and takes a crust of bread — this wine’s good and that’s had. He is guided by his taste, by the 

222 

tirj frilBsJrf Ttc 55? jxiitlr, ‘Thst*# rrxlity, XThcre 3« ;•^■n ttr^fr ic mrcx3 ^xlow'? lie to tojt 

■^ 1~: ; ;£ loxfi? teyrtrcis. sif ■rstt’Mi'.'hTnrTJt Tv-er ^STTcsisor? tie is rooiT" «13 Sholci- 

tSit; iijjSer* ij is hid.”’ 

Eili. ssuttHotss. I Isiew.... Bet v^htt's *11 tliit 

to jTO? TbTiitt VeeSf yoa to tlsr SoTict RfpnVlic'? Xro j-on ewrtsaiirallj £rj*f=deat? Xoasoaso ... I o^or y-oa a saltry 

of SJtr tioefisd dollars aTfar.Fo tilliac qaiio amoaslr. 

Ifitaror 

“■X’o.’* *anrt?rd Siflca. caliaH. 

*"Ttir* jait it, oo- So you're ool kocad economically but ideoIopeaHy, by bonds of honeitr. tbe hipber tnillcr, in ibort- Tfou are an inretcrate moralist, a^bicb is ^bat I vanted to prorc to you. Yon >f*nt to turn tbe world cpride dovn. You want to cleanse economic laws of tbe aceamnlated rubbish of milicnaia, to Mow np tbe hnperi* alist fortresses. All right, I also want to turn tbe world upside dovm, bat In my own way. Til turn it up*ide ilnun by the ftreogth of my getuus." 

“Obor 

**In spite of cTerythiop, bear tbat in mind, Slirlpa. Listen to me: what is man, after all? Is be an iusignirirnnl microorganism clinging in imlescrlltablr terror of drnlli to a ball of clay called the earth and Hying through the icy darkness together with that ball? Or is he a llrnlii, n divine apparatus for the production of a S]iecinl, m)slr- rions form of matter called Thouglit— one micron of which matter can contain the whole iinivrrir? Well, whnt do yon say?” 

Garin settled deeper into his chair and piillrd liU frri up under him. His usually pale cheeks were flushed. 

“I propose something diCferrnl. Listen, my desr enemy.... I shall acquire ahsolute power nti enrlli, Noi n single chimney will smoke unless I order it, mil a single 

223 

ship will leave harbour, not a single hammer will strike. Everything will be subordinated — up to and including the right to breathe — to the centre, and I am in the centre. Everything belongs to me. I shall engrave my profile on one side of little metal discs — with my beard and wearing a crown — and on the other side the profile of Madame Lamolle. Then 1 shall select the ‘first thousand,’ let us call them, although there will be something like two or three million pairs. They will be the patricians. They will devote themselves to the higher enjoyments and to crea- tive activity. Taking an example from ancient Sparta we shall establish a special regime for them so that they do not degenerate into alcoholics and impotents. Then wc shall determine the exact number of hands necessary to give full service to culture. In this case, too, we shall resort to selection. These wc shall call, for the sake of politeness, the toilers. . . .” 

“That goes without saying.” 

“You may laugh, my friend, when we get to the end of this conversation. . . . They will not revolt, oh, no, my dear comrade. The possibility of revolution will be destroyed at the very roots. A minor operation will he carried out on every toiler after he has qualified at some skill and before he is issued a labour book. Quite an unuoticeable operation made under a casual anaes- thetic.... Just a slight perforation of the skull. He %vill get a hit dizzy and when he wakes up he will be a slave. Lastly, there will be a special group that we shall isolate on a beautiful island for breeding purposes. All those left over we shall have to get rid of as useless. There you have the structure of the future mankind according to Pyotr Garin. The toilers will toil and serve uncom- plainingly, like horses, for their food. They will no longer be people and they will have no worries except hunger. They will find happiness in the digestion of their food. 

224 

The elite, the patriciana, tbey >riIJ be demigodj. Altboogb I despise people altogether, it is always pleasant to be in good company. 1 assure you, my friend, ve shall enjoy the golden age the poets dream of. The impression of horror created by clearing the earth of its surplus popu- lation will soon be forgotten. On the other hand what opportunities for a genius! The esrth will become ’a Garden of Eden. Births will be regulated. There will be selection of the fittest. There will be no struggle for existence, that will be lost in the haze of the barbaric past. A beautiful and refined race will develop, with new organs of thought and sensation. While communism is dragging all humanity behind it to the heights of culture I will do it in ten years. . . . What the devil! In less than ten years.... For a few only.... But, then, it is not a question of numbers.*’ 

*‘A fascist Utopia, rather curious,” said Shelga. ^Have you told Bolling anything about this?” 

“It is not a Utopia, that’s the funny part of it. 1 am only logical. Needless to say I’ve told Bolling nothing because he is simply a brute beast. Although Bolling and all the Bollings of this world are only doing blindly that which 1 shall integrate into a precise and finished pro- gramme. They are doing it barbarically, clumsil), and slowly. Tomorrow we shall reach the island, 1 believe. Then you will see that I am not joking.” 

“What are you going to begin with? JLnling coins with your bearded mug on them?” 

“Ugh, how that beard seems to get under your skin. No. I shall begin with defence. I shall fortify the island and simultaneously f shall start sinking a shaft through the Olivine Belt at feverish speed. My first threat to the world will he when 1 upset the gold standard. 1 sliall he able to extract as much gold as I like Then I shall iannch my offensive. There will be a war more terrible than that 

225 

( 

of 1914. My victory is certain. Then will come the selec- tion of whatever population is left after the war and the destruction of useless elements; my elite will begin to live like gods and the toilers will begin working conscien- tiously and will be as happy as the first people in paradise. Clever? Eh, you don’t like it?” 

Garin again burst out laughing. Shelga closed his eyes so as not to look at him. The game that had begun on the Trade-Union Boulevard was developing into a serious match. He lay back and thought. There remained only one very dangerous move that could lead to victory. In any case, at the moment it would obviously be wrong to refuse Garin point-blank. Shelga reached out for a cigarette. Garin watched him mockingly. 

“Have you decided?” 

“Yes, I have.” 

“Excellent. I’ll put my cards on the table; I need you as much as a flint needs tinder, Shelga, I am surrounded by dumb brutes, people without any imagination. You and I are going to quarrel quite a lot but I’m going to make you w<irk with me. At least during the first half of the game when we shall still be beating up the Rollings. By the way, let me warn you to beware of Rolling, if he’s decided to kill you he’ll do it.” 

“I’ve been wondering for a long time why you don’t feed him to the fishes.” 

“I need a hostage. In any case he certainly won’t be in the list of the ‘first thousand.’ ” 

Shelga paused for a short time and then asked: 

“Have you ever had syphilis, Garin?” 

“Believe it or not, hut I haven’t. I’ve often thought myself that there’s something wrong in the top storey. I ve even consulted a doctor. My reflexes arc higher than normal, that s all. Come on, get dressed and wc’ll go in to dinner.” 

226 

87 

The grey storm-cloucJt had disappeared somewhere away to the north-east. 'Hie blue ocean had become delightfully caressing. Hie crests of the gentle waves glistened like glass. Dolphins swam in the wake of the yacht, chasing each other and leaping out of the water, oily and happy. Sea-birds soaring over the yacht’s sails filled the air with raucous cries. In the far distance the outlines of a rocky island rose above the sea in a blue haze, like a mirage. 

The lookout in the crow's nest shouted, **Land in sight." A shudder went through the people standing on deck. This land of the unknown future resembled a long cloud lying on the horizon towards which the /Arizona’s wind-hlled sails carried them at top speed. 

Barefooted sailors were swilling down the decks. A huge tousled sun blazed in the bottomless expanses of sky and sea. Garin, plucking at his beard, was trying to penetrate the haze of future events that enwrapped the island. Oh, if only lie could know! . . . 

The autumn sunset was aOame behind the distant prospects of Vasilyevsky Island. The barges loaded with firewood, the tugs, the Sshing boats, and the smoke swirling amongst the derricks in the shipyards were bathed in a sombre red glow. The windows of the empty palaces burned like fire. 

A steamer approached along the blue-black water of the Neva out of the smoke in the west. Its siren howled, greeting Leningrad and marking the end of the voyage. The light from its portholes fell on the columns of the Sfincag Institute, the Naval School, and on the faces of 

IS* 

227 

people strolling on the embankment; the ship began tying up to the floating quay of the customs house, a red struc- ture with white columns. The usual bustle of inspection began. 

One of the first-class passengers, a dark-faced man with high cheek-bones, according to his passport a scien- tific worker from the Geographical Society of France, stood at the rail. He gazed at the town, wrapped in the evening haze. The rays of the departing sun still played on the dome of St. Isaac’s, on the golden spires of the Admiralty and the Cathedral of SS. Peter and Paul. That cathedral spire seemed to have been designed by Peter the Great as a sword menacing all who approach Russia’s sea- board frontier. 

The high-chcckboncd man stretched his neck to look at the cathedral spire. He seemed to be shaken and ex- cited like a traveller who secs the roof of the house in which he was born after many years of absence. From the fortress across the dark waters of the Neva came the triumphant sound of bells; the setting sun played on the golden spire of the Cathedral of SS. Peter and Paul whose carillon was playing the Internationale over the graves of Russian past emperors. 

The man gripped the rail hard, something like a growl came from his throat, and he turned his back to the for- tress. 

In the customs house be tendered a passport in the name of Arthur Levy and while his luggage was being examined he stood with bowed head so as not to betray the evil glint in his eyes. 

Throwing a tartan plaid over his shoulder and with a small suitcase in his hand he went ashore on Vasilycvsky Island. Autumn stars filled the sky. He straightened his back and heaved the sigh that he had long withheld. Glancing at the sleeping houses, the steamer on which two lights burned at the mastheads and the dynamo was 

22S 

humming Bottly, he turned and tvalked towards the bridge. 

A tall man in a canvas blouse was walking slowlf towards him. As they passed the man looked into his face, whispered, “Good Lord” and suddenly called out after him: 

“Volshin, Alexander Ivanovich?” 

The roan who had called himself Arthur Levy in the customs house stumhlrd hut did not turn bis head and hurried on towards the bridge. 

89 

Ivan Gusev lived with Tarashkin and was something half-way between a son and a younger brother to him. Tarashkin taught him to read and write and in other ways developed his mind. 

The youngster proved ao capable and industrious that he gladdened hii tutor’s heart. TTheo they had finished their supper— tea, brown bread, and sausage— Tarashkin would fumlile in his pockets for cigarettes, remember that he had promised his club colleagues not to smoke, would run his fingers through his hair and start a talk on some, thing like the following lines: 

“D*you know what capitalism is?” 

“No, Vasily Ivanovich, I don’t.” 

“ni tell you as simply as I can. Nine men work, the tenth takes everything they make, they’re hungry and he gets so fat he could burst. That’s capitalism. Get it?” 

“No, Vasily Ivanovich, I don’t.” 

“What don’t you understand?” 

“Why they give hint what they make.” 

“He makes ’em, he’s the exploiter.” 

“How can he make ’em? He's only one and there are nine of them.” 

229 

“He’s armed and they’re unarmed.” 

“Yon can always take arms away from anyone, Vasily Ivanovich. Your nine men must be fools.” 

Tarashkin stared in open-mouthed admiration at Ivan. 

“You’re right, old chap. You think like a Bolshevik. That’s just what we did in Soviet Russia, we took away the arms, chased the exploiters away, and now all ten men work and all eat.” 

“We’ll all get fat enough to burst.” 

“No, old chap, we don’t have to get fat, we’re not pigs, we’re people. We have to turn our fat into mental energy.” 

“Meaning what?” 

“Meaning that in the shortest possible time we have to become the cleverest and most educated people in the world. D’you get that? Good, now let’s do some arith- metic.” 

“All right,” answered Ivan, getting out a notebook and pencil. 

“And you mustn’t suck an indelible pencil, it’s not nice. Get it?” 

They kept hard at their studies all the evening until well past midnight when the eyes of both tutor and pupil refused to stay open any longer. 

90 

A well-dressed man with high cheek-bones stood at the club-house gate poking at the earth with his walking-stick. He raised his head and the strange look he gave Tarashkin and Ivan as they approached put Tarashkin immediately on his guard. Ivan clung to him. 

‘T’vc been waiting here since morning. Is that boy Ivan Gusev?” asked the stranger. 

230 

“Whal busincas ia that of youra?” snorted Tarnshkin. 

“I beg your pardon, bnt let's be a little more polite, comrade. My name ia Arthur Levy.” 

He took out a card, fiaahed it under Taraslikin'a noac and added: 

“I’m from the Soviet Embassy in Paris. Ia that good enough for you?” 

Tarashkin muttered something indefinite. From his pocket wallet Arthur Levy produced the photograph that Garin had taken from Shelga. 

“Can you conHem the fact that the photograph was made from this boy?” 

Tarashkin had to admit as much. Ivan would have slipped away but Arthur Levy gripped him by the shoulder. 

“Shelga gave me this photo. I have secret instructions to take the boy to a certain address. In ease of any resist- ance I have authority to arrest him. Are you going to submit?” 

“What credentials have you?” asked Tarashkin. 

Arthur Levy showed him credentials written on the letter heading of the Soviet Embassy in Paris and duly signed and sealed. Tarashkin studied the paper for a long time, sighed, and folded it in four. 

“The devil knows what it's all about but it seems to be in order. Couldn’t somebody else go in bis place? The boy has to go to school....” 

Arthur Levy's teeth flashed in a smile. 

“Don't worry. The boy won’t be badly off with me. . . 

91 

Tarashkin had instructed Ivan to keep in touch with him during his journey. lie was somewhat relieved when he got a postcard from Chelyabinsk: 

2JI 

“Dear Comrade Tarashkin, 

“We're travelling all riglit. first class. The food’s good and I’m treated all right. In Moscow Arthur Levy bought me a cap and a quilted coat and top-boots. The only trouble is I’m lonesome. Arthur doesn’t say a word all day. By the way, in Samara I met a kid I used to know, he’s homeless, too. I gave him your address. I hope you won’t mind. I suppose he’ll come so you can expect him.” 

92 

Alexander Ivanovich Volshin came to the U.S.S.R. in the name of Arthur Levy carrying papers from the Geo- graphical Society of France. The papers were genuine (and that had cost Garin a lot of trouble), although the credentials and certificate of identification from the em- bassy were forged. The latter documents, however, Volshin had shown to nobody but Tarashkin. Arthur Levy’s of- ficial mission was the investigation of volcanic action in the mountains {snpki, in the local vernacular) of Kamchatka. 

Taking Ivan with him he left for Vladivostok in the middle of September. Cases of instruments and other equipment for the expedition had arrived in that port from San Francisco at an earlier date. Arthur Levy was in a hurry. In a few days he had mustered a party and on the 28th of September left Vladivostok on board a Soviet steamer bound for Petropavlovsk. The crossing was a bad one. A north wnd drove black clouds that scattered grains of hard snow into the leaden waters of the Sea of Okhotsk. The steamer creaked in all its scams as it plunged its way through the grim watery waste. It took them eleven days to reach Petropavlovsk. The horses, boxes, and stores were unloaded and next day the expedition set out across forests and mountains, following winding paths and river beds through swamp and jungle. 

232 

Ivan led the expedition— -the lad had an excellent memory and the sixth sense of s hunting dog. Arthur Levy was in a hurry; they set out in the early morning and marched till sundown without any halts. The horses were exhausted and the men grumbled, but Arthur Levy was implacable, he had pity on no man but be paid well. 

The weather grew worse. Tlie crowns of the cedars whined mournfully and at times they heard the crash of falling hundred>year>o1d giants or the rumble of avalanches of stones. Two horses were killed by falling boulders and two others disappeared into a bottomless quagmire. 

Ivan usually went ahead of the column, clambering up hills and climbing trees to look for signs known to him alone. Perched on the swaying branch of a cedar*tree he shouted one day: 

“There it is! There it is!” 

On a vertical cli^ hanging over the river they could see an ancient rock carving partially eifaced by time, depicting a warrior in a conc'shaped cap holding a how and arrow. 

“Now we go due east from here, straight as an arrow, and we*ll come to the Shaitan Rock and the camp's not far from there,” shouted Ivan. 

They made bivouac at this point. A huge fire was lit, the packs were remade and the tired men lay down to sleep. Through the darkness and the noise of the swaying cedars could be heard distant dull explosions and the earth shuddered. And when the fire died down there appeared a glow under the clouds in the east as though a giant smith were blowing up his coals in a forge between the mountains and their gloomy light flickered under the clouds. . . . 

At daybreak, Arthur Levy, his hand on the holster of his Mauser, began kicking his men to wake them up. He did not allow them to light a fire and make tea. “Onward, onward. . . ” The exhausted men fought their way through 

233 

a tangled jungle made worse by piled-up boulders barring their %v'ay. The trees were of tremendous height. Giant ferns hid the horses from view; the men’s feet were torn and bleeding, another two horses had to be abandoned. Arthur Levy kept to the tail of the column, his hand on his pistol. It seemed that a few more steps forward and not a man would budge, even under threat of instant death. 

Ivan’s cheerful voice was carried back to them by the wind. 

“There it is, comrades, the Shaitan Rock.” 

They saw ahead of them a huge rock shaped like a human head and wrapped in clouds of steam. At its foot a bubbling stream of hot %vater gushed out of the earth. From time immemorial travellers had bathed in that hot water to regain lost strength and had left their marks behind them on the rocks. This was the famous “living water” brought in legends by the Raven, water rich in radioactive salts. 

93 

All that day a north wind blew and heavy clouds rolled low over the forest. The tall pines moaned, the dark heads of the cedars were bowed, the larches shed their needles. Hard snow, mixed with a biting, icy rain, fell from the block clouds. The forest was deserted, for thousands of versts the conifers moaned over swampy ground and stone hills. Day by day it grew colder, the icy breath of the north under a completely overcast sky brought the terror of death. 

INo sound was to be expected in this wilderness except the howling of the wind and the noise made by the tree- tops. Birds had flown away, animals had migrated or were hibernating. And man could only come to such a place to die. 

234 

Nevertheless a man appeared. He was dressed in a torn russet fur coat belted low down with a rope and wearing high felt boots beavj and swollen from the rain. His face was hidden in a mass of (angled hair that had not been combed for years and grey locks fell on to his shoulders. Leaning on his gun for support he hobbled with difficulty around a hill, hiding from time to time behind treC'Stumps. He stopped, bent down, and began to whistle: 

“Whew, whew . . . Mashka, Mashka. . . . Whew. . . 

Out of the dense grass appeared the head of a forest goat with the torn end of a rope dangling from a neck ruhhed hairless. The man lifted his gun hut the goat disappeared again into the undergrowth. The man growled and sank on to a boulder, the gun trembled between his knees, and his head drooped. lie sat still for a long time and then stood up again. 

“Mashka, Mashka. . . 

His dull eyes peered through the undergrowth in search of his last hope, his tame goat: he would kill it with the last remaining shot, dry the meat, and thus keep alive for two or three months longer, perhaps even until spring. 

Seven years before he had tried to find a use for his genius. He had been strong, healthy, and poor. Then came that fatal day when he had met Garin who had unfolded tremendous plans before his eyes; be had abandoned everything and come to ibis place, at the foot of a volcano. Seven years ago the forest had been cleared and a winter camp built with a laboratory, wireless station, and a tiny Iiydro-electrlc power station. The dilapidated turf roofs of the buildings with many holes in them could still be seen amongst the boulders that had at some distant time been cast up by the volcano; a dense wall of tall pines hemmed them in on all sides. 

Some of the people who had come here with him had died, others had fled. The hnildings had fallen to rack and ruin, the dam of the power station had been carried 

215 

away by the spring floods. All the labours of seven years, all bis astounding deduetions, liis investigation of the deeper layers of the earth — the Olivine Belt — would perish togeth- er with him because Mashka, that fool of a goat, would not come within gunshot no matter how much he called. 

In former days he would have thought nothing of walk- ing two hundred miles or so to the nearest human habita- tion. But now his legs and arms were stiff with rheuma- tism and scurvy had robbed him of his teeth. His last hope was the tame goat, Mashka; the old man had kept it for the winter, but the damned animal had rubbed through the rope that held it and escaped from its cage. 

The old man took the gun and his last cartridge and went out to call the goat. Evening drew nigh, the piled-up clouds grew blacker, the wind grew more savage, bowing the huge pines. Winter was approaching and with it, death. His heart ached. . . . Could it be that he would never again look upon a human face, never again sit before a fire and breathe in the smell of bread, the smell of life? The old man sat and wept in silence. 

A long time passed before he again called: 

“Mashka, Mashka. . . .” 

No, he would not kill it today. Groaning, the old man got tip and plodded his way back to the camp. He stopped and lifted his head — the hard snow beat against his face, the wind ruffled his beard. He thought he heard. . . . No, no, it must have been the wind rubbing tree against tree. . . . Nevertheless the old man stood still for a long time, trying to calm his madly beating heart. 

“Ec-ce-ec-cc . . .” came the sound of a human voice from the direction of the Shaitan Rock. 

The old man gasped. Tears welled up in his eyes. Snow blew into his wide-open mouth. In the thickening dusk nothing could be seen in the open glade. 

Hi-i-i . . . Mantsev!” A resonant boyish voice drifted towards him down the wind. The goat’s head appeared out 

236 

of the undergrowth — Maehlca walked up to the old man, raised its ears and also stood listening to those unexpected voices disturbing the wilderness. . . . They approached from right and left, calling to him. 

“Hi, are you there, Manisev? Are you still alive?” 

The old man's heard trembled, his lips twitched, he spread out his arms and repeated soundlessly: 

“Yes, I’m alive. I’m Mantsev. . . 

Such magnificence had never before been seen by the smoke.blaekened logs of the but. A fire burned in a fire* place built of volcanic stone and pots of water were boil* ing. Alantsev'a nostrils breathed In the long.forgottcn smells of tea, bread, and bacon. 

Loud-voiced men came in and out, bringing packs and unfastening them. A high*cheekboued individual gave him a mug of hot tea and a piece of bread. Bread! Monisev shuddered as he liurricdly masticated it with his toothless gums. A boy squatted beside him watching in sympathy the way Mantsev took a bite of the bread and then hugged it against his beard as though he feared that this sudden noisy life that had burst into tlie lialf-ruined camp would dissolve like a dream. 

“Don’t you recognize me, Nikolai Kbristoforovicli?” 

“No, I’m not used to people any more,” muttered Mantsev, “I haven’t eaten bread for a long time.” 

“But I’m Ivan Gusev..., Nikolai Khristoforovich, I've done everything you told me to. D’you remember bow you threatened to knock my head off?” 

Mantsev did not remember anything, he only blinked ot strange faces lit up by the flames of the fire. Ivan began telling him how he had gone on foot through the taiga to Petropavlovsk, how he had hidden from the bears, had seen a red cat as big as a calf — be had been scared, but the cat, and three others following it, had gone past with* out touching him; how he had lived on cedar nuts he 

237 

found in squirrels’ holes; how in Pctropavlovsk he had got a job on a steamer peeling potatoes; how he had reached Vladivostok safely and then hoboed his way under railway carriages for five thousand miles. 

“I’ve kept my word, Nikolai Khristoforovich, Fve brought people to you. Only you needn’t have written that letter on my back with an indelible pencil. If you had asked me I would have given you my word and that would have been enough. But when you ivrote on my back, it might have been something against Soviet power. You shouldn’t have done it. You needn’t count on me any more, I m a Young Pioneer now.” 

Mantsev bent towards him and spoke in a hoarse whisper that contorted his lips. 

“Wlio are these men?” 

“A French scientific expedition, I tell you. They looked for me in Leningrad so I could bring them here to fetch you.” 

Mantsev seized him by the shoulder so bard that it hurt, 

“Did you see Garin?” 

“Nikolai Khristoforovich, don’t try scaring me, I have 

Soviet power behind me now The right people got 

your letter, . . . What do I want with Garin?” 

“Why arc these people here? What do they want from me? I won’t tell them anything. I won’t show them any- thing.” 

Mantsev’s face grew red as he stared round wildly. Arthur Levy sat down beside him on the bunk. 

“Calm yourself, Nikolai Khristoforovich. Eat and rest. We have plenty of time, we shan’t take you away from here before November.” 

Mantsev dropped down from the bunk, his hands were trembling. 

“I want to speak with you alone.” 

He shuffled to the door, a structure of half-rotten, 

unplaoed boards. He pushed it open. TJic night vind tossed his grey locks. Arthur Levy followed him into the darkness and wet snow. 

“I have the last cartridge in my gun. . . . I’ll kill you! You’ve come here to rob me!” screamed Mantsev, trem* bling in fury. 

“Come on, let’s get out of the wind.” Arthur Levy pulled him along and leaned him against the log wall. “Don’t get so mad. Pyotr Petrovich Garin sent me for you.” 

Mantsev clutched Levy’s arm frantically. His swollen face with its inflamed eyelids trembled and his toothless mouth sobbed: 

“So Garin is alive? He hasn’t forgotten me? We starved together and together we laid great plans. But that was all nonsense, delirium. What have I discovered here? I have delved into the earth’s crust. I have confirmed all my theoretical postulates. I never expected such brilliant results, The olivine is here.” Mantsev stamped his wet boots on the ground. "Mercury and gold can be obtained in unlimited quantities. . . . Listen, I used short waves to reach the core of the earth. There ore devilish strange things going on there. I have turned all world science upside down. If Garin could lay his bonds on a hundred thousand dollars, there’s no limit to what we could do! . . .” 

“Garin has thousands of millions at his disposal, the newspapers of the whole world are full of Garin,” said Levy. “He has succeeded in building his hyperboloid, he has occupied an island in the Pacific Ocean and is making preparations for big things. He is only waiting for the results of your investigation of the earth’s crust. He is sending an airship for you. If the weather doesn't prevent it wc’ll put up the mooring mast in a month from now.” 

Mantsev leaned against the wall, his head hanging, and for a long time did not speak. 

“Garin, Garin,” he repeated. There was pcni-up anguish in his words of reproach. “1 gave him the idea of the 

and wanted to make her a queen. He carted her off to an uninhabited island where they lived alone and danced foxtrots together, king and queen of the island. The queen said, “Poor Harry, I’m hungry, I want something to cat.” In answer Harry only sighed and kept on dancing; alas, he had nothing to offer his queen except flowers and sea* shells. Then came a ship. The handsome captain offered the queen his arm and led her to a magnificent lunch. The queen laughed and ate. And so poor Harry was left to dance alone.... And so on.... In other words, it was all a good joke. . . . 

Ten days later a wireless message was received from the cruiser: 

“Anchored in sight of island. No landing attempted, warned that island is fortified. Sent ultimatum to Pierre Harry who calls himself ruler of Island. Gave him until seven o’clock tomorrow morning. When that time elapses going to send landing party.” 

It was all so amusing, poor Harry shaking his fist at six'tncli guns. Neither on the next day, nor on the days that followed, however, was anything further heard of the cruiser. 

No answer came to calls sent out. Certain people in the Navy Department began to frown worriedly. 

The next thing was an interview given to the press by MacLinney. He maintained that Pierre Harry was the notorious Hussian adventurer. Engineer Garin, with whose name a whole string of crimes were connected, amongst them the mysterious murders at Ville d’Avray, near Paris. l^IacLinney was the more astonished at the seizure of the island in view of the fact that on board the yacht that had taken Garin to the island was none other than Rolling himself, the administrative head of Rolling Aniline. Rolling’s fortune had been used to make tremendous pur- chases in Europe and America and to charter vessels to transport them to the island. As long as everything was 

done in accordance with the lawMacLinney had kept quiet, but now he insisted that one of the chief features of the Chemical King’s character w'as his exceptional respect for the law. There was, therefore, no doubt that the impudent seizure of the island had taken place against Rolling’s will and this was proof enough that the multimillionaire was being held prisoner for the sake of some preposterous blackmail. 

This put an end to all the jokes. The Holy of Holies had been desecrated. Police agents gathered information concerning Garin’s purchases during the month of August. The figures were stupendous. At the same time the Navy Department searched in vain for the cruiser — it had dis- appeared. To cap it all the newspapers published the story of the explosion at the Aniline Company’s works in Germany as told by the Russian engineer Khlinov who had been an eye-witness. 

The situation was scandalous. Under the very nose of the authorities, a common adventurer had made gigantic purchases of war materials, seized an island, and deprived the greatest of all American citizens of his liberty, and, what was more, this man was an amoral scoundrel, a mass murderer, the very spawn of hell. 

The telegraph brought another amazing piece of news: a mysterious dirigible airship of the latest type had flown over the Haw'aiian Islands, had stopped at the port of Hilo, taken in petrol and water, had flown over the Kurile Islands, descended again at Alexandrovsk on the Island of Sakhalin, and had then disappeared in a north-westerly direction. The letters P and G were seen on the metal flanks of the airship, 

Tiiis made everything clear: Garin was an agent of Mos- cow. 'Poor Harry” with a vengeance! Congress voted in favour of drastic measures. A flotilla of eight heavy cruisers was sent to “Blackguards’ Island” as the Ameri- can newspapers now called it. 

242 

That verf same day all the world's wireless stations intercepted a short-wave message outrageous in its sheer impertinence and had stylet 

**118110! Hallo! This is Golden Island, mistakenly called 'Blackguards' Island' hy the uninitiated. Pierre Harry oH'ers Ins sincere advice to the governments of all coun- tries not to stick their noses into his internal affairs. Pierre Harry will defend himself. Every warship, or fleet of war- ships, that enters the waters of Golden Island will suffer the fate of the American light cruiser that went to the holtom in less than fifteen seconds. Pierre Harry sincerely advises the population of the world to forget politics and dance in care-free style the foxtrot written in his honour." 

9S 

The dam in the gully close to the winter camp had been rebuilt and the power station started working. Daily, Arthur Levy received impatient messages from Golden Island asking whether tlie mooring mast was ready. 

Electromagnetic waves, indifferent with regard to what bad aroused them out of their cosmic repose, raced through the ether to enter the receiver and cry hoarsely into the earphones in Garin's frenzied voice: **If the mast is not ready in a week from now Pll send the airship with orders to shoot you, d'you hear me, Volshin?" and having said these words the eJeCtromagnelic waves returned throush the earth to their original state of repose. 

There was feverish activity in the camp at the foot of the volcano: a large area was cleared of undergrowth, the tall pines were felled, and an eighty-foot steel mast was erected on three legs dug deep into the ground. 

Everybody toiled ceaselessly hut l^Iantscv was busier and more excited than anybody else. By this time he had eaten his fill and had grown a little stronger although his 

Bcope. In the spectrum of the volcanic ga* I discovered the lines of antimony, mercury, gold, and many other heavy metals. ... Do you understand all this, Ivan?” 

“Yes, go on.” 

“Well, I suppose you do understand more than the goat lifashka. One day, when the volcano was particularly active, when it was coughing and belching from Ircnien* dous depths, at the risk of my life 1 managed to get a little gas in a retort. When I was on my way back to the camp the volcano began hurling ashes and stones as big as bar* rels up to the clouds. The earth trembled like the back of some awakening monster. But I paid no attention to such minor details; I rushed to the laboratory and examined the gas with the spectroscope.... Ivan, and you, Mashka, listen.” 

Jlantsev’s eyes flashed, his tootldcss mouth was twisted. 

“I discovered traces of a heavy metal that is not to be found in the Mendeleyev Table. After a few hours in the retort the metal began to disintegrate, the retort shone with a yellow light, then blue and lastly bright red. I took the precaution of moving away — -there was a deafening explosion, the retort and half my laboratory was blown to the devil. I called this m)sterious metal *M' because my name begins with M and so docs the goat's. The honour of the discovery belongs to ua both, the goat and me. Do you understand anything of what I'm telling you?” 

“Go on, Nikolai Khristoforovich.” 

“Metal M lies in the lowest strata of the Olivine Belt. It disintegrates and liberates tremendous reserves of heat energy. I further maintain that the core or nucleus of the earth consists of metal M. As the average density of the nucleus is only eight units, approximately that of iron, while metal M is twice as heavy, the very centre of the earth must be an empty apace.” 

Mantsev raised bis finger, glanced at Ivan and the goat, and let out a wild laugh. 

245 

”^.” o' ''’'tcV»"'’“ ,t*c''"f’ S»oV o'"” 

crater o« mcta nni« 

, t\ic ca'^'^ j vVro' o n „ <^atv 

cr ._ c^eap'^^' „rA ^rcr*^ V>c^o''” „ ..pA M » 

cVa^ts , ua ^^'''’’^ ” cp- a acVrttS ^ 

.\c?? “' ■NUsnV'^t oPC, c\'i'^ci» 

' In-^t *c v\rc 

A-= frnS'^^® ,Vc s\oP‘' ipr x^tcro- ic «n tn uni® , _ ^v'^n 

”' ?: 0 ^”'’ ,ta JO"” '■': ;."o"-f,:w6 »' 

w- ''”f :;Vo o'o^uU 'VO®' 

'o ''in'IV '’"■'J'oo'^" , *c oooo 'O *„„t »■ 

. a,c\\'P Apc '' v,pir \rca05 jd 

> t ^“jo"" »” So "TvoSS -te’>" 

S S -o'*'f,So "t-® S"'''"nJ "”'" '"'C 

l”*"'' Sco"-''’ ton. °S« »'o”' '‘ 

‘ ''ii 

JO""" ’“ wJ '.0 '\''“Sm«'' "''’'W'"® “”..So» 

r f;tiS'h;:: S-s-oo jo-'” 

SovorSo" loo. "-o- '.o'”, ...o 

Vianv vcr't' J to 6''' „ dcp* , o\ 

oTn\'Vrtt6 '’ . ' AvcW trom a « ^ ^^^d 6 

U'p ^’'■S'^'l'^Vat Vra'tt .''"^^.^•^^vcgrattoS „ 

■^^antpe' ’ x\cta\ , ^vaporat' , y^-^tn 

“•’”M'"o" 'f'SS' n«So.. ilo 

'S'oo "o'^XS^oJ '"'O-^uw'ooa <0 'A-o ’ U '^0 - t„.W '-oW o' " . 

>'”"'■ , .0-. 60>”6 " 

'• ^ bo-jP* • • * 

^UnOi rnO’ 

246 

Theo came a heavy roar that was echoed throughout that stony amphitheatre and the volcano belched a huge block of stone into the air.... Mantiev and Ivan ran down, covering their heads with their hands; ahead of them galloped the goat, ita rope dragging along the ground. 

9 & 

The mooring mast was ready. A message from Golden Island informed them that the dirigible had started out despite adverse harometrie indications. 

The last few days Arthur Levy had been trying to get Mantsev to speak frankly about his wonderful discoveries. They sat on a bunk as far as possible from the workers and Levy was pouring spirit into Mantsev's tea from his pocket flask. 

The workers lay on the floor on beds of fir branches. From time to time one of them would get up and throw some cedar roots on the Are whose flames lit up the smoke* blackened tog walls and the tired, bearded faces. The wind howled over the roof. 

Arthur Levy tried to apeak softly, caressingly, and soothingly. Mantsev, however, seemed to have gone quite out of his mind. 

“Listen to me, Arthur Arihurovich, or whatever it is they call you. Drop your funny stuff. My papers, my for- mulas, my plans for deep drilling, my diaries are all soldered up in a tin box and hidden where no one wilt find them. ... I will go with you In the airship and the papers will stay here, nobody will ever get them, not even Cano. I won’t give them up, not even under torture.” 

“Calm yourself, Nikolai Khristoforovich, you’re deal- ing with decent people.” 

“I'm not quite such a fool as you think. Garin needs my formulas. ... I need my life. I want to bathe in a per- 

za 

fumed batli every day, smoke expensive tobacco, drink 

good wine I will get false teeth and eat truffles. . . . 

I, too. want fame, I’ve earned it! So to hell with all of you. including Garin.'’ 

“Nikolai Khristoforovich, on Golden Island you will live like a king.” 

“Cm it out, I tell you. I know Garin. He hates me because the whole of Garin is my invention. Without me be would have been a petty erook. You 11 take my living brain on the airship with you but not the notebooks with my formulas.” 

Ivan Gusev, who kept his cars open, heard fragments of this conversation. On the night the mooring mast was ready he crawled over to Mantsev’s hunk, found the latter lying with open eyes, and ^whispered in his car: 

“Nikolai Khristoforovich, give them all the go by. Better come with me to Leningrad. Tarashkin and I will look after you like a baby. We’ll get you new teeth, we’ll find you a good place to live — ^what d’you want to get mixed up with those bourgeois for?” 

"No, Ivan, I’m done for, there arc too many things I long for," answered Mantsev, looking up at the tufts of grimy moss that hung down from a crack in the smokc- bl.ackcncd ceiling. “For seven years my fantasy has run wild under this damned roof. . . . I’m not going to wait another day.” 

For some time Ivan Gusev had known exactly what this French expedition” was; he had been listening at- tentively, keeping his eyes skinned, and drawing his own conclusions. 

He now followed Mantsev all the time, like a shadow; tins last night he did not sleep at all and when his eyelids began to slick he tickled his nose with a feather or pinched himself where it bun most. 

.\t dawn Arthur Levy arose in a had temper, put on iccps "in coat, bound a scarf round his neck, and went 

2-J8 

out to the wireless station in a dugOHt near by. Ivan did not for a moment take hU eyes off Montsev. No sooner had Levy gone out than Mantsev took a good look round to make sure that everybody was asleep, slipped noise* lessly from his bunk, crept over to a dark corner of the cabin, and raised his head. Ilts eyes must have been too weak to see anything for he returned and threw some pine.knots on the lire. Wlien they burst into flames he went back to the corner. 

Ivan guessed what he was looking at: in the upper corner where the logs that formed the walls were jointed into each other there was a gap in the ceiling where the moss had been pulled out. This was what was holliering Alantsev. Standing on tiptoe he pulled a handful of smoke* begrimed moss from another part of tlie ceiling and with a groan stuffed it into the crack. 

Ivan threw away the feather with which he had tickled his nose, pulled the blankets over his head and immediately dropped off to sleep. 

The blizzard still raged on. For two days the huge dirigible had been hanging over the clearing, its nose tied to the mooring mast. The mast bent ond creaked. From the ground the cigar-shaped body looked for all the world like the keel of a nicta) barge as it swung to and fro. Its crew had all their work cut out to keep it free of snow. 

The captain, leaning out of the gondola, shouted to Artur Levy standing below: 

“Wliat the hell are we waiting for? We must cast off. The men arc being worked to death.” 

Levy answered through his clenched teeth: 

“rve spoken to the island again. The orders arc to bring the hoy at all costs.” 

*‘TJie mast won’t hold.” 

Levy only shrugged his shoulders. It was not the hoy that mattered, of course. During the night Ivan had dis- 

**Go and find JfantsfT and find the bor. Ten thousand in gold for each of them.” 

The clouds grew darker as night drew on. The wind increased in strength. The commander of the dirigible again threatened to cut his mooring ropes and fly off. 

At long last a tall man. m a long fur coat covered in snow, appeared from the direction of the Shaitan Rock carrying the hoy in his arms. Levy rushed to meet him, took off a glove, and pushed his hand tinder the boy's coat. Ivan seemed to he asleep and his cold, stiff hands pressed a little tin box to his breast; this was the box with hlaii> tsev's priceless formulas. 

"He's still alive, a bit cold, though,*' said the tall man, a broad smile parting his snow^packed beard. "He'll come to. Shall I take him up?” 

TTithoiit waiting for an answer he carried Ivan Into the gondola. 

“TTliat now?” shouted the captain from abote. “Can we cast off?” 

There was indecision on Levy's face as he looked at him, 

“Are you ready to take off?” 

“TTc'rc ready,” answered the captain. 

Levy turned towards the Shaitan Rock hidden behind a solid curtain of whirling snow that fell from the black clouds. After all the main thing was on hoard, the box with the formulas. 

"Let’s go!” he said, jumping on to the aluminium ladder. “Cast off the ropes.” 

He opened a curved door and entered the gondola. 

At the head of the mooring mast the crew began to hack through the hempen rope that held the airship. Roar* ing and back-firing, the engines started up; the propellers began to turn. 

At this moment Manticv, driven before the hUttard, appeared out of the whirling vortices of snow. Raised hy 

251 

the wind, his hair stood on end. His outstretched arms grasped at the disappearing outlines of the dirigible. 

“Stop! Stop!” he shouted hoarsely. As the aluminium ladder of the gondola rose into the air and the bottom rung %vas about a yard off the ground he grabbed at it. Several of the bystanders caught him by bis fur coat to hold him back but he kicked them away. The airship’s metal belly swayed in the air, the engines hammered away, the air- screws roared, and the ship rose into the air amidst swirl- ing clouds of snow. 

Mantsev hung on to the lower rung like a leech. He was carried rapidly upward. . . . The people down below could see his straddled legs and the flapping skirts of his coat carried up into the sky. 

How far he was carried off, at what height he lost his hold and fell, the watchers below did not see. 

97 

Leaning out of the porthole of the aluminium gondola Zoe looked through her binoculars. The airship seemed scarcely to move as it described a circle in the bright blue sky. Three thousand three hundred feet below stretched the boundless bluish-green waters of the ocean. The central point was a tiny island of irregular shape. Seen from above it looked like a model of the continent of Africa on a very small scale. Off the southern, eastern, and north-eastern shores surf-bound rocky islets and shallows looked like splashes in the sea. The western seaboard was open. 

In a deep bay on the western side of the island the merchant vessels were moored close to the sandy littoral. Zoe counted them — twenty-four beetles resting on the sur- face of the water. 

The island was intersected by ribbon-like roads con- verging in the rocky north-east %vhcre glass roofs gleamed 

252 

ia the sun. Workers were completing the hulliling of a palace leading in three terraces to the sandj* beach of a tiny cove. 

At the southern end of the island stood a structure that from above looked like something a child had built with his Jleccano set~a network of beams, girders, trusses, cranes, rails with trucks running along them, Dorens of wind motors were turning. Smoke came from the chim> neys of power and pumping stations. 

In the centre of these structures was the round black opening of a mine shaft. Wide steel conveyers ran from the shaft to the sea carrying away the extracted rock; the red pontoons of dredgers farther out to sea looked like red worms. A cloud of steam hung constantly over the mouth of the mine shaft. 

Work went on in the mine day and night in six shifts: Garin was boring through the granite shield of the earth's crust. This man's daring bordered on madness. As Madame Lamolle looked at (he cloud over the shaft the binoculars tremhled ia her hands tanned golden by the sun. 

Regular rows of warehouses and dwelling-houses stretched along the low shores of the bay. Ant-like figures of people, toy cars, and motor-cycles moved along the roads. A lake gleamed blue in the centre of the island and from it a stream meandered to the south. Strips of farmland and vegetable gardens followed its banks. The whole east- ern slope was an emerald green — here the herds were graz- ing in fields fenced off by hedges. Amongst the rocks in front of the palace at the north-eastern end of the island lay (he brightly-coloured carpets of whimsically shaped fiower-heds and plantations of trees. 

Six months before the island had been a wilderness of coarse grass, stones, grey with seasalt, and anaemic hushes. Steamers had brought thousands of tons of chemical fer- tiUiets to the island, artesian wells had been dug, plants and trees had been brought from over the sea. 

tempeatuous progress of mankind and a struggle for a liiglier social order will begin all over again. 

“Once more Earth will warm up unceasingly from atomic disintegration in order to again burst as a tiny star. 

“Such is the cycle of terrestrial life. There has been an infinite number of these cycles and an infinite number of them is yet to come. There is no death. There is only eternal renewal, , . 

This is what Garin read in Mantsev’s diary. 

99 

The upper edges of the shaft were clothed in armour plating. As the shaft grew deeper massive cylinders of high'grade steel were lowered to line its walls. This lining ended at the point where the temperature changed sud> denly to three hundred degrees. This had occurred at a depth of three miles from the surface with the loss of a whole shift of workers and two hyperboloids. 

Garin was not satisfied with the progress made. The lowering and riveting of the cylinders had hampered the work. Now that the walls of the shaft attained red heat they were kept cool by compressed air forming a reliable sheath of armour. These walls were strengthened by dia* gonal trusses. 

The shaft was not very wide, only sixty feet in dia- meter. Its interior was an intricate system of air pipe- lines, return pipes, beams and trusses, wires, duralumin wells within which ran the scoops of the elevators, plat- forms for transfer from elevator to elevator, and other platforms for the hyperboloids and machines producing liquid air. 

The whole was set in motion by electricity lifts, elevators, and machinery. Caves were dug in the sides of the shaft to bouse machinery and rest-rooms for the workers. 

257 

1 , tfsva®®'^ •« AVaC^®'^®’^’.c_ cpcci- 

cs b-J J .cUOTi o^ . tcioo'^ *v 

co-oti-^^“'"td eXovaVoi^® " c\ec«oAf 

1 M ^ A 5 S«®'’ ’"ioOei '“’Tu sta®”""' '„<, 4 te'* 

'=tSc‘"“rt ■" "“\S >'"» ’“y 

^vcWe 6 P c\ec^ mcUc^ ^ atv^ 

cases P^° 

, o! *« ''“' 

*Vi-cast flO^ 

:>.c “"ro*'”” r» 

;*!«»4' So«'“‘"'c1 '■>»'''* 

ttectU t«“ 5„t>B'>»““\ *»V “”'“’”*0 •«>■ . . I, , 

ncAcsia^s SU in lUe ^ 

«r ,»6 Se 1 

wo '“'TL , lovcoo OP' 

•'«'"!T.rrtroo'“"*’.®,°oo'!, P"“^Lac, o» *' ‘„“ 

ne t ^\ic dcco""- cevete 

Ivutes, presented e® 

juanstrn ^ooi, V {aqade’ a 

, .c and a rphe otner . .^ onv . i®" ^pcarancc. ^ contt^^'^J. y^ac tn ^ 

"‘ '“'“T.tco '»“■ 

!i«"u 0«'o- 

258 

Bronze double gates opened into the central part of the island. This was a chateau, both house and fortress. On a high rock near by stood a (Ivediundrcd'foot tower communicating with Garin's bedroom by an underground passage. Powcrfull hyperboloids stood on a platform on the tower. An armoured lift would take Garin from the earth to the platform in a few seconds. Everybody, even Zoe, had been forbidden to approach the base of the tower on pain of death. This was the first law of Golden Island. 

Zoe's apartments were situated in the left wing of the palace, Garin's and nolling’a in the right wing. Nobody else lived there. The building was reserved for the time when it would be the greatest good fortune for any mortal to receive an invitation to Golden Island to look upon the resplendent face of the ruler of the world. 

Zoe was preparing herself for this role. What with one thing and another she had her hands full. Conventions had to be elaborated for her rising in the morning, her appear* ance in the palace, small and grand receptions, lunches, dinners, masquerades, and entertainments. Her artistic temperament found every opportunity for expression. She loved to repeat that she had been born for the world stage. The maintenance of court etiquette was in the bands of a Russian emigre, a famous ballet producer. A contract had been concluded with him in Europe and he had been awarded the Order of the Divine Zoe (gold and diamonds on a white ribbon) and the ancient Russian title of posteU nielli (Gentleman of the Bedchamber), 

Apart from these internal, palace laws she and Garin drew up the Commandments of the Golden Age, the future laws for all mankind. This was more in the nature of a general draft and basic ideas that had to be put into legal form by jurists. As Garin was feverishly busy she had to find time for him whenever he was available. In her study there were always two stenographers, day and night. 

Garin came direct from the mine, worn out, dirty, and smelling of earth and machine oil. He ate hurriedly, lay down on the satin sofa with his boots on, and was soon enveloped in a cloud of pipe smoke (he was placed above all etiquette, his manners %vere sacred and their imitation was taboo). Zoe strode up and down the carpet picking over the huge pearls of her necklace with her delicate fingers and trying to get Garin to talk. He needed a few minutes of dcalh-like repose before his brain could resume its feverish activity. In his plans there was neither evil nor good, neither cruelty nor mercy. He was amused only by the clever solution of a problem. This “coolness” made Zoe indignant. Her big eyes grew dark, a tiny shiver ran down her nervous spine and she spoke in a low voice full of hate (in Russian so that the stenographers would not understand); 

“You’re a poseur. You’re a terrible man, Garin. I understand wanting to skin you alive and watch how you suffer for the first time in your life. Don’t you really hate anybody or love anybody?” 

“Nobody but you,” answered Garin with a grin, “but your pretty head is full of crazy nonsense. I have but a few seconds to spare. I’ll wait until your ambition has been satisfied to the full. Still, you’re right in one thing, my love: I am too academic. Ideas evaporate if tiicy are not permeated with the spice of life. And the spice of life is passion. You have a superfluity of it.” 

He glanced sideways at Zoe — she stood before him, pale and motionless. 

“Passion and blood. An old recipe. But why on earth should you skin me? You can skin somebody else. It seems that for the sake of your health you simply must wet your handkerchief in that crimson fluid.” 

“There are many things I can’t forgive people for.” 

“The short men with the hairy fingers, for example?’* 

“Yes. Why do you bring that up?” 

“You can’t forgive yourself.... For Cve hundred francs they called you by phone, didn’t they? You darned your silk stockings in a hurry, hit off^ the thread with those divine little teeth when you hurried away to a res* taurant. And the sleepless nights when you had two sous in your bag and the horror of what might happen next day . . . the horror of falling still lower. . . , And Holling’s pug nose is also worth somelbing.” 

With a crooked smile Zoe looked him straight in the eyes and then said: 

“I shan’t forget this conversation to my dying day, either.” 

“My God! And only a minute ago you were accusing me of being academic.” 

“If I have my way I’ll bang you from the hyperboloid tower.” 

Garin jumped up, seized Zoe by the elbows, pulled her on to his knees, and kissed her upturned face and tightly pressed lips. The two stenographers, fairdialred, mar* celled, as indifferent as dolls, turned away. 

“You funny, foolish woman, understand me, it's only like that that I love you.... The only being on this earth. ... 1/ you hadn’t been twenty times within an inch of death in lousy railway trucks, if you hadn’t been bought like a harlot, could you possibly have understood the full measure of human daring? Could you have walked across this carpet like a queen? Would 1 have thrown myself at your feet?” 

Zoe freed herself in silence, adjusted her dress with a movement of her shoulders, went away into the middle of the room and from there still looked wildly at Garin. 

“Well, where did we stop?" asked Garin. 

Tlie stenographers took down the thoughts he formii* lated. During the night they were transcribed and were handed to Madame Lamolle next morning in bed. 

Holling was sometimes invited as an expert on certain 

261 

Ir. 

BUons. 


„s\acra‘’ J avo^a ° Ue " ^ notes, -.ocs. 

avo-td -Ele f “ -^^otcs. ^cs. 

nd V-' T"L. h« “1 did not ttc'P „„ecttn5 f 

■ni "' r iot ko dt^ did not n- „ coiloojo 

»' “ itic ^P'”'"”•lId o ! cvenine i,„ n.»tV.ie 

•nAo^■^ unt ooc o\ ..Ancb, ^ 

A ^vna^ be to^ ^op sa''' ••, . 

cared' .„„arcTi«^, -oassrorr -no; Zo« ^jVe 

d'ot "‘ ”« oi *0 '■'nt ta»t t'ni'X ont f ^ud in 

gtiuti^ \ooVit'S ago-* \ 

^sAncb, 

v«d"d t"®:: onf:v::f jotto- '^Cw 

"■« «-r;“ndto4 ”®?r(oitW«7”f*.t "n 

'“"r"' 'toitV S:C4 d^n. 

:%;;.or‘”: is'ts 

bed w A. Vc .^,c ?o^?' 

btic''' , Y^ceo ,-^^9 of S° J.^^.,c8C i 

^cfboS' •wipovcrfs'"''*^ ° _„A ^ 

"tSVvo S'*' ,en^ of ^;;l.cdscr' 

uA tbc od«" ^\oc bV , c 

'^"■'S n«« 't -oned t ;;j;“>:;.V 

pint-. 7" TtiW'"' W 

“"""" t\T*e 6t”""f,t lotd o' aiototod n 

Uo\bo6 \ Auttvsc^f „cc, \n\bnc. 

l.-d.to '«'o„,n-. -nt; ^oi S.'""d V ti-c d. 

easel' i» Gatin 6 . of bov»t-o , vuc - 

O”"!' f.o tiw ''i'"'^„mio6 ‘''”„ci.»ion on 

♦ bciicve i» 

did no' V) 

Isiand. ^sc 

tt^jAiat wd Vn«'- 

. „.9” tbev 

Vipcnt . 

262 

t ^vViUe '' ,„• „Aiuee „,\ 

Wo'f! L nawo^ cotoP^^ 

^^..^•eUo’^ vat^o"® a6 ^votac 

!>"“" „ „ria -'"’ ''I »=»' *1 

■<^raaS 

,^cte , Sota® i\^e 'Si""'" ^^\icn 

I boUAaT,' 

tUe tViC sbaa'^^^'" ;' on 1'°"" A caaV°^ 

, t\\o8C „t, np-v c^taep t)\aca 

^a . otcaaia^’ a ^oa^J «A la a “ Baa'® P \ 

.Vc \n BP®’^^ ,> opcacP \ -f^ i\^c sa .^oaaV 

- >ri»» '• ”” , , 

( *« «' tt 

‘'’V *« "'“'era V-'^f M« «». "' i rrW 

«^ ^\.\vVoat e%' 

cart’J a'* . ,,v , c. 

""''t A.*'""'”'' 

i\v savo*^ 

co^aa -- J^ota - i b7 ^ 

102 ^cti^oas a 

tVvC av®®^ ^ nrci \.avc coai® ^a j^od 

••GcA"''”- u'l "'“' '"’futro '"« *“ivcJ'. '«; 

„eA j" “:,":tr. do; -;e "-S: -en.*-' 

«'"■ 'f tv caaacA 6 ^^sct aa 

ec\rca 

264 

Tliis means tliat the war liaa lifgiiii. From liour lo Imnr VC must expect an o{f»cia\ (Ut^araiUn. Onn of my iiinno. diate aims is war. It is lirsiniilii/t. liowevrr, rarller tliaii I want it to. Tliey ore loo nervous on (Up ruutl* 

nent. I foresee their plan, lliry are afraid of iii arid linjin to force us into eiihtniition l»y ImtiRpr, For ynnr Irifrir* mation, the food on the island is sttf/irlml for a forltil^ht, not counting live cattle. Defore those foiirlern days am over VC must break the Idockade ami hrlog iti food, )( is 3 difficult hut quite feasible task. In addition to ihi* my agents were arrested when they presented Ihdiing's cheque. We have no cash in hand, I’hrec hnndred ami fifty milfion dollars have lieen espended to the list rent, A week from nov we must pay wages ami if we piy f/y cheque the workers wilt riot and stop the hyperboloids working. From this it follows that we must get moury within seven days.” 

The conference was held in the twilifht of Osriu's still unGniihed office. rre«eoi were Cerwak, fi/JgJweer Sebefi’er, Zo«, Slielgs. and UoUio^. Csriju. at was wrusi with him in aoments of danger pr of great sueotal tttnu, flood with bis liands in his pochnt. rocIJug hspk aud forth on bit heels and spealiog roocUngly. b h»tle hiiaiser ig her hand, was so the <.luiir. 4e*riue,K, ^mouuljve and oerrons, with hloodthvl e;*:*, siu4 vw'd 

*nie Seeond Law of OoJdeo Itlaud rende" nvWdy luuht atlcsspi to diKOTej- the secrel vf tiie Ii» peruti'*o*tf- Auj- hodj w-Jio touch**# eieo the voter hvuBitip td the i**p*r holoid if liti’e So the death ^euflty 

“SutiL”’ icosiCTOed OtriXL, "as the law." 

"Xc ordej" she ensure * eucoefcsful ontcoio* 5or ti*e 

ec?‘.»eyr4s.es j ou Jtri e aneaiuvot-d »t i*uiwt tin*-^ hyjjeeho'.oid* viU Le 5*-*tjitlr*-t'- vne to vhtetii tnwney. * to l>*« n'r 

the Idocijide. rod the tlurd /or tl*e tlef’^uce ti.*' 

Tou > ill hrte to ttU'iie ny ^«ioej»tion to 'th* h*w *ur tvo of your 

:o? 

Silence followed this speech. The men studied the smoke of their cigars. Rolling sniffed at his pipe in deep concentration. Zoe turned her head towards Garin. 

“All right,” he said with a careless movement of the hand. “Publish the decree. Exempted from the Second Law are two people on the island, Madame Lamolle and, . . .” 

He leaned across the table and slapped Shelga heart- ily on the shoulder. 

“The second person to whom I trust the secret of the apparatus is Shelga.” 

“That’s where you make a mistake, comrade,” said Shelga, removing Garin’s hand from his shoulder. “I refuse." 

“On what grounds?” 

“I’m not obliged to explain. Think for yourself and you’ll understand.” 

“I’ll trust you with the destruction of the American fleet.” 

“A nice job and no mistake. I can’t.” 

“Wliy the hell can’t you?” 

“What do you mean, why? It’s a slippery business,” 

“Look out, Shelga.” 

“I’m looking.” 

Garin’s beard stuck out, his teeth flashed. He re- strained himself and asked softly: 

“Wliat have yoti got in mind?” 

“My line, Pyotr Petrovich, is quite obvious. I hide nothing.” 

This short conversation was in Russian so that nobody except Zoe could understand it. Shelga returned to his doodling on the paper in front of him. 

“Very well,” said Garin, “I’ll appoint only one person as my assistant with the hyperboloid, Madame Lamolle. If you agree, madamc, the Arizona is at your disposal, you set sail tomorrow morning,” 

“VKa\ am 1 aupposa^ to do oot ai aea?” 

“Plunder every vessel thal comes your way on the Trans-Pacific route. In a week from now we must pay the workers.” 

1(0 

At 23:00 hours, an unknown object flying over the Southern Cross was reported from the flagship of a squadron of the North American fleet. 

The bluish rays of searchlights, like the tails of comets, swung across the starlit sky and came to rest on that unknown object. It stood out in a bright patch of light. Hundreds of binoculars examined its metal gondola, the transparent discs of whirling propellers and the tetters P and C on the flanks of the airship. 

Morse lamps winked from ship to ship. Four seaplanes took oft from the flagship and roared their way upwards to the stars. The squadron, sailing in line ahead, increased its speed. 

The roar of the aircraft grew weak and indistinct. Suddenly the airship towards which they were racing dis- appeared. Everywhere handkerchiefs came out to wipe the lenses of binoculars but no matter bow the search- lights tried to find it the airship was nowhere to be seen in the dark, night sky. 

At last the rattle of machine-guns could be heard: the aircraft had found their target. The machine-guns stopped suddenly. An incandescent fly twirled round in the shy and then dropped down. The people watching through their binoculars gasped — a seaplane had fallen and plunged into the black waters. What had happened? 

Again came the rattle of machine-guns, only to break off just as suddenly while one after the other three re- maining aircraft plunged headlong through the rays of the searchlights and corkscrewed into the sea. Morse luaps 

flickered on the flagship and there were answering flashes up to the very horizon. What had happened? 

The next thing they saw was a ragged black cloud moving against the wind, quite close to them and at right angles to the line of ships. The airship, hidden by a smoke screen, was losing altitude. “’Ware gas,” was the order flashed from the flagship. Anti-aircraft guns barked. Si- multaneously gas-bombs fell on the deck, the bridge, and the armoured gun turrets. 

The first victim was the admiral, a handsome twenty- cight-year-old officer, who was too proud to don a gas- mask: his hands tore at his throat as he fell ■with a swollen, blue face. The gas-masks proved inefiFective and in a few seconds all those on deck were dead. The flagship had been attacked with an unknown gas. 

The vice-admiral took over the command. The cruisers went on to a starboard tack and opened fire from their anti-aircraft guns. Tlirce flashes of fire from the guns turned the sea blood red. Three swarms of screaming steel devils were carried nobody knew ivlicre; their bursts lit up the starry sky. 

Following the three volleys, six seaplanes, their crews in gas-masks, took off from the vessels of the squadron. It was now apparent that the first four aircraft had perished in the gas-filled smoke screen around the airship. The honour of the American navy was at stake. Lights were extinguished on the vessels, the only light came from the stars. Waves breaking against the steel flanks of the warships and the song of the aircraft engines were the only sounds that broke the silence of night. 

At last! Rat-a-tat-tat. The music of the machine-guns came out of the silver mist of the Milky Way. Then it sounded as though bottles were being opened there — the aircraft were bombing their target. The brownish-black cloud in the sky grew lighter and a huge metal cigar, its blunt nose pointed downwards, slipped out of it. All 

268 

along its metal back tongues of flame vere dancing. It slanlpcl downwards leaving a tail of Gre behind it and dis- appeared in flamra over tbe horizoo. 

Half an hour later tt was reported from one of the seaplanes that had swept down over the burning airship and machine-gunned every living thing on or near it. 

Tite victory had cost the American squadron dear; four seaplanes with their crews had been lost, twenty- eight offleers, including the admiral, and a hundred oud thirty-two naval ratings had been killed by poison gas. It was not only a matter of lossrs, hut of the humiliation of tnagoifleent cruisers armed with heavy artillery prov- ing as helpless as wingless penguins; the enemy had homhed them with an unknown gas just as he pleased. They must have their revenge, they must have an oppor- tunity to show the real might of naval artillery. 

This was the spirit of the dispatch which the vice- admiral sent to Washington that night reporting the de- tails of the battle. He insisted on the borabard/nent of Blackguards' Island. 

Tlie Naval Secretary’s reply came s day later: to proceed to the island and level it with the sea. 

104 

"Well?” asked Garin in a challenging voice as he placed the wireless earphones on the table. fThe con- ference continued with the same participants, except Ma- dame LamoHe, who had left.) “Well, gentlemen, I can congratulate you. The blockade has been lifted. The American fleet has been ordered to bombard the island. 

Rolling shuddered and rose from his chair, hii pipe fell from his mouth, his blue lips were twisted as though he wanted to say something but could not. 

“What’s wrong, old chap?” asked Garin. “Are you so 

country 8 

ried about tbe balg 

are Y®" /‘'“f u end for yo« „our conscience « 

MblinS 5“"- '« 68'" “‘a'a^as *« 

lUrcc cents on reconnaissanc memory of tl 

splendid J*. L«‘ are«. *« f'”® “e 

t.vclve °:eU Volsbin. V % ,he squadron. 1:1^ 

,brce.6un ittl. I» n'>«li»» eonnl tbe <»'“ 

uveWc ecapfancs submarines. If ynd impact, 

of each sbcU squadron island, 

a volley fired Y , miU'on P® „ at lasf- 

„„5W, f b:„ar" »k«P“'i MV 

“So erandad. 5n« ^ to thoob M'- 

“Stop t®’ ccntlcmen, ve b iis- 

Rolling for g.iR secret ' brought do^vu 

‘Black Cross. ^ tbe place 

seaplanes and pn^^^ ^ y d as to 

“Jio, Mr. Gan , gbouted Rolling order 

send containers ot 

270 

He choked and staggered out of the room. Garin began to unfold his plan for the defence of the island. The attack was to be expected in three days. 

lOS 

The Arizona had raised the pirate Hag. 

This does not mean that she carried the romantic skull and croBsbones of the buccaneers. Such horrors would only be found on bottles of poison nowadays. 

In fact no flag at all bad been raised on the Arizona. The two latticed turrets carrying the hyperboloids dis- tinguished her from all other ships in the world. The vessel was commanded by Jansen, under Madame Lamolle's orders. 

Zoe's magnificent apartment-'-bedroom, bathroom, dressing-room and drawing-room— was locked up. Zoe had her quarters in the captain's deck cabin together with Jansen. The former luxury, the blue silk awning, the carpets, cushions, armchairs, had all been removed. The crew, taken on in Marseilles, were armed with Colt revolv- ers and short carbines. The object of the voyage had been announced to them and they had been promised prize- money from every ship captured. 

All available space on the yacht was occupied by cans of petrol and fresh water. With a good wind and under full sail, aided by her powerful Rolls Royce engines, the Arizona sped like an albatross from crest to crest of the ocean waves. 

106 

**Tlie wind is approaching a gale, sir." "Take in the tops’ls." 

“Aye, aye, sir." 

S71 

eU 

''°°td 5d sbc c\oscA \\^c 

®A Be \a^ '‘^ttor sa»' 

Jsoi- "ftbe ' V'* t ^ 

,.nl W „;,c oi ^r.v,. oceetv- ^«l m 

“t: “'^ 

,j *■' “:to-..e °' ^:v>- ’”':'^»'‘'’"°- 

u»«, ^ , be.«';' Vptae« »'' 

, ot.l Cav'““'\,»0»'’’‘ 

, t^ic ^°°.‘ -Nlada®^*^ . Jaos'^^ 

angs- tatao''®’ , i a^d 

,^adatoc , pti 

11 gaitt ‘ k»oe*'- ” 

tae V 

11 said k^ock ot^ 

25?£?5:%fS== 

■ "'fi *' '.0»««fLctf. ^“'‘' r,cl s.>'»'l To 

ws%-'v" *' . ««av' 

rcasl to' Yjoats'-^a'®®’ , -^aV-C ^ SaVVo’^® 

pipe a^‘ ,1 and ot'i ^ccw. -nats- 

:«r=£5si-“"“* 

'i *«»6'‘ * 

cataca 2^4 

swain swore hy all the saints there are, as the sails were taken in. 

Jansen gave his orders: 

“Hard a-port! Full speed ahead! Lights out!” 

Depending now entirely on her engines the Arizona made a sharp turn to starboard. As she turned a huge wave rose against her hull and swept across the deck. All lights were extinguished. The hull of the yacht trembled as she raced on at full speed in complete darkness. 

The lights seen by the lookout rose speedily from beyond the horizon to he followed by the dark siliiouette of a smoky two*fuooeIed passenger boat. 

Madame Lamolle came on to the bridge. She was wear- ing a knitted cap with a pompon, a fluITy scarf wound round her neck and hanging down her back. Jansen handed her his binoculars. She raised them to her eyes but the yacht svas tossing so badly that she bad to place her hand on Jansen^s shoulder to steady them. He could feel her heart beating under her warm sweater. 

“WeMl attack!” she said, looking him straight in the eyes, her face close to his. 

The passenger steamer noticed the Arisona when slie was some Gve hundred yards away. A lantern was waved from the bridge and a siren naoaned its low note. The Arizona, without lights, did not answer the signals, hut continued to bear down on the fully lighted ship. The steamer slowed down and began to turn to avoid a collision. . . . 

Here is how the incident was described a week later by a correspondent of the iVcio York Herald. 

, . It was a quarter to five when we were awakened by the howl of the siren. The passengers tumbled out on to the deck. After the lighted cabins the night seemed as black as ink. We noticed that there was alarm on the bridge 

27S 

and searched the dark sea with our binoculars. Nobody knew exactly what had happened. Our steamer slowed down. Suddenly we saw it . . . some unknown type of ship was bearing down on us at full speed. It was a long, narrow vessel with three tall masts, her lines like those of a fast-sailing clipper; fore and aft rose two strange latticed towers. Somebody shouted jokingly that it was the Flying Dutchman. For a moment everybody was in a panic. A hundred yards a%vay the strange vessel hove to and somebody shouted through a megaphone in English: 

“ ‘Stop your engines. Put out your fires.’ 

“Our captain answered: 

“ ‘Before I obey your orders I want to know who is giving them.’ 

“ ‘The order is given by the Queen of Golden Island,’ came the answer from the vessel. 

“We were dumbfounded: was this a joke? Another piece of impertinence on the part of Pierre Harry? 

“ ‘I can offer the Queen a vacant cabin and a hearty breakfast if she’s hungry,’ shouted the captain in answer. 

“These words came from the foxtrot Poor Harry} they were greeted with a hearty laugh on deck. Immediately a ray appeared from the fore tower of the mysterious ves- sel. It was as thin as a knitting needle, blindingly white, and came from the dome on the tower without spreading. At that moment nobody dreamed that before their eyes was the most terrible weapon ever devised by the human brain. We were in a jolly mood. 

“The ray described a loop in the air and then descended on the bows of our ship. We heard a horrible hissing sound and saw a greenish fiame made by steel being cut. A sailor standing in the bows screamed wildly. The whole bow of the ship, above the water-line, collapsed into the sea. The ray was lifted, trembled for a moment in the air, and then passed over us parallel to the deck. The tops of the two masts fell to the deck with a crash. In a panic passengers 

S76 

rushed for the gangways. The captain was Injured by a piece of the wreckage. 

“The rest of the story is knows. Tlie pirates, armed with short carbines, approached in a boat, came on board, and demanded money. They collected ten million dollars from the mail-bags and the passengers* pockets. When the boat with the loot returned the pirate 8hip*s decks were flooded with light. We saw a tall, slim woman in a knitted cap come down from the latticed tower and hurry to the bridge. She took up a megaphone, leaned back and called to ns: 

“'Now yon may go your waya In peace,* 

“The pirate ship turned about and at a tremendous speed disappeared over the boriaon.*’ 

m 

The events of the past few dayt->the attack made on the American squadron by the airship P.C. and the order given to the squadron to bombard the island-^zeiled the whole population of Golden Island. 

The office was inundated with applications to leave work. Deposits were withdrawn from the savings bank. Workers conferred with each other behind the barbed wire, paying no attention to the yellow and white police* men pacing the intersecliog lanes with gloomy and deter* mined faces. The whole settlement was like a disturbed beehive. In vain were trumpets blown and kettle-drums banged in front of the brothels in the canyon. Luni Park and the bars were empty. In vain did the fifteen provorn teurs make inhuman efforts to divert the bad mood of the workers into national squabbles. In those days nobody wanted to bash somebody else’s face in j’ust because be lived behind a diff'erent barbed-wire fence. 

Engineer Cerroak pasted np government bulletins all over the island. Martial law was declared, meetings and 

;_,gt AaV AaV®’ "^c 

3®' n,rA\V»^ “ . In Tic\tCS. 

nort -1 labu'o"®, ^CTO^'^^’ 

■'■'■•" '’.' „„«atis ''°®,.,,o bat oot ««' *” aaaint^ *»"’ oatV't'"".'" 

.te f 

iictvuo®®.^ Oiac\ttocB ptVon ot io'6 

;vrvsrt-:rK- 

.h oi '^'® , g-^dc caVCB ,_„r o 

.c. 

m 

He returned to the table on the comer of which Shelga sat with a cigar between his teeth. 

“Sliciga, the hour which I foresaw has come, onlf ^ou can get this movement under control aud save the situation. ... This business on the island is more serious than ten American navies.** 

“Aha,” said Shelga, “it*a time you understood. . . .” 

“To hell with your lessons in politics. ... I appoint you governor of the island with special powers. . . . Just you try to refuse,’* screamed Carin excitedly, his voice rising to the highest note. He jumped towards the table, opened a drawer and took out a revolver. “In short, if you refuse m shoot you. Yes or no?** 

“No,” said Shelga with a side-glanee at the revolver. 

Garin fired and Shelga raised the hand that held the cigar to his temple. 

“You filthy swioe.” 

“So you do agree?” 

“Put that thing down.” 

“0. K.*’ Garin threw the revolver back in the drawer. 

“Wliat do you want? That the workers should not blow up the mine? All right, they won’t. There are some con* ditions, though. . . 

“I agree in advance.” 

“That I remain a private individual on this island such as I have been up to now. I’m neither your servant nor a mercenary. That’s the first. All national boundaries are to be removed today and all the wire taken away- Tlial's the second.” 

“I agree.” 

“Your gang of prorocolcurs. , . 

“I have no provocalcur$^'^ answered Garin promptly. 

“Tliat’s a lie.” 

“All right, it's a lie. Wliat shall I do with them? Drown them?” 

“This very night.” 

“All right, consider them drowned.” (Garin made some rapid notes on his writing-pad.) 

“The last condition is: no interference in my relations with the workers.” 

“Is that so? (Shelga fro-vvmed and started getting down from the table. Garin seized him by the arm.) All right, I agree. The time will come when I shall break you, any- way. Wliat else?” 

Shelga squinted as he lit his cigar and his wind-tanned face with its little hlond moustache, snub nose, and sly smile could not be seen through the curtain of smoke. Just then the telephone rang. Garin picked up the handset. 

“Yes, Garin speaking. What? Wireless message?” 

He threw down the telephone handset and picked up the earphones of the wireless receiver. As he listened he bit his nails. His lips twisted into a smile. 

“You may calm the workers. We shall pay tomorrow. Madame Lamolle has got hold of ten million dollars. I’ll send an cxciirsion dirigible immediately. The Arizona is only about four hundred miles away to the north-west.” 

“That makes things easier,” said Shelga. With his hands in his pockets, he Avent out of the room. 

109 

Hanging from the ceiling straps so that his feet did not touch the floor and shutting his eyes, Shelga held his breath for a second as he Acav down in the steel box of the lift. 

Tlic parallel shaft Avas unevenly cooled and the lift bad to fly from cave to cave through bells of heat so that only the speed of the descent kept it from burning up. 

Shelga Avatched the red needle on the meter and at a depth of tAventy-five thousand feet SAvitched on the rheostat to stop the lift. He got out at cave number thirty-scA’cn. A thousand feet loAver doAvn Avas the bottom of the shaft 

whtre liypptbolojtJj were working: from there came sharp, incessant bursts as the white-hot rock was cracked by the stream of )i<|u!d air. The scoops of the elevators carrying the rock to the surface rasped and clattered. 

The inside of cave number thirty-seven, like all the others, was a riveted steel cube. Liquid air evaporated Oiitside its walls to cool the surrounding granite. The belt of boiling magma was, apparently, not very far, nearer than had been expected from the data obtained by electro- magnetic and seismographtc prospecting. Tlie granite was heated to a temperature of 500® C. If the machines supply- ing liquid air for cooling were stopped for a few minutes everything would be burned to ash. 

Inside the steel cube there were beds, benches, and buckets of water. A four-hour shift reduced the workers to such a state of exhaustion that they had to be laid out on the beds half-dead to recover before being sent to the surface. Ventilator fans and air-supply pipes bummed loudly. The lamp hanging from the riveted ceiling cast a bright light on the gloomy, unhealthy, puffy faces of twenty-five men. Seventy-five other workers were in the caves above and could communicate by telephone. 

Shelga came out of the lift. Some of the men turned to- wards him in silence, giving him no greeting. They seemed to be firm in their decision to blow up the shaft. 

“I want an interpreter. Fm going to speak Russian,” said Shelga, sitting down at the table and pushing aside with bis elbow tins of jam and Epsom salts and unfinished glasses of wine. (All of this was generously supplied to the workers by the management.) 

A round-shouldered, bony Jew", with a bluish pale face under the stubble of his beard, came up to the table. 

“Fm the interpreter.” 

SbeJga began to speak: 

“Garin and his enterprise is nothing more than the extreme development of capitalist consciousness. Farther 

than Garin nobody can go — the forcible conversion of the working section of mankind into beasts of burden by an operation of the brain, the selection of the ‘lords of life,’ the elite, the checking of the further progress of civiliza- tion. The bourgeoisie has not yet understood Garin and he’s in no hurry to make them understand. They consider him a bandit and land-grabber. In the end they will realize that Garin’s system is the logical end of imperialism. Comrades, we must prevent the most dangerous thing of all — ^we must stop Garin from coming to terms with them. You’ll be having a tough time if he does, comrades. You people in this box have decided to die so that Garin won’t quarrel with the American Government. Just you think it over. If Garin wins it’ll be bad, if the capitalists win it won’t be any better. If Garin comes to terms with them that will be the worst of all. You still don’t appreciate your otvn worth, comrades, strength is on our side. In a month’s time, when the elevator scoops start carrying gold to the sur- face, it won’t be for the benefit of Garin but your benefit, for the benefit of that cause which we must fight for all over the world. If you trust me, really trust me, to the end, savagely, then I’ll be your leader. Elect me unani- mously. If you don’t trust me. . . 

Shclga stopped, looked round at the gloomy faces of the workers who were staring at him with unwinking eyes, and scratched the back of his head with some force. 

“If you don’t trust me. I’ll talk some more.” 

A broad-shouldered youth, naked to the waist and grimy from soot, walked over to the tabic. He bent down and his blue eyes stared into Shelga’s face. Hitching up his trousers he turned to his mates. 

“I trust him.” 

“We trust you,” said the others. Those words were repeated by telephone through thousands of feet of gran- ite: “We trust you.” 

“If you trust me, all right,” said Shclga. “Now for 

282 

the other points: the national boundaries will Le removed by this evening. Your wages will be paid tomorrow. The police can guard the palace — we can manage without them. The fifteen provocateurs we’ll chuck into the sea, that was one of the Bret conditions I made with Garin- The next thing is to get to the gold as quickly as possible. Kiglit, comrades?” 

110 

Tliat night the wandering beams of searchlights were observed to the nortli*west. Sirens sounded the alarm in the harbour. At dawn, when the sea still lay in shadow, the hrst heralds of the approaching squadron appeared: aircraft circled over the island, gleaming in the rosy light of dawn. 

The police opened fire from their carbines but soon gave it tip. The inhabitants of the island assembled in groups. Smoke continued to swirl over the mine. Ship’s hells rang out the hours. A crane lifted huge bales tied with crossed ropes from a big steamer and brought them ashore. 

The ocean lay calm, covered by a light mist. Aircraft propellers hummed in the sky. 

The sun rose in a hazy hall. It was then that they all saw the smoke clouds on the horizon. They stretched out like a long, flat thunder>cIoud towards the soulh'cast. Death was drawing nigh. 

Everything was quiet on the island, even the birds brought from the continent had slopped singing. At one place a bunch of people rushed to the boats in the har* hour and crowded into them; the overloaded boats put out hurriedly into the open sea. There w’erc, however, but few boats and the island was open on all sides, not a scrap of cover anywhere. The people stood about in silence as 

283 

though they had been struck dumb. Some lay face down- wards on the sand. 

No movement was to be observed in the palace. The bronze gates were closed. Guards in high, wide-brimmed hats and white, gold-trimmed tunics, carbines slung across their backs, marched up and down under the slop- ing red walls. To one side rose the high, latticed tower of the big hyperboloid. The rising blanket of mist hid its summit from view. There were few people, however, who had any faith in this defence: the brownish-black cloud on the horizon was too substantial and menacing. 

Suddenly many heads were turned fearfully towards the shaft. At the mine the siren had sounded for the third shift. What a time to work! Curse the gold! Then the clock on the palace tower struck eight. At that moment the heavy roar of thunder rolled across the ocean. The squadron had fired its first volley. The seconds of waiting seemed to spread into space, into the whine of the approaching shells. 

Ill 

When the squadron fired its volley Rolling was stand- ing on the terrace above the staircase leading to the sea. He removed his pipe from his mouth and listened to the whine of the approaching shells; no less than ninety steel devils packed with mclonitc and explosive gas Avere flying towards the island aimed directly at Rolling’s brain. Their sound was a roar of victory. It seemed that his heart would burst at the noise. Rolling beat a hasty retreat towards a door in the granite wall. (He had long since prepared for himself a shelter in the cellar to be used in case of bombardment.) With a roar the shells hurst in the sea, sending up columns of water. The range was short. 

Then Rolling looked towards the top of the latticed tower. Garin had been sitting there since the evening 

2S4 

before. The dome was revolviog, as he could see by the movement of the vertical loopholes. Rolling put on his pince-nez and lifted his head. The dome turned very quickly right and left. As it moved to the right he could see the gleaming barrel of the hyperboloid moving up and down the loophole. 

The most terrible of all was the speed with which Garin worked the hyperboloid. And the silence-^there was not a sound on the island. 

A dull, expanding sound came from the sea, like a bubble bursting in the sky. Rolling adjusted the pince-nez on his perspiring nose and looked towards the squadron. There floated three mushrooms of yellowish-white smoke. To the left of them ragged clouds welled up, turned blood red and grew into a fourth mushroom. The fourth peal of thunder rolled towards the island. 

The pince-nez would not stay in place on Rolling's nose; nevertheless, he stood there manfully and watched the mushrooms grow on the horizon as one after the other the eight warships of the American squadron were blown into the air. 

Again there was silence on the island, on the sea, and in the air. The lift descended quickly inside the latticed tower. Doors slammed inside the bouse and Garin ran out whistling a dance melody out of tune. His face was tired and worn out and his hair stuck out in all directions. 

He did not notice Rolling and began to undress. He went down the stairs to the edge of the sea and there re- moved his silk shirt and salmon-pink underpants. Looking out to sea where smoke still bung over the spot where the squadron had been destroyed, Garin scratched himself under his arm-pits. His body was as white and plump as a woman's and there was something shameful and disgusting in his nakedness. 

He tried the water with bis foot, squatted like a woman 

285 

to meet an incoming wave, swam a little, and immediately came out; it was only then that he saw Rolling. 

“Hallo,” he drawled. “Do you want to take a dip, too? It’s hellish cold.” 

He gave a giggling little laugh, picked up his clothes, and went back to the house in all his nakedness, swinging his underpants in his hand and making no effort to cover himself. Rolling had never experienced such humiliation in all his life. His heart chilled from hatred and loathing. He was unarmed and defenceless. In that moment of weakness he felt the whole weight of his past upon him, the weight of strength expended, the buffalo-like struggle for the first place in life . . . and to think that it should all end with this obscene scoundrel, the conqueror, march- ing triumphantly past. 

As he opened the huge bronze doors Garin turned round. 

“Come in to breakfast, grandad,” he said, “we’ll share a bottle of champagne.” 

112 

The strangest thing in Rolling’s behaviour was the obedient way in which he plodded in to breakfast. At tabic there was only one other guest, Madame Lamollc, pale and untalkative after her recent shattering experi- ences. When she raised her glass to her lips it rattled against her even, dazzlingly white teeth. 

Rolling seemed to be afraid of losing his equilibrium and stared all the time at one point, the gold foil of a champagne cork made in the shape of that accursed apparatus that had destroyed, in the course of a few minutes, all Rolling’s former conceptions of might and power. 

Garin, his wet hair uncombed, without a collar and still wearing a crumpled scorched jacket, kept up a non- 

286 

8cnsica\ stream of chatter, swallovred oysters, and drank several glasses of wine one after another. 

“Only now I realize liovr hungry I was.” 

“You’ve worked hard, my friend,” said Zoe, softly. 

“Yes. I admit that there was a moment when I grew afraid, when the horizon was hidden in the smoke of gun* 

fire.... They got in first.... Tlie devil If they’d 

increased the range by a cable’s length nothing would have been left of this house, or of the island, for that matter. . . 

He drank another glass of wine and, although he had said he was hungry, elbowed the liveried waiter away when he offered him another dish. 

“Well, grandad?” He turned suddenly towards Rolling and stared straight at him, this time without a trace of a smile. “It’s time we had a serious talk. Or arc you waiting for more staggering etfects?” 

Without a sound Rolling pUetd bis fork on his plate and lowered his eyes. 

“Speak, I’m listening.” 

“And about time. . . . Twice already I've offered you a partnership. I hope you remember. I don't blame you, though: you’re not a thinker, you belong to the buffalo genus. I’m repeating my offer. You’re surprised, eh? I’ll explain. I’m an organizer. I’m going to reconstruct the whole of your top-heavy capitalist system with all its foolish prejudices. Do you get that? If I don’t do it the Communists will eat you up with a pinch of salt and smack their chops in delight. Communism is the only thing in life that I really hate. . . . Wliy? Because it will destroy me, Pyotr Garin, and a whole universe of plans In my brain.... You may ask what 1 need you for. Rolling, when 1 have inexhaustible supplies of gold under my feel. 

“Yes, I do ask that,” muttered Rolling, hoarsely. 

“Take a glass of gin with cayenne pepper, old man, that will clear your brain for you. Do you imagine for 

one moment that I intend to turn gold into dung? I shall certainly arrange a few warm days for all mankind. I will lead people to the very brink of a fearful precipice when they will hold in their hands a pound of gold that costs two cents.” 

Rolling suddenly raised his head and his dull eyes showed a youthful sparkle and his mouth twisted into a crooked smile. 

“Aha,” he croaked. 

“Just that — aha! You’re beginning to understand at long last? In those days of wholesale panic we, that is, I and you and three hundred other buffaloes, or universal gangsters, or kings of finance — choose whichever name you like best — will seize the world by the throat. We’ll buy up all enterprises, all factories, all railways, all air and sea fleets. . . . Everything that we need or that is likely to be useful to us will be ours. Then we’ll blow up this island, mine and all, and announce that the world’s supply of gold is limited, that the gold is in our hands and will return to its former function as the only measure of values.” 

Rolling listened, leaning back in his chair, his mouth full of gold teeth opened like that of a shark and his face turned red. 

Thus he sat motionless, his tiny eyes gleaming. For a moment Madame Lamolle even thought that the old man would have a stroke. 

“Aha,” he croaked again. “It’s a bold idea. There are chances of success. But you haven’t taken into consid- eration the danger of strikes, rebellions. . . 

“Tliat was ray first consideration,” said Garin abruptly. “We’ll begin by building huge concentration camps. AH those who arc not satisfied with our regime will go behind the barbed wire. Then we’ll introduce the law on mental castration. And so, my friend, do you elect me your leader? . . . Ha!” (He suddenly winked and that was almost terrifying.) 

Rolling lowered his head and frowned. He had been asked and had to think before answering. 

“Do you compel me to take this step, Mr. Garin?” 

“What do you think, old man? Do you want me to beg you on my knees? Til compel you if you don't realize yourself that for a long time you've been awaiting me as a saviour.’* 

“Very good,” said Rolling through his clenched teeth and he stretched out his rough, bluish hand to Garin across the table. 

“Very good,” repeated Garin. “Events are developing at high speed. On the continent the three hundred kings must have their minds prepared. You will write them a letter on the imbecility of a government that sends a squadron of warships to bombard my island. You will pre- pare them for the ‘gold panic.’ (He snapped his fingers; a liveried lackey approached.) Pour out some more champagne. Rolling, we'll drink to the great and historic coup d'etat. Think of it, pal, Mussolini's just a puppy compared to us. . . 

And so Pyotr Garin came to an agreement with Mr. Roll- ing. History had been given the spur, history went gallop- ing forward, its golden-shod hoofs clattering over the skulls of fools. 

119 

The reverberations in America and Europe that fol- lowed the destruction of the Pacific Squadron were terrific and unprecedented. The United States of America had been dealt a blow that resounded throughout the world. The governments of Germany, France, Britain, and Italy all at once and with unhealthy nervousness took heart: they wondered whether this year (or perhaps any other year) they might be able to default in paying interest to an America already glutted with gold. “The colossus, it 

2S9 

Bcems, lias feet of clay,” said the newspapers, “it is not so easy to conquer the world. . . 

At the same time the new's of the Arizona’s piracy caused a hold-up in sea trade. Steamship-owners refused to load cargoes, steamer captains were afraid to cross the ocean, insurance companies raised their premiums, there was chaos in the banking world, bills of exchange were protested, a number of commercial houses went bankrupt, and Japan began hurriedly dumping her cheap goods on the American colonial markets. 

The disastrous sea battle had cost America a large sum of money. Her prestige, or “national pride,” as it was called, had suffered severely. Industrialists demanded the mobilization of all sea and air fleets — ^irar to the victori- ous end, cost what it might. American newspapers threat- ened to remain in mourning (the names of the newspapers were printed in a black frame — this produced an effect on many people and did not cost much) until Pierre Harry was brought to Hew York in an iron cage and exe- cuted on the electric chair. Terrifying rumours of Garin’s agents, armed with pocket infra-red ray machines, circu- lated amongst the population of the country. There were cases of unknown people being beaten up and of momen- tary panics on the streets, in cinemas and in restaurants. The Washington government thundered forth weighty words but actually was in a slate of utter confusion. The only vessel of the whole squadron to escape, a destroyer, brought news of the battle so ghastly in its details that the ministry was afraid to publish it. Seventeen-inch guns were powerless against the light-ray tower on Blackguards’ Island. 

These disconcerting facts led the Government of the United States to call a conference in Washington. The watchword of this conference was: “All men are children of the same God, let us think of the peaceful prosperity of mankind.” 

290 

‘Wljcn tlie date of the conference was announced news- paper offices and the wireless stations of all countries re- ceived information to the effect that Engineer Garin would be present in person at the opening of the conference. 

114 

Garin, Cermak, and Scheffer descended in the lift into the depths of the main shaft. Endless rows of pipes, cables, trusses, elevator vrclls, platforms, and iron doors flashed past the mica windows. 

The; passed through eighteen strata in the earth's crust, eighteen layers that marked eras in the planet's history like the rings in the trunk show the age of a tree. Organic life began in the fourth stratum "from the Cre," the stratum formed by the Paleozoic ocean. The virgin waters of this ocean were saturated with some life force unknown to us. They contained radioactive salts and large quantities of carbonic acid. Tlus was the "water of life.*' 

At the dawn of the next era, the Mesozoic, gigantic monsters came out of the water. For millions of years they made the earth tremble with their cries of hunger and lust. Still higher up in (he shaft (hey found the remains of birds and, higher still, mammals. This latter stratum was close to the ice age, the grim dawn of mankind. 

The lift was passing through the nineteenth and last stratum, created out of the (lames and chaos of volcanic action. This was the earth of the Archaean Era, a solid mass of dark-red, small-grain granite. 

Garin hit his nails in impatience. None of the three spoke. It was hard to breathe and each of them carried an oxygen apparatus over his back. They could iicar tbe roar of the liyperboloids and the explosions. 

The lift entered a belt of bright light cast by electric lamps and came to a stop over a huge cowl collecting 

gases, Garin and Scheffer donned round rubber helmets, like a diver’s, and climbed through one of the manholes of the cowl on to a metal ladder that led straight down for a distance equal to the height of a five-storey house. They climbed down to where the ladder ended on a round platform. On this platform several workers, naked to the waist, wearing masks and carrying oxygen containers over their backs, crouched over the housings of the hyperbo- loids. The workers stared into the roaring pit, regulating and directing the rays. 

Similar vertical ladders with round steel rungs led from this platform to the lower one. There stood the liquid-air cooling apparatus. "Workers on this lower plat- form, dressed in rubberized felt clothing and wearing oxygen masks, controlled the work of the coolers and the elevator scoops. This was the most dangerous place to work in. Any awk^vard movement would bring a man under the seething ray of the hyperboloid. Down below white-hot rocks burst and exploded in the stream of liquid air. Fragments of rock and clouds of gas came from below. 

The elevators removed up to fifty tons of rock an hour. The work was going well. As the elevator scoops dug deeper the whole system was lowered — the “iron mole,” constructed according to Mantsev’s drawings, consisting of the circular platforms with the hyperboloids and the cowl of the gas collector. The strengthening of the shaft began above the “mole” system. 

Scheffer snatched a handful of grey dust from one of the scoops as it flew past. Garin rubbed it betAvecn his fingers. He wrote a few words on a cigarette box. 

“Heavy slag. Lava.” 

Scheffer nodded bis round bespectacled helmet. Mov- ing carefully along the edge of the circular platform they stopped under instruments hanging on steel hawsers from the monolithic wall of the shaft and moving down- wards together with the whole “iron mole” system. These 

included barometers, seismographs compasses, pendulums recording the degree of acceleration of the force of grav- ity at a given depth, and electromagnetic measuring in- struments. 

Scheffer pointed to a pendulum, took the cigarette box from Garin, and wrote on it slowly in hts meticulous Ger- man handwriting: 

^^Acceleration of the force of gravity has risen by nine- hundredths since yesterday morning. At this depth acceler- ation should drop to 0.98, instead it rose by 1.07. . . 

“Magnets?” wrote Garin. 

Scheffer answered: 

“Today all magnetic instruments have stood at zero since morning, We are below the magnetic Held.” 

Resting his hands on his knees Garin stood for a long time looking down into the black pit that narrowed to an almost imperceptible point where the “iron mole” roared as it bit its way deeper into the earth. That morning the shaft had begun to penetrate the Olivine Belt. 

115 

“How do you feel, Ivan?” 

Shelga stroked the boy's head. The hoy was silting with him at the window of a little seaside house looking at the ocean. The house was built from coastal rock plas- tered with light-yellow clay. Outside, waves raced the blue ocean, white with surf where they heat against the reefs and the sandy beach of the liny isolated cove where Shelga lived. 

Ivan had been brought to the island on the airship half-dead. Shelga had brought him round with the greatest difficulty. If he had not had a friend on the island it is scarcely probable that Ivan would have lived. He was 

293 

badly frost-bitten, be bad a cold and, worst of all, he was morally depressed: he had trusted people, had made every possible effort, and what had happened? 

“There’s no going back to Soviet Russia for me. Com- rade Shelga. ril be arrested.” 

“Don’t be a fool. It’s not your fault.” 

Wliether Ivan sat on a rock on the beach, caught crabs or wandered about amidst the marvels of the island, amidst strange people and hustling activity, his eyes, with an expression of nostalgia, would constantly turn to the west where the flaming ball of the sun set and where, far beyond the sun, lay the Land of Soviets. 

“It’s night now,” he said in a quiet voice, “but in Leningrad it’s morning. Comrade Tarashkin has had his breakfast and gone to work. At the club-house they’re caulking the boats now, the flag will be raised in a fort- night.” 

As Ivan grew better Shelga began cautiously explaining to him the situation on the island and soon discovered, as Tarashkin had done, that the boy was quick to get the hang of things and that his attitude was irreconcilably Soviet, If he had not whimpered so much about Leningrad he would have been a wonderful boy. 

“Ivan,” said Shelga one day, cheerfully, “I’m going to send you home soon.” 

“Thank you, Vasily Vitalyevich.” 

“But there’s one little job you’ve got to do first,” 

“I’ll do it.” 

“Arc you any good at climbing?” 

“In Siberia I climbed hundred-and-fifty-foot cedars to get the cones, I climbed so high I couldn’t see the ground.” 

“When the time comes I’ll tell you what to do. But don’t wander about the island too much. You better take a line and fish for sea urchins.” 

294 

116 

Garin now went forward confidently with his work in accordance with a plan found amongst Mantsev's notes and diaries. 

The scoops had passed through the tliick stratum of magma. At the bottom of the shaft the roar of the sub* terranean ocean could be heard all the time. The walls of the shaft, frozen to a depth of one hundred feet, formed an indestructible cylinder; nevertheless the shaft vibrated and there were such Jolts that they had to concentrate on freezing operations. The elevators were now bringing to the surface crystallized iron, nickel, and oHvine. 

Strange phenomena were observed. A fluorescent glow appeared in the sea where the pontoons and conveyer belts deposited the extracted rock. For several days the glow increased in intensity until a huge mass of water and sand together with the pontoons and conveyers Oew into the air. The explosion was so terri6c that workers* baracks were blown down by the hurricane blast and the wave that swept over the island almost flooded the shafts. 

They had to load the rock straight on to barges and take it well out to sea; there the glow and the explosions never ceased. This Avas explained by some still unknown phenomena connected with the atomic disintegration of metal M. 

VTliat was happening at the bottom of the shaft was no less strange. It began with the magnetic instruments that shortly before had stood at zero suddenly revealing a magnetic field of tremendous strength. The needles swung over to the limit of their indicating power. A trembling bluish light appeared in the shaft. The very air underwent a change. Nitrogen and oxygen atoms, bombarded by myriads of alpha particles, dtsintegrated into helium and hydrogen. 

Fart of the liberated hydrogen burned in the hyper* 

39S 

boloid rays, flames swept through the shaft accompanied by little pistol-like explosions. The workers’ clothing caught fire. The shafts were shaken by the ebb and flow of the magma ocean. It was noticed that the steel scoops and iron parts of the elevators acquired an earthy-red coating. The rapid atomic disintegration of the machinery bad begun. Many of the workers were burned by invisible rays. Still the “iron mole” continued biting its way through the Olivine Belt with all its former persistence. 

Garin scarcely ever left the shaft. It was only now that he reahzcd to the ful the madness of his \indcrtaking. Nobody could say exactly how deep the seething subter- ranean ocean lay, or bow many thoxisand feet he would have to continue through molten olivine. Only one thing was certain — the instruments showed the presence of a solid magnetic core of extremely low temperature in the centre of the earth. 

There was a danger that the frozen cylinder of the shaft, denser than the molten mass which surrounded it, would be torn off and pulled to the centre by the force of gravity. Dangerous cracks appeared in the walls of the shafts and gases surged, hissing, through them. The diameter of the shafts had to be reduced to a half and extra-strong vertical props were put in. 

A lot of time was taken by the erection of a new “iron mole” half the diameter of the former one. The only comforting news came from the Arizona. The yacht was again sailing under the pirate flag; it had burst into Mel- bourne harbour at night, set fire to warehouses filled with copra to announce its presence, and demanded five mil- lion pounds. {As a warning the Marine Esplanade had been wrecked with the hyperboloid ray.) Within a few hours the city was empty and the money was paid out by the banks. As the Arizona left the harbour she was fired on by a British warship and was holed above the water- line by a six-inch shell; the yacht then attacked and cut 

296 

the warship into pieces. The battle was commanded bj- Madame Lamolle from the height of the hyperboloid tower. 

The report of this action put Garin in a good mood. He bad fallen victim to dismal thoughts during the past few days. Suppose hTantiev had been mistaken in his cal- culations? As in the deserted house in the Petrograd District a year before, his brain began to seek ways of salvation in the event of the shaft proving a failure. 

On 25th April, standing on the circular platform inside the “mole” system, Garin was the witness of an unusual phenomenon. From the cowl of the gas collector above him came a shower of mercury. The hyperboloids had to be stopped and the refrigeration at the base of the shaft was lessened. The scoops had passed the o'ivjne and srere now bringing up pure mercury. In the Mendeleyev tables mercury was followed by the metal thallium. Gold (atomic weight 197.2 and number 79) was higher than mercury in the tables. 

Only Garin and Scheffer knew that a catastrophe bad occured and there had been no gold in the strata of met* a’s lying in the order of their atomic weights. It was a real catastrophe! That damned Manisev had made a mis* take! 

Garin's head dropped. He bad expected all sorts of things but not such a pitiful end as this. . . . Scheffer ab- sent-mindedly held out his hand to catch the drops of mercury that fell from above. Suddenly he seized Garin by the elbow and dragged him to the vertical ladder. Wlien they had got to the top, entered the lift and taken off their masks. Scheffer stamped on the floor with his heavy hoots. His bony face, with all its childish simplicity, was radiant with joy. 

“It’s gold!” he shouted, roaring with laughter. “IVe’rc just sheep’s heads. . . . Gold and mercury boil side by side. What happens? Mercurial gold! . . . Look!” He opened a 

‘‘T:\\ctes a 

, w « ""■ T-^' '’ 

ccn ^ 

, .u o- 

a o«< "' *' 

GoW '’°””he ai>i '^i M ®“‘”'’° aW ' 

:■>” ■” :,c ot «'>»*'“ . .. „,pe*.»« 

,el ':ipse 

rs fotceo'^'^ „«\atc „AaUO’^® 

avxv, ani ^ atvV " ossXX^''^ ^ vXve sutX^^* 

rc . ^v\ictv X> ott s\ia 

lONfC^ ' f xXicsX^a s®® ^uXXv ., ^^5 to ® 

,eboUo^ ° X.C s^^-^W^rtas 

“’ "r "’.'L '■"''' ': , 

ToXjcS^"' nnApO°“ to TCt«^^ 

a^® , UaA ccase» i 

v\tat sX^c 

nine »' *' fv?X»''‘' « rf, ■ ": 'tTat a”» 

■*-«T^rASCO» _rtQ 

fuUy amongst a thousand other merchant vessels in the expansive, smoky bay, bathed in summer sunsliine. 

The captains went ashore. Bverything was in order. The sailors' washing was hung up to dry on the vessels, the decks were being swilled down. It was the cargo of the five vessels sailing under the Dutch fiag that aston* ished the customs officials more than a little. They were informed, however, that the Ingots of yellow metal were genuine gold brought here for sale. 

The customs men laughed at a good joke. 

“How much do you sell your gold for, eh?" 

“At cost price,” answered the first mates. (Exactly the same conversation, word for word, took place on all five vessels.) 

“And how much is that?” 

“A dollar twenty a pound!” 

“You don't seem to value your gold very high.” 

“We’re selling it cheap— we've got plenty,” answered the mates, sucking their pipes. 

And so the customs officials wrote into their records: “Cargo, ingots of yellow metal, described as gold.” They laughed and went their way. Actually, however, it was no laughing matter. 

Two days later in the advertisement columns of the San Francisco morning newspapers, on yellow and white posters on the hoardings or simply chalked on the pave- ments, appeared the following notice: 

“Engineer Pyotr Garin, considering the war for the independence of Golden Island to he concluded and pro- foundly regretting the losses sulTered by his opponents, respectfully offers the people of the United States five shiploads of gold as a beginning of peaceful commercial relations. Ten-pound ingots of gold are offered at a dollar twenty a pound. Those interested may obtain them at tobacconists, oil shops and dairies, at newspaper and shoe- shine stands, etc. I ask you to convince yourselves of the 

299 

Another three steamers arrived from Golden Island. They used derricks to unload bundles of ingots directly on to the water-front where they stacked them in huge piles. There was something unbearably horrible in all this. People in the queues trembled as they looked at the treas- ure that lay glittering on the roadway. 

By this lime Garin’s agents had completed the erection of street loudspeakers in all big cities. On Saturday, when work in office and factory was over and the townspeople filled the streets, a loud voice, speaking with a barbaric accent, but with extraordinary confidence, rang out all over America. 

“Americans! This is Engineer Garin talking to you, the man who has been outlawed, whose name is used to fright- en children. Americans, I have committed many crimes, but ail of them lead to one goal, to the happiness of man- kind. I have occupied a piece of land, an insignificant is- land, in order to bring a gigantic and unprecedented enter- prise to a successful conclusion. I decided to penetrate into the bowels of the earth to reach virgin deposits of gold. At a depth of 25,000 feet the shaft reached a deep stratum of molten gold. Americans, everybody sells what- ever he’s got, I am offering you my ware — gold. When I sell it at a dollar twenty a pound I earn ten cents on the dollar. That’s a modest profit. Why am I forbidden to sell my goods? Wliere is your free trade? Your government is trampling underfoot the sacred principles of liberty and progress, I am prepared to pay war indemnities, I am prepared to return to the stale, to companies, and to private individuals all the money that was requisitioned by the Arizona from ships and banks in accordance with the customs of war. I ask only one thing — give me freedom to sell my gold. Your government forbids it and has placed my ships under arrest. I put myself under the protection of the people of the United States.” 

That same night the loudspeakers were destroyed by 

tlie police. The government appealed to the reason of the population: 

. . Suppose the notorious bandit, 'who has come here from Soviet Kussia, Engineer Garin, is telling the truth, then it is all the more necessary to fill in the shaft on Golden Island and prevent any possibility of there being unlimited supplies of gold. What will happen to the cquiv> alent of labour, happiness, and life if gold can be dug up like clay? Man must inevitably return to his primitive state, to barter, savagery, and chaos. The whole economic system will be wrecked, industry and commerce will decay. There will he no incentive for people to strive for higher spiritual values. The big cities will perish. The railways vill be overgrown with grass. The lights will go out in the cinemas and pleasure grounds. Man will again hunt for his living with a flint spear. Engineer Garin is the greatest of all provocateurs, a servant of the devil. His object is to devaluate .the dollar. In this he will not succeed. . . 

The government drew a pitiful picture of what would happen if the gold standard were abolished. There were, however, few reasonable people to be found. The whole country went mad. Life came to a standstill in all cities as in San Francisco. Trains and millions of cars raced to the west. The nearer they got to the Pacific coast the more expensive became foodstu^s. There was no means of trans* port available to carry food. Hungry fortune-hunters broke into the food shops. A pound of ham cost a hun- dred dollars. In San Francisco people died in the streets. Others went mad from huoger, thirst, and the intense heat. 

At railway junctions and along the tracks lay the bodies of those who had been killed storming the trains. Along roads and lanes, across mountains and through forests groups of the fortunate ones made their way hack cast with sacks of gold ingots on their backs. Those ^\ho fell behind were murdered by the local inhabitants and gangs of bandits. 

The hunt for the “gold-bearers” began — they were even attacked from aeroplanes. 

At last the government took extreme measures. . . . Con- gress passed a law mobilizing all men between the ages of seventeen and forty-five, all failing to comply to be tried by court-martial. In the poorer districts of New York several hundred people were shot. Armed soldiers appeared on all railway stations. Some people were seized, some were pulled off trains and the soldiers fired into the air and at the people. Still the trains left crowded with passengers. The privately-owned railways found it more profitable to ignore government instructions. 

Another five of Garin’s steamships arrived in San Francisco, and in the open roads, in view of the whole bay, stood the beautiful Arizona, “the menace of the seas.” Under cover of her two hyperboloid towers gold was un- loaded from the steamers. 

Such was the situation when the opening day of the Washington Conference came. A month before America had owned one half of the world’s supply of gold. Today America’s gold fund had been reduced in value to one two hundred and fiftieth part of what it had been. At the cost of inhuman effort, with terrific losses and the spilling of much blood this could have been overcome. But sup- pose that mad scoundrel Garin should decide to sell his gold for fifty or for ten cents a pound. Elderly Senators and Congressmen strode up and down the lobbies, their faces white with horror. The industrial and financial kings let their hands fall despondently. 

“It is a ivorld catastrophe, worse than a collision with a comet.” 

“Who is this Engineer Garin?” they asked, “What does he really want? To ruin the country? Rot. Incomprehen- sible. What is he trying to achieve? Docs he want to he a dictator? Let him, if he’s the richest man in the world. After all we ourselves are as fed up with this democracy 

business as we are with margarine. There are riots, dis- orders, lawlessness in the country, it really would be much better if a dictator were to rule, a leader with the grip of a bulldog.” 

Vhcu it became known that Garin himself would appear at the conference so many people gathered in the hall that they hung from columns and crowded the win- dows. The chairman appeared. They sat in silence and waited. At last the chairman opened his mouth and all those in the hall turned towards the high white and gold door. It opened. In walked a roan of average height, un- usually pale, with a dark pointed heard and dark eyes framed in black rings. He was dressed in an ordinary grey suit, a red bow tie, brown shoes on thick soles and in his left hand a pair of new gloves. 

He stopped and took a deep breath. He nodded his head hriedy and walked briskly up the steps of the ros- trum. He stretched to hie full height. His beard stuck out In front. He moved the carafe of water to the edge of the rostrum. It was so quiet in the hall that the splash of the water could be heard. In a high-pitched voice and with a barbaric accent he said: 

“Gentlemen, Tm Garin. I bring the world gold. . . 

Tlic hall thundered with applause. The whole audience stood like one man and shouted in a single voice: 

“Long live Mr. Garin! Long live the dictatorl” 

Outside the hall a crowd a million strong roared, beat- ing time with their feet: 

“Ingots! . . . Ingots! . . . Ingots! . , 

Tke Arizona had just returned to the harbour of Golden Wand. Jamen, repotting to Madame Lamolle, Informed her of the .itnation on the mainland. Zoe received him in 

bed amidst her lace pillows (the minor morning recep- tion). The half-dark bedroom was filled with the pungent smell of flowers that came drifting through the open windows. A manicurist was working on her right hand. In her left she held a mirror and looked at her image with dissatisfaction as she talked. 

“But, my friend, Garin’s going out of his mind,” she said to Jansen. “He’s devaluating gold. He wants to be the dictator of the poor.” 

Jansen took a side-glance at the magnificence of the recently decorated bedchamber. He answered, holding his cap on his knees: 

“When I met Garin he said that you were not to worry, Madame Lamolle. He will not depart one iota from the programme laid down. By knocking the bottom out of gold he has won a battle. Next week the Senate will de- clare him dictator. Then he will raise the value of gold.” 

“How? I don’t understand.” 

“He will issue a decree prohibiting the import and sale of gold. In a month it will rise to its former price. We haven’t sold so very much. There was more noise than trade.” 

“And the mine?” 

“The mine will be destroyed.” 

Madame Lamolle frowned and lit a cigarette. 

“I understand absolutely nothing.” 

“It is essential to limit the amount, of gold available or it will lose its odour of human sweat. Needless to say, before the mine is destroyed sufficient gold will be ex- tracted to ensure that Garin is in possession of more than fifty per cent of the world’s gold supply. So if the value docs drop, it can only be a few cents on the dollar.” 

“Excellent . . . but how much will they assign me for my court, for my fantasies? 1 need a terribly big sum.” 

“Garin asks you to dra-w up an estimate. You will be assigned by law just as much as you need.” 

306 

“How do I know how much I need? That** all so lUlyl Firstly, in place of the workers* quarters, wirebouies, and workshops 1 shall build theatres, hotels, and circuses. That will be a city of wonders. Bridges like those in the old Chinese pictures will link the island with the sur* rounding islets and reefs. There I will build bathing pa* vilions and pavilions for games, harbours for yachts and airships. At the southern end of the island there will be an enormous building visible for many miles: *'ihe Resting Place of Genius.' I’ll plunder all the museums of Europe. I’ll gather together everything that mankind has created. My dear, my head aches with all these plans, la my dreams 1 see marble staircases leading up to the clouds, festivals, carnivals. . . 

Jansen sat up in his gilded chair. 

“Madame LamoUe. ..»** 

“Wait,” she said impatiently, “in three weeks* time my court will arrive. The whole gang will have to be fed, entertained, and kept in oruer. i want to invite two or three real kings from Europe and a dozen princes of the blood. We'll bring the Pope from Rome on an airship. I want to be anointed and crowned in proper form so that no more vulgar songs should be composed about me.” 

"Madame Lamolle,” said Jansen in imploring tones, “1 haven't seen you for a wbole month. So tar you are still free. Let's put out to sea. The Arizona has been recon* ditioned. 1 want to stand beside you again, on the bridge under the stars.” 

Zoe looked at him, her face grew tender. Smiling she stretched out her band to him. He pressed his lips to it and stood bent over it for a long lime. 

"1 don’t know, Jansen, I don't know,” she said, touch- ing his hair with her other band, “sometimes it seems to me that happiness is only in the striving for happiness. . And in memories.... But that's in moments of weari- 

ness Sometime I’ll come back to you, Jansen. I know 

you’ll %vait patiently for me. Do you remember? . . . The Mediterranean Sea, the glorious day when I appointed you Commander of the Order of the Divine Zoe. (She laughed and squeezed the back of his head between her fingers.) And if I don’t come back, Jansen, your dreams and your longing for me — are not they also happiness? Oh, my friend, nobody knows that Golden Island is a dream that I once saw in the Mediterranean Sea; I was dozing on deck and saw staircases and palaces, more and more palaces, each more beautiful than the others rising in terraces out of the sea. And there were many beautiful people, my people, my own, you understand me? No, I shan’t rest until I’ve built my dream city. I know, my faithful friend, you offer me yourself, the captain’s bridge and the wastes of the ocean in place of my mad delirium. You don’t know women, Jansen. We’re frivolous and wasteful. I threw aside Rolling’s billions like an old glove because they could not save me from old age, from decay. I followed Garin, a beggar. My head was turned by a crazy dream. Still, I loved him only one night. Since that night I cannot love again like you want me to. My dear, dear Jansen, tell me what I am to do with myself? I must fly away into dizzy fantasies until my heart stops beating. (He rose from his chair and she suddenly seized him by the hand.) 

I know, there’s only one man in the world who loves me. You, you, Jansen. Can I ever be sure that I shan’t come running to you and say, ‘Jansen, save me from my- self. . . 

120 

In the little yellow house in the cove on a distant part of Golden Island, heated discussions went on all night. Shclga read a hastily drawn-up proclamation: 

“Workers of the World! You know the extent and re- 

stjUs of tfie panic tiiai swept tljc United States wben Garin’s gold ships entered San Francisco harbour. 

“Capitalism is tottering: gold is losing its value, cur- rencies arc tumbling, the capitalists have nothing with which to pay their mercenaries — police, punitive troops, provocateurs, and traitors from amongst the working-class leaders. The spectre of proletarian revolution has risen to its full height. 

“Although it was Engineer Garin who dealt capitalism this terrific blow, there is nothing he vrants less than revolution. 

“Garin wants power. On his way to power he is crush- ing the resistance of the capitalists who have not yet learned that Garin is a new weapon in the struggle against the proletarian revolution. 

“Garin will soon come to terms with the biggest capi- talists. 

“They will declare him dictator and their leader. He will keep In bis possession half of the world's supply of gold and will then order the mine on Golden Island to be filled in so that the amount of available gold will be limited. 

“Together with a gang of the biggest capitalists he will plunder all mankind and make slaves of the people. 

“Workers of the World! Tlie hour of decisive struggle has atiived. This announcement is made by tbe Revo- lutionary Committee of Golden Island. The Committee an- nounces that Golden Island, the mine, and the hyper- boloids are placed at the disposal of the revolutionary workers of the whole world. Unlimited supplies of gold will now be in the hands of the working people. 

“Garin and his gang will defend themselves desperate- ly. The sooner we take the offensive the surer will be our victory.” 

Not all members of the Revolutionary Committee ap- proved the proclamation, tome of them wavered, afraid 

of its boldness: would tbcy be able to arouse tbe workers BO quickly? Would they be able to get weapons? Tbe capitalists had their navies and powerful armies, they had 

police armed with gas and machine-guns Would it not 

be better to wait or, if they must act, then begin with a general strike? . . . 

Shclga spoke to the waverers "with suppressed fury. 

“Revolution is the higher strategy. Strategy is the science of victory. He wins who takes the initiative into his hands, he who has courage. You can weigh things up quietlv after our victory, when you’re thinking of writing the history of that victory for future generations. We shall be able to organize an uprising if we devote all our energy to it. We’ll get weapons in the course of battle. The victory is certain because all toiling mankind is determined to win and we are the vanguard. That’s how the Bolsheviks talk and the Bolsheviks know no defeats.” 

Wlien these words had been said a bie blue-eyed young miner, who had remained silent the whole time, took his pipe out of his mouth. 

“That’s enough,” he said in a deep bass. “That’s enough talk. Let’s get busy.” 

121 

The tall, grey-headed valet, in livery jacket and stock- ings, entered the bedchamber noiselessly, placed a cup of chocolate and biscuits on the bedside table, and with a faint rustic opened the blinds on the windows. Garin opened his eyes, 

“Cigarette!” 

He had been unable to cure himself of that Russian habit of smoking before breakfast although he knew that American high society, who followed his every move and word, regarded smoking on an empty stomach ns some- thing in the nature of immorality. 

310 

Daily fcuillelons in ihe American presj had completely whitewashed Garin's past. In the past he had only drunk wine when he had been compelled to, in actual fact he was an enemy of alcoholic liquors; his relations with Aladame Lamolle were those of brother and sister, bated on a. com* munity of spirit; it turned out that their favourite amuse* ment, when he and Madame Lamolle had time to rest together, was the reading aloud of the most loved chapters of the Bible; some of bis more desperate exploits (the Ville d’Avray business, the explosion at the chemical works, the sinking of the American squadron, etc.) were just fatal accidents, others were due to the careless han* dling of the hyperboloid, in any case the great man showed sincere and profound penitence and was ready to enter the church in order finally to wash away his involuntary sins (a struggle for Pyotr Garin had already begun between the Catholic and Protestant Churches), and, lastly, he was credited with having been interested from childhood in at least ten difTerent forms of sport. 

Garin smoked his cigarette and then squinted at the chocolate. Formerly, when he was still considered a black* guard and bandit, be would have asked for a brandy and soda as a morning pick*me*up — but for the dictator of half the world to start the day on brandy! Such immorality would have alienated the whole of the sound, reliable bourgeoisie that had mustered around his throne like Napoleon's Old Guard. 

With a scowl he sipped the chocolate. The valet, stand* ing at the door in a sort of sad solemnity, asked in a low voice: 

“Will Your Excellency permit his private secretary to enter?” 

Garin sat up lazily in bed and put on a silk dressing-gown. 

“Send him in.” 

Tlie secretary entered, bowed with dignity three times, once at the door, once in the middle of the room, and 

311 

once at the bedside. He wished Garin a good morning and cast a scarcely perceptible glance at the chair. 

“Sit do^vn,” said Garin, yawning so that his jaws cracked. 

The private secretary sat down. He was a bony middle- aged individual with a wrinkled brow and sunken cheeks, dressed in dark clothes. His eyelids were permanently half-closed. He was considered the most elegant gentleman in the New World and had, as Pyotr Petrovich thought, been planted on him by the big financiers as a spy. 

“Wliat’s new?” asked Garin. “Any change in the price of gold?” 

“It’s rising.” 

“But slowly, eh?” 

The secretary raised his eyelids with a melancholy look. 

“Yes, feebly, very feebly.” 

“Damn them!” 

Garin pushed bis bare feet into brocade slippers and began pacing the white carpet of his bedchamber. 

“Damn them! Sons of bitches! Idiots!” 

Involuntarily his left hand crept behind his back, the thumb of his right hand he stuck in his pyjama cord and so he strode back and forth with a lock of hair falling over his forehead. The secretary apparently thought this an historical moment: he sat holt upright on his chair with his neck craned out of his starched collar — it seemed to him that he was listening to the march of history. 

“Damn them!” said Garin for the last time. “I regard the slow rise in the market price of gold as lack of con- fidence in me. In me! You understand? I will issue a decree prohibiting the free sale of gold ingots on pain of death. Write this. . . .” 

He stood still, glanced sternly at the abundant rosy bottom of Aurora flying across the ceiling amidst clouds and cupids, and began to dictate: 

312 

“The Senate decrees that from today’s date....” 

When this business was finished he lit a second cig- arette. He threw the butt Into bis unfinished cup of chocolate and asked: 

“Wliat else is there? Have any attempts on my life been discovered?” 

The secretary’s long fingers with long polished nails extracted a sheet of paper from his brief-case; he read it to himself, turned it over, and then turned it back again. 

“The police have uncovered another two attempts on your life, sir, one yesterday evening and one at half past six this morning.” 

“Aha, very good. Publish it in the press. Who were they? I hope the crowd dealt with the scoundrels? Wliat?” 

“Yesterday evening a young man, apparently of the working class, was discovered in the palace park with two iron nuts in bis pocket, each weighing a pound. Unfortu- nately it was late, and there were not many people in the park, only a few passers-by who, learning that the villain wanted to attempt the life of their adored dictator, suc- ceeded In striking him. He has been detained.” 

“Were those passers-by private Individuals or agents?” 

The secretary's eyelids fluttered and be gave a slight smile with the corners of his mouth, an inimitable smile, the only one of its kind in North America. 

“It goes without saying, sir, they were private indi- viduals, honest traders who are devoted to you, sir.” 

“Find out the names of the traders and give them my heartiest thanks through the press. Let the arrested man be tried with the full severity of the law. After he has been sentenced I will pardon him.” 

“The second attempt was also made in the park,” continued the secretary. “A lady was observed looking up at the windows of your bedchamber, sir. Tlic lady was found to be in possession of a small revolver.” 

“Was she young?” 

313 

“Fifty-three. An old maid.” 

“"What did the crowd do?” 

“The actions of the crowd were confined to tearing off her hat, breaking her umbrella, and trampling on her handbag. Such mild measures are to be explained by the early hour and the pitiful picture presented by the lady herself who immediately fell into a swoon at the sight of the enraged crowd.” 

“Give the old crow a passport and send her out of the United States immediately. Treat this incident very hazily in the press. What else?” 

At five to nine Garin took a shower and then sur- rendered himself to the attentions of the barber and his four assistants. He sat in a special chair, like those den- tists use, covered in a linen sheet in front of a triple mirror. His face was given a steam bath, and at the same time files, scissors, and chamois leather pads wielded by two blondes fluttered over the fingers of both hands while the nails of his toes were attended to by two skilled mulatto girls. His head was washed in several toilet waters and essences, given a slight touch with the curling-tongs, and arranged so that the bald patch did not show. The barber had been awarded the title of baronet for his ex- ceptional artistry; he shaved Pyotr Petrovich, powdered him. and scented his face and head with several different perfumes — rose for the neck, lily of the valley behind the ears, bouquet Vernet for the temples, apple-blossom around the lips, and the most delicate of perfumes, “Twilight,” for the beard. 

After these manipulations the dictator might well have been wrapped in cellophane, placed in a box and sent to an exhibition. Garin could scarcely tolerate this proce- dure to the end; he was subjected to it every morning, and the newspapers wrote about his “quarter of an hour after the bath.” And so he had to put up with it. 

314 

He then went to the drestin^'room where he was jwaited by two lackeys and the valet holding shirts, socks, shoes, and so on. For today he had selected a speckled brown suit. Those pigs of reporters had written that one of the most astounding talents of the dictator was his ability to select a tie. He had to submit and watch his step. Garin selected a peacock<blue tie. Cnrsing under his breath in Kiifsian he tied it himself. 

As he walked to the dining-room, decorated in medieval style, he thought to himself: 

can't stand this for long, it's a hell of a regime they’ve foisted on me.” 

During breakfast (again not a drop of alcohol) the dictator was supposed to examine his correspondence. About three hundred letters lay on a tray of Sevres china. Munching fried smoked Bsb, tasteless ham, and oatmeal porridge boiled in unsalted water (the morning meal of sportsmen and people of high morals), Garin picked out the crackling envelopes at random. Opening them with a dirty fork he read hurriedly: 

“My heart beats wildly, I am so excited my hand is scarcely able to pen these lines. 'What would you think of me? Oh, God, I love you. 1 have loved you from the moment I saw your photo in the newspaper (name of paper). I am young. I am the daughter of respectable parents. I am burning up with the desire to become a wife and mother. . . 

Such love letters from different parts of America were usually accompanied by a photograph. The pictures of these pretty faces (tens of thousands of them had ac- cumulated in the course of a month) with their fluffy hair, innocent eyes, and silly noses were horribly, deadly boring. To make that crazy journey from Krestovsky Is- land to Washington, from the unheated room in the deserted house in the Petrograd District where Garin had dashed from comer to corner with clenched fists seeking 

315 

the almost non-existent way out (flight on the Bibigonda) to the president’s gilded chair in the Senate where he had to go twenty minutes later ... to horrify the whole world, to become master of the subterranean ocean of gold, to achieve power over the world — lall this only to be trapped into the most boring Philistine life. 

“To hell with it all!” 

Garin threw down his napkin and drummed on the table with his fingers. He was cornered. He had reached the summit and there was nothing else to strive for. He was dictator. Should he demand the title of Emperor? If he did they would worry him to death. Flee? 'Where to? And what for? To Zoc? Ah, Zoe! That important relation that had come into being on a damp, warm night in the old hotel at Villc d’Avray, had been broken. The whole fantasy of Garin’s adventure had been born that night, to the rustle of leaves outside the window, amidst torment- ing caresses. He had been filled with the exultation of the forthcoming struggle, and it had been easy to say, “I place the world at your feet.” But now Garin w’as the victor. The world was at his feet. And Zoe? — Zoc was far from him, a stranger, Madame Lamolle, the Queen of Golden Island. Somebody else’s head was turned dizzy by the perfume of her hair and the steady gaze of her' cold, dreamy eyes. He, Garin, the -world conqueror, had to cat imsaltcd porridge, and yawm as he looked at the foolish physiognomies sent him. The fantastic dream of Villc d’Avray had drifted away from him. Issue decrees, ape the great man, be respectable on all occasions. Oh, hell. A drop of brandy wouldn’t do any harm. 

He turned towards the footmen who stood like stuffed dummies near the doors. Two of them stepped forward immediately, one bowed in his direction in an attitude of interrogation and the other said in a sexless voice; 

“Your Excellency’s car is ready.” 

The dictator entered the Senate hanging hia heels defiantly on the floor. He took his place in the glided chair and in a metallic voice pronounced the formula opening the session. His brows were knitted and his face expressed energy and determination. Dozens of cameras and cinecameras photographed him at that moment. Hun* deeds of beautiful women in the boxes rcser^’ed for the public cast adoring and voluptuous glances at him. 

On this day the Senate had the honour of ofTering him new titles: Lord of Lower Vales, Duke of Naples, Comte de Charleroi, Baron Muhihausen and Co'Emperor of All Kussia; the United States of America, being a democratic power with no titles to offer, had given him the rank of ^‘God'a Businessman.” 

Carlo tendered his thanks. He would have found great pleasure in spitting on those fat and respectable bald beads that sat in front of him in the amphitheatre of the world senate. He realized, however, that he would do nothing of the sort but would stand up and thank them. 

**Ju8t wait, you bastards,” he thought as he stood up (pale, small in stature, and with a pointed heard) before the applauding amphitheatre, “until I bring you a draft decree on racial purity and the selection of the first thousand. . . .” Still be felt bound hand and foot and that as the bearer of such titles as Lord, Duke, Comte, and God's Businessman he would not do anything so drastic. Now he must leave the Senate Hall for a banquet. . . . 

In the streets the dictator's car was greeted with shouts of welcome. If one looked closer one could see that the shouts came exclusively from hefty young men who looked like plain-clothes policemen. Garin bowed and waved a hand clad in a lemon-coloured glove. If he had not been born in Russia and had not lived through a revolu- 

tion, that journey through the city, amidst cheering crowds expressing their loyalty by shouts of “Hip, hip, hurrah!” and throwing flowers at him, would have given him great pleasure. Garin, however, was a man whose mind had been poisoned. He was angry: “Cheap, cheap, shut your mouths, you oxen, there’s nothing to shout about.” At the entrance to the City Hall he got out of the car and dozens of ladies’ hands (the daughters of kero- sene, railway, canned goods, and other kings) showered him with flowers. 

As he ran up the stairs he blew kisses right and left. In the banqueting hall music was played in honour of God’s Businessman. He took his scat and everybody sat down. The snow-white tables, arranged in tbe form of the letter “U,” were a mass of bright flowers and glittering cut-glass. Beside each plate lay eleven silver knives and as many forks of different shapes and sizes, to say nothing of spoons, large and small. He dare not make a mistake in taking the right knife and fork to eat. 

Garin gritted his teeth in exasperation: aristocrats! Out of the two hundred people at the banquet a good hundred and a half had sold fish in the streets, and now they did not find it decent to cat with less than eleven forks! But all eyes were fixed on the dictator and on this occasion, too, he submitted to the pressure of public opinion and his behaviour was exemplary. 

After turtle soup the speeches began, Garin listened to them standing, a glass of champagne in his hand. “I’ll get drunk!” was an idea that zigzagged through his head. But even that was out of the question. 

He assured his two pretty, talkative neighbours that he really did read the Bible every evening. 

Between dessert and coffee he answered the speeches: 

“Ladies and gentlemen, 1 regard the power with which you have endowed me ns the finger of God, and it is the sacred duty of my conscience to employ this power, unpre- 

ccdented in world hislory, for the extension of our roar* kets, for the prosperity of our industry and commerce, and for the suppression of the immoral attempts of the mob to overthrow the existing order of things....” And BO on. 

The speech made a delightful impression. It is true that at the end of it the dictator added, as though to himself, three very energetic words, but they were said in an unknown tongue, presumably Russian, and passed unnoticed. Then Garin bowed on all sides and left the ball to the music of trumpets, the roll of kettle-drums, and shouts of joy. He drove home. 

In the vestibule of the palace he threw his hat and stick on the floor (panic amongst the footmen who rushed to pick them up), plunged his hands deeply into his trouser pockets and, thrusting his beard out angrily, marched up the thick carpet of the stairs, llii private secretary awaited him in his study. 

“There will be a dinner in honour of the dictator at seven o’clock in the Pacific Club; a symphony orchestra will play.” 

“I see,” answered Garin and again added those three incomprehensible Russian words. “What else?” 

“At eleven o’clock in the White Hall of the Indiana Hotel there will be a ball in honour of. . . .” 

“Telephone to both places that I’m ill, that I ale too much crab at the City Hall.” 

“I make bold to suggest that a pretended illness may only give rise to greater trouble: the whole city will im- mediately come here to express sympathy. Apart from that there are the newspaper reporters — they would even climb down the chimneys.” 

“You’re right. I’ll go.” Garin rang the bell. “Bath. Get evening dress ready with all orders and regalia.” For some time he walked or rather ran up and down the carpet. “What else?” 

3t9 



OD the earphones. Zoe’s voicct clear hut toneless, like a voice from another planet, kept repeating in Kussian: 

“Gann, we’re done for.... Garin, we’re done for.... There’s an insurrection on the island. The big h)'pcrbotoid has been seized. Jansen’s with me. If we can wc’il escape on the /Irizona.” 

The voice broke off. Garin stood at the desk but did not remove the earphonea. Uts private secretary, with Garin’s silk bat and v/alkiog^stick in bis bands, was wait* ing at the door. The receiver again began to emit signals. This time it was a man's voice, sharp and gruff, speaking in EnglUh; 

“Nvorkers of the World. You know the extent and re« suits of the panic that swept the United Slates. . . 

He listened to Sbelga’s proclamaliou to tbe end and then removed the earphones. Without any haste, with a crooked smile, be Ut a cigar. Out of the drawer of his desk be took a bundle of huadred*dolUr notes and a small nickel ap* paratus shaped like a revolver: this was his latest inven* tion, the pocket hyperboloid. Wuh a motion of bis eye* brows be called tbe secretary. 

“Order the touring car to be ready immediately.” 

For the hrst time since he had been in Gann's serv* ice tbe secretary raised bU eyelids and his reddish eyes registered surprise. 

“hut, Your Excellency....” 

“Shut up. Give an immediate order to the General in Command of the army, the city governor, and the civil authorities that martial law is introduced as from seven o’clock. Ktots to be suppressed by shooting.” 

The secretary immediately disappeared through the door. 

Garin walked over to the triple mirror. His face was pale and he looked like a little wax figure in his orders and regalia. Ue looked at himself for a long time and suddenly one of his eyes winked mockingly of its own 

iccord. “Take to your heels, Pierre Harry, take to your beels as quickly as you can,” he said to himself in a ivhisper. 

122 

Towards evening on 23rd June things began to move on Golden Island. The whole day the ocean had been stormy. Heavy black clouds came up from the south-west and fiery zigzags tore the sky asunder. The island was covered in a haze of fine spray. 

Towards evening the storm drew farther off, the lightning flashed far away on the horizon hut the wind continued with unabated fury; it bowed trees to the ground, bent the tall lamp-posts, tore the roofs from the barracks in formless sheets, and whistled and howled in every corner of the island with such Satanic fury that every living thing sought shelter. Ships strained at their hawsers in the harbour, several barges were carried out to sea; in a small bay opposite the palace the Arizona bobbed up and down like a fisherman’s float. 

The population of the island had been considerably reduced in recent times. Work in the mine had been stopped. Zoe’s tremendous building programme had not been commenced. Only about five hundred of the six thou- sand workers still remained on the island. The others had left, loaded with gold. The empty barracks, Luna Park, and the brothels had been removed and the ground levelled for the future structures. 

There was absolutely nothing for the police guard to do on that peaceful patch of land. The time had gone when the yellow and white policemen had stood with their rifles on rocks like watch-dogs, or marched up and down the barbed-wire alleys, significantly rattling their rifle holts. The policemen began to drink. They longed for big cities, for smart restaurants, for jolly women. They asked 

322 

for leave, they threatened to revolt. There wai, however, a strict order from Garin to the effect that noliody was to be pranted leave or discharged. Tlie police barracks were kept under the constant menace of the miixzle of the big hyperboloid. 

There was heavy gambling in the barracks. Losses were paid in promissory notes since everybody was fed up with the sight of the gold that lay around in heaps of ingots. They staked their mistresses, their weapons, their well* smoked pipes, a bottle of old brandy, or just played for **a smack across the miixxle-** By evening the whole police force was dead drunk. Genera! Snbhotin found it dif* ficult to maintain — well, not discipline, that would be cxpcctine too much, hut just ordinary common decency. 

“Gentlemen officers, you onglit to be ashamed of yourselves/’ General Subbotin’s voice could be heard every day in the officers* club, “you have sunk to the very bottom, you vomit on the floor, and the place stinks like a brothel, You hang around in your underpants because you’ve gambled away your trousers. It grieves me that I am (infortunate enough to have to command sucli a herd of swine.” 

No raeaiures proved effective. Still, there had never before been such drunkenness as on the day of the storm, 23rd June. The howling wind brought with it a terrible nostalgia, it brought up distant memories and old wounds were opened. The spray beat at the window like rain. Celesliai arliffery roared lime and again in a hurricane of fire. The walls trembled, glasses rattled on the tables. The police guards sat with their elbows on long tables, theic dashing heads in their copped bands, unwashed, un- combed; they were singing a tong that belonged to their enemies: “Oh, where are you rolling, little apple. . . .” Tliis song, carried to a tiny island lost in the wastes of the ocean, the devil alone knew from what remote life, was like a breath from their distant homeland. Prunken heads 

nodded and tears rolled dow their cheeks. General Suh- botin had become hoarse in his efforts to check the debanchery: finally he sent them all to the devil and got drunk himself. 

The Revolutionary Committee’s reconnaissance (in the person of Ivan Gusev) reported on the deplorable situa- tion at the police barracks. Shortly after six in the evening Shelga, accompanied by five hefty miners, went to the guard-room and started a quarrel with two- tipsy sentries who stood guard over the arms racks. The sentries, carried away by the colourful Russian collonuialisms, were easily distracted and were soon knocked off their feet, disarmed and bound hand and foot. Shelga obtained a hundred rifles. These were immediately distribrited amongst the workers who came running from lamp-post to lamp-post, from tree to tree and crawling across the open spaces. 

A hundred men hurst into the police barracks. There was a tremendous commotion and the police met the at- tackers with bottles and stools, retreated, took up posi- tions, and opened fire from their revolvers. On the stair- cases, in the corridors and in the dormitories the battle raged. Drunken and sober men fought in a hand-to-hand struggle. Savage howls escaped through the broken win- dows. The attackers were few in number, one to five, but they used their callused hands like flails against the flabby yellow-white policemen. Reinforcements arrived and the police began jumping out of the windows. Fire broke out in several places and the barracks were soon hidden in smoke. 

123 

Jansen ran through the empty, unlighted rooms of the palace. Surf seethed and thundered on the verandah. The wind howled, rattling the window-frames. Jansen called to Madame Lamollc, and listened with growing alarm. 

He ran downstairs to Garin'a apartments, taking the stairs in giant strides. Below he could hear shots and odd shouts. He looked into the inner garden — it was deserted, not a soul was to be seen. On the opposite side, under an ivy-clad arch, people outside were trying to break down the gates. How could he have slept so soundly that only a bullet which broke the window had awakened him? Had Madame Lamolle escaped? Could she have been killed? 

He opened the Brat door he came to and went in. Four bluish spheres and a fifth, hanging from the mosaic ceiling, lit up tables covered with all sorts of apparatus, marble panels with measuring instruments, varnished boxes and cupboards with electronic lamps, the driving belt of a dynamo, and a writing-desk littered with draw'- ings. This was Garin's workroom. On the floor lay a crumpled handkerchief. Jansen picked it up, it smelled of Madame Lamolle's perfume. Then he remembered that a subterranean passage led from this room to the lift of the hyperboloid tower and that there must be a bidden door somewhere. Madame Lamolle bad, of course, hurried to the tower as soon as the first shots were fired. Vhy hadn't he thought of that before! 

He searched for the hidden door. Then came the sound of breaking glass, the trample of feel, and voices calling hurriedly to each other on the other side of the wall. They had broken into the palace. "Why was Madame Lamolle so slow? He jumped to the carved double doors and locked them; be took out bis revolver. It seemed that the whole palace was filled with the trampling of feel and shouting voices. 

“Jansenl” 

Before him stood Madame Lamolle. Her bloodless lips were moving but be did not bear what she said. He stared at her, breathing heavily. 

“We’re done for, Jansen, we’re done for! . . .” she repeated. 

325 

She was wearing a black dress, her thin, clenched hands were pressed to her breast. Her eyes were as troubled as a blue storm. 

“The lift of the big hyperboloid is not working,” said Madame LamoIIe, “it has been raised to the top. Some- body is sitting in the tower. He climbed up the outside, up the lattice-work. I’m sure it’s that hoy, Gusev. . . .” 

She glanced at the carved doors and her clenched fin- gers cracked. Her brows were knitted in a frown. Behind the doors dozens of feet were stamping madly. From out- side came a savage howl followed by some bustling and then hurried shots. Madame Lamolle sat down swiftly at the desk and closed a switch; the dynamo began to hum softly and the pear-shaped valves gave off a bluish glow. She tapped with the key sending out call signals. 

"Garin, we’re done for. . . . Garin, we’re done for . , .” she said, bending over the microphone. 

A minute later the carved doors cracked under blows from fists and feet. 

"Open the door’. Open! . . .” 

Madame Lamolle took Jansen by the hand, dragged him towards the wall, and with her foot pressed on a whorl in the carved ornament near the floor. A cloth-covered panel between two half-columns slid back noiselessly. Ma- dame Lamolle and Jansen slipped through the secret open- ing into the underground passage and the panel returned to its original place. 

After the storm the stars winked and burned brighter than ever over the troubled ocean. The wind was strong enough to carry them off their feet and the surf thundered against the rocky shore. Through the noise of the ocean shots could be heard. Hiding behind bushes and rocks, Madame Lamolle and Jansen ran to the North Boy where a motor-boat was always kept. On the right the black outlines of the palace towered above them, on the left 

were the whitc*capped wavee, and in the distance the dancing lights of the Arizona. Behind them was the lat- ticed silhouette of the hyperboloid tower reaching up into the sky; at the very summit there was a light. 

“Look,” cried Madame Lamolle, turning back as she ran and waving her hand in the direction of the tower, “there’s a light up there. Thai’s death!” 

They went down a sleep slope to a bay protected from the waves. Here a little motor-boat bobbed up and down; it was moored to a small landing-stage at the foot of the staircase leading to the palace verandah. She jumped into the boat, ran to the stern, and with trembling bands pressed the starter. 

“Quicker, Jansen, hurry up!” 

The motor-boat was locked to a chain. Jansen thrust the barrel of his revolver into the hasp and tried to break the lock. Doors on the verandah opened with a crash and armed men appeared. Jansen threw down his revolver and seized the chain near the staple. His muscles cracked, his neck swelled, and the hook on his tunic collar broke. Suddenly tlie engine began to splutter. The men on the terrace were already running down the staircase waving their riBes and shouting to them to stop. 

Mustering every ounce of strength Jansen tore out tlie chain and pushed the spluttering boat far out into the water; on his hands and knees he crawled along the deck towards the tiller. 

Describing a small arc the roolor-boai raced towards the narrow outlet of the bay followed by shots from the shore. 

“Lower the storm ladder, you devils,” roared Jansen from the motor-boat that was dancing on the waves beside the Arizona. “Where’a the Brst mate? Sleeping? I'll hang him!” 

“Here I am, sir." 

327 

“Cast off the anchor chains, start up the engines. Full speed ahead! Lights out!” 

“Aye, aye, sir.” 

Madame Lamolle was the first to mount the ladder. She leaned over the rail and saw Jansen try to stand up, fall ou his side, and try in vain to catch a rope that had been thrown to him. A wave covered him together with the boat and then again his face appeared, spitting out salt water and distorted with pain. 

“What’s the matter, Jansen?” 

“I’m wounded.” 

Four sailors jumped into the boat, seized Jansen and carried him on board. On deck he fell again, his hands pressed to his side, and lost consciousness. He was carried into his cabin. 

At full speed, cutting through the waves, the Arizona drew away from the island. The first mate took command. Madame Lamolle stood beside him on the bridge, her hands gripping the rail. Water poured off her, her dress clung to her body. She watched the distant glo’iv grow brighter (the police barracks burning) and saw clouds of smoke, pierced with spiral tongues of flame, cover the island. Suddenly she seemed to notice something for she seized the officer by the sleeve. 

“Change your course to the south-west.” 

“There are reefs there, Madame.” 

“That's not your business. Sail through there keeping the island on the portside.” 

She ran to the latticed tower of the stern hyperboloid. A sheet of water racing from the bows along the deck swept her off her feet. A sailor picked her up, wet and mad with rage. She tore herself away from him and climbed up the tower. 

On the island, high above the smoke of the con- flagration, a star shone blindingly bright — that was the big hyperboloid working, searching for the Arizona. 

lladnme Lamolle had decided to 6ght aince there was no possibility of getting away from a death ray with a radius of many miles from its high tower. The ray at first darted about amongst the stars along the horitoo« deicrib* ing a circle of two hundred and fifty miles in a few min* ules. Now it was persistently searching the western sector of the ocean raising heavy clouds of steam where it touched the crests of the waves. 

The Arizona was moving at full speed some seven miles off'shore. She dived up to the masthead in the troughs of the waves and then rose again on the crests. It svas at such momenta that Madame Lamolle hit back at the island with her ray from the stern tower. Already wooden buildings here and there had caught fire. Showers of sparks were thrown high into the air as though the fire were being blown by tome giant bellows. The red glow cast its reflectioa over the whole of the black, troubled ocean. 'When the Arizona rose on the crest of a wave her silhouette was observed from the island and the incandescent white needle of the ray danced round her, darting up and down in zigzags, striking the waves quite close to her, at first near the bows and then just astern. 

It seemed to Zae that the blinding star was Dashing straight in her eyes, while she herself tried to aim the muzzle of her hyperboloid direct at the star on the dis- tant lower. The Arizona'$ screws raced madly in the ajr as she nosed down into the trough of a high wave. That was the moment when the ray found its target, rose, flickered, as though measuring the distance, and then dropped straight on to the profile of the yacht. Zoe closed her eyes. The hearts of all those on board the vessel who watched that duel must have stood still. 

Wljen Zoe opened her eyes there was a wall of water in front of her — the Arizona had dived into an abjss. “This isn’t death yet." thought Zoe. She look her hands off the hyperboloid and they hung helpless by her sides. 

When they were again lifted by a wave they saw why death had given them a miss. Huge clouds of smoke covered the island and the hyperboloid tower — the oil tanks must have blown up. The Arizona could now get away quietly behind the smoke screen, 

Zoe did not know whether she had managed to smash the big hyperboloid or whether its star was only hidden by the smoke. What did it matter now. . , . With difficulty she climbed down from the tower and made her way, hold- ing on to the rigging, to the cabin where Jansen lay breath- ing heavily behind the blue curtains. She dropped into an armchair, struck a wax vesta, and lit a cigarette. 

The Arizona's course was north-west. The wind had abated somewhat but the sea was still boisterous. Many times a day the yacht sent out prearranged signals, trying to get in touch with Garin, and hundreds of thousands of wireless receivers all over the world heard Zoe’s voice: “What are we to do? Where are we to go? Our latitude and longitude are such and such. We await orders.” 

Ocean-going steamers that picked up the message hur- ried away from the terrifying spot where the Arizona, the “menace of the seas,” had again appeared. 

124 

Golden Island was wrapped in a cloud of burning oil. A calm had set in after the hurricane and the black cloud rose straight up to the clear sky casting a huge shado%v for several miles over the ocean. 

The island seemed dead, the only sign of life being the rattle of the elevator scoops at the mine. 

The silence was broken by the music of a slow, solemn march. Through the smoky gloom some two hundred people could be seen; they were marching with their heads raised, their faces set and determined. At the head of 

the column four men carried eoroething wrapped in a red banner. They made their way up the rocky eminence where the hyperboloid tower atood; at the foot of the tower they laid down their burden. 

It waa the body of Ivan Gusev. He had been killed the day before during the battle with the Arizona. Climb- ing the lattice-work aides of the tower like a cat he had switched on the hyperboloid and searched for the Arizona amongst the huge waves. 

The fiery ray from the Arizona danced over the island, setting fire to buildings, cutting lamp-posts and trees down. “The bitch,” whispered Ivan, turning the murzle of his apparatus and helping himself srilh his tongue as he had done during Tarashkin's lessons. 

He caught the Arizona in his sights and struck with the ray close to her bows and stem, gradually shortening the angle. The smoke from the burning oil reservoirs hampered him. Suddenly the y^risono's ray turned into a blazing star that struck right into Ivan's eyes. Cut through by the ray be fell on to the housing of the hyperboloid. 

"Rest in peace, Ivan, you died a hero.” said Shelga. He dropped on to his knees beside Ivan’s body, turned back the corner of the red banner, and kissed the boy’s forehead. 

Trumpets sounded and the voices of two hundred men sang the Internationale. 

Shortly after this a powerful twin-engined aeroplane rose out of the cloud of smoke. Gaining altitude, it turned off to the west. . . . 

12S 

“All your instructions have been carried out, sir.” Garin locked the door, went over to a flat bookcase, and passed his hand over the right side of it. 

“The knob of the secret door is on the left,” said the Secretary with an ironic smile. 

Garin cast a swift, strange glance at iiim. He pressed the button and the bookcase moved silently away, reveal- ing a narrow entrance into the secret rooms of the palace. 

“You first, please,” said Garin, making way for the secretary. The secretary turned pale while Garin, with icy politeness, raised the muzzle of the ray revolver to the level of his head. “It would be more sensible to obey, Mr. Secretary. . . 

126 

The doors of the captain’s cabin were wide open. Jan- sen lay on his bunk. 

The yacht was scarcely moving; in the silence the waves could be heard splashing against the hull of the ship. 

Jansen’s wish had come true — once again he was at sea alone with Madame Lamolle. He knew that he was dying. For several days he had struggled against death — he had a penetrating wound of the stomach — but at last he gave up. He gazed at the stars through the open door whence came the breath of eternity. He felt neither desire nor fear, nothing but the importance of the transition to eternal peace. 

Madame Lamolle entered the cabin, a shadow against the background of the stars. She bent over him and asked in a whisper how he felt. He answered with a movement of his eyelids and she understood that to mean: “I’m happy because you’re with me.” Then his chest heaved several times spasmodically, gasping for breath; Zoe sat beside the bunk without a movement. Sorrowful thoughts must have filled her head. 

“My friend, my only friend,” she said in quiet despair, “you are the only one on earth who loved me. To you alone I was dear. You are going. . . . How cold, how cold. . . .” 

332 

Jansen did not answer ahliough a movement of hii eyelids seemed to confirm the approactilng coldness. She saw that his nose had grown sharper and that his mouth formed a weak smile. A short lime before his cheeks had been Hushed with fever, now they were waxen. She waited many minutes more, then touched bis hand with her lips, lie was still alive. Slowly he opened bis eyes and his lips parted. Zoe thought he was trying to say, “Good.” 

Then his face changed. She turned away and drew the blue curtains with care. 

127 

The secretary, the most elegant man in the United States, was lying face downwards, lui cold fingers clutch- ing at the carpet; he had died instantaneously, without a sound. Garin bit bis trembling lips and slowly returned the ray revolver to his jacket pocket. Then he went to a low steel door, selected a combination on the disc known to him alone, end the door opened, lie entered a ferro- concrete, windowless room. 

This was the dictator's private safe. In place of gold or securities there was somclliing of immeasurably greater value to Garin in the safe: it was Garin’s third double, Baron Korf, a Russian emigre who had sold himself for a huge sum of money, had been brought from Europe and kept in secret, at first on Golden Island and then in the secret rooms of the palace. 

He sat in a leather armchair, his feet on a low, gilded table on wliicb stood vases with fruits and sweets (he was forbidden to drink). Books — English detective stories — were lying on the floor. From sheer boredom Baron Korf was spitting cherry atones at the screen of the television set that stood about three yards from his chair. 

“At last,” he said turning lazily towards Garin as he came in. “Where the bell have you been? Listen, do you 

333 

intend to keep me in this hole much longer? By God, I’d rather starve in Paris. . . 

Instead of answering Garin took off his sash and threw down the dress jacket with orders and regalia. 

“Get undressed.” 

“Wliat for?” asked Baron Korf, with a flicker of curiosity. 

“Give me your clothes.” 

“What’s it all about?” 

“And your passport, all your papers. . . . Where’s your razor?” 

Garin sat down at the dressing table. His face screwed up in pain as he scraped off his heard and moustache without lathering his skin. 

“Incidentally, there’s a man lying in the next room. Remember, he’s your private secretary. When he’s asked for, you may say that you’ve sent him on a secret mis- sion. . . . Do you get that?” 

“But what’s it all abotit, I’m asking you?” shouted Baron Korf, grabbing Garin’s trousers as they flew across the room. 

“I’m going to leave here by a secret door leading to the park and my car. Hide the secretary in the fireplace and go into my study. Immediately call Rolling on the telephone. I hope you have thoroughly memorized all the workings of my dictatorship. I come first, then my first deputy, the Chief of the Secret Police, then my second deputy, the Chief of the Propaganda Department, then my third deputy, the Chief of the Department of Provocation. Next comes the Secret Council of the Three Hundred, headed by Rolling. If you have not become an absolute idiot you should know all this by heart. Take off your trousers, damn you. You’ll tell Rolling by phone that you, that is, Pierre Garin, will take over command of the army and the police. You’re in for a tough fight, pal.” 

XU 

tionzsts kne%v this and shouted about it. Shelga would carry the revolution through in the same way as a con- ductor plays an heroic symphony. 

The loudspeakers, set up on Garin’s orders during the gold sale, were now being used against him — they carried news of widespread insurrection. 

Garin’s double, contrary to Pyotr Petrovich’s expec- tations, had begun by determined action and not without some success. His picked troops stormed the barricades. The police dropped gas-bombs from aircraft. Cavalry sabred their way through crowds at crossroads. Special squads smashed open doors, broke into working-class homes and destroyed every living thing. 

Nevertheless the insurrectionists held out stubbornly. In other cities, in the bigger industrial centres, they took the offensive with great determination. By midday the flames of insurrection had spread over the whole country. 

Garin got every ounce of speed he could out of the sixteen-cylinder engine of his car. Like a hurricane he swept through the streets of provincial towns, knocking pigs and dogs out of his way, killing chickens. Before pedestrians had time to look round, the huge, black, dusty car of the dictator, roaring and rapidly diminishing in size, disappeared round a bend. 

He stopped only for a few moments to refill the tank and top up the radiator. He raced on all through the night. 

By next morning the dictator’s power had still not been overthrown. The capital was in flames, fired by in- cendiary bombs, something like fifty thousand dead lay in the streets. “Good old Baronl” laughed Garin, when the loudspeaker at a street corner told him the news. 

At five o’clock the next day his car was fired on. 

At seven o’clock, driving through some provincial town he saw revolutionary banners and crowds of singing people. 

The whole of the steond nigHl he drove oa west- wards— on to the Pacific Ocean. At last, as he was filling up with petrol at dawn on the third da^ he heard Shelga a well-known voice in the loudspeaker: 

“Victory, victory.... Comrades, the teriihle weapon of the revolution, the hyperboloid, is in my hands. . • .” 

Garin gritted his teeth, did not listen to the end, but hurried on. At ten o’clock in the morning he saw the first placard at the roadside; in huge letters the following was written on a hoarding: 

“Comrades. . . . The Dictator was taken alive hut proved to be Garin’s double, left in his place. Pyotr Garin has escaped. He is fleeing westwards. Comrades, be vigi- lant, stop the dictator’s car. (Here followed a description.) Garin must not escape revolutionary justice.” 

At midday Garin noticed a motor-cycle following him. He did not hear the shots but a bullet-bole surrounded by cracks appeared on the windscreen a few Inches from his head. The back of his head went cold. He squeezed all he could out of the engine, raced over a hill, and made for some wooded mountains. An hour later be entered a can- yon. The engine began back-firing and then choked. Garin Jumped out, twisted the wheel and sent the machine flying down a precipice; stretching bis cramped legs with dif- ficulty he clambered up a steep slope to a pine wood. 

Prom above he saw three motor-cycles tear along the highway. The last of the three stopped. An armed man, naked to the waist, jumped off and bent over the precipice where the dictator’s car was lying. 

In the wood Pyotr Petrovich threw away all his clothes except his trousers and a singlet, cut the leather of his shoes, and set out on foot to the nearest railway station. 

On the fourth day he reached a lonely farm oa the seacoast near Los Angeles where, as usual, his dirigible stood in a hangar ready for immediate flight. 

337 

129 

Dawn broke in a cloudless sky; a rosy haze lay over the ocean. Leaning out of the porthole of the gondola Garin, with great difficulty, discovered with the aid of binoculars the tiny shell of the yacht far down below. The vessel lay dozing on the smooth water, sparkling through the light haze. 

The dirigible began to lose altitude. Its body gleamed brightly in the morning sun. As the gondola touched the water a boat put off from the yacht, Zoe at the tiller. Garin could scarcely recognize her so drawn was her face. He jumped into the hoat with a smile as though nothing had happened, sat down beside Zoe, and patted her hand. 

“I’m so glad to see you. Don’t worrv. baby. It didn’t come off, but what does it matter. "We’!! start something else going. What are you pulling this long face for?” 

Zoe fro^vTicd and turned away so as not to look at his face. 

“I have just buried Jansen. I’m tired. And now nothing at all matters.” 

The sun appeared from beyond the horizon, the huge ball sped across the empty blue space, and the haze melted like a phantom. 

A broad path of sunlight with bright oily speckles lay across the sea and against it the Arizona’s three sloping masts and hyperboloid towers cast a black silhouette. 

“A bath, breakfast, and bed,” said Garin. 

130 

The Arizona turned back to Golden Island. Garin had decided to strike a blow at the very heart of the insur- rection — to capture the big hyperboloid and the mine. The yacht’s masts were chopped down and the hyper- 

338 

boloid towers were masked with boards and sails to change the ship's lines and enable her to approach Golden Island unobserved. 

Garin had conBdence in himself, he was determined and cheerful — ^his good mood had returned. 

Next morning the captain (Jansen's Brst mate) pointed to some feathery clouds in alarm. They rose rapidly from over the horizon and covered the whole sky at the tremen- dous heisht of some thirty thousand feet. A storm was approaching, perhaps the dreaded typhoon. 

Garin was husy with his own plans and told the cap- tain he could go to hell. 

“Typhoon? Don’t talk rot. Full speed ahead!” 

The captain looked gloomily from the bridge at the quickly gathering clouds and ordered the crew to secure the boats and everything that might be washed away and to batten down the hatches. 

The Sea grew dark. The wind came in squalls, its ominous howl warning the sailors of impending catastro- phe. The heralds of the storm, the high cirrus clouds, pave way to low hlack masses crawling over the sea. The wind began to <fuim up the sea and the heavy rollers were Becked with white fo«m. 

From the east a dense black cloud with a leaden lining came rolling towards the vacht. The sniialU increased in fury. Giant waves crashed over the vessel’s decks. Soon there were no foam-flecked crests, the fury of the wind tore them from the waves and spread them in a blanket of fine spray. 

“Go below,” said the cantain to Zoe and Garin. “In a auarter of an hour we shall he in the centre of the whirlwind and the engines won’t save us.” 

The typhoon struck the ,4rirona in all its fury. The yacht rolled from side to side until her keel was out of the water, she no longer answered rudder or engines but 

raced round in rapidly diminishing circles to the centre of the typhoon, the “hole,” as the sailor call it. 

The centre of the typhoon is a “hole” often as much as three miles in diameter; winds of hurricane strength surge in all directions from this centre in their effort to restore equilibrium on the periphery. 

It w'as into such a maelstrom that the frail shell of the Arizona was carried. 

The black clouds were so low that they reached the deck. It was as black as night. The yacht’s hull creaked and groaned, the people on deck hung on to any fixed ob- ject to save themselves from being blown or washed away. The captain ordered the sailors to lash him to the rail of the bridge. 

The Arizona -was lifted mountain-high on a %vave, rolled over on her side, and slid down into the depths. Suddenly they came into a patch of brilliant sunlight, where there was no wind and transparent green water like molten glass rose in waves as high as a ten-storey house that crashed into each other with a terrific splash as though Neptune, the Lord of the Depths, was slapping his hands on the water in anger. 

This was the centre of the typhoon, the most dangerous spot. Here the stream of air drove vertically -upwards carrying the fine spray to a height of thirty thousand feet where it spread in the form of cirrus clouds, the heralds of the typhoon. 

Everything had been swept from the decks of the Arizona, boats, hyperboloid towers, the funnel, and the bridge together with the captain. 

The typhoon, surrounded by darkness and whirling winds, raced on across the ocean carrying with it on the tops of gigantic waves the yacht Arizona. 

The engines had burned out, the rudder had been torn off. 

“It can’t stand it any longer,” groaned Zoc. 

“It must end some time. Ob, hell!” answered Garin, hoarsely. 

They were battered and bleeding from being burled against the walls and the furniture of the cabin. Garin had a had cut on his head. Zoe lay on tlie floor holding on to the leg of the bunk. Together with the two people, suit* cases, books that had fallen out of the bookcase, sofa cushions, lifc-helts, oranges, and broken crockery rolled about tlie iloor. 

“Garin, I can’t stand it, throw me in the sea.” 

A terrifle jolt tore Zoe from the hunk and sent her rolling. Garin tumbled across her and was brought up against the door. 

Then came a crash and rending sounds — the thunder of falling water — human wails. The cabin fell apart and a gigantic torrent of water caught up the two people and hurled them into the seething, cold green depths. 

'Wlien Garin opened his eyes, some four inches from his nose a tiny hermit crab, that had crawled half-way into a mother-of-pearl shell, stared at him and wiggled its whiskers in astonishment. Garin tried hard to under- stand: “Yes, I’m alive. . . For a long time, however, he had not strength enough to get up. He lay on lus side on the sand with his right arm injured. His face racked with pain, he made an eHort to pull up his legs and sat up. 

Near by stood a palm-tree, the wind bending its sHm trunk and rustling its leaves. Garin got to his feet and staggered along the beach. All round, as far as the eye could see, were blue-green sunlit waves that broke with a Crash on the low seashore. A few dozen palms spread their wide, fan-like leaves to the wind. Here and there on the beach lay fragments of wood, boxes, rags, ropes — all tliat was left of the Arizona that bad gone down on the outer reef of a coral island together with her crew. 

541 

Limping painfully, Garin made his -^s-ay to the interior of the island where there was high ground covered in low bushes and bright green grass. There Zoe lay on her back with her arms outspread. Garin bent over her, afraid to touch her body lest he should feel the coldness of death. Zoe, however, was alive, her eyelids quivered, her parched lips opened. 

There was a tiny lake of rain water on the coral island, it was bitter to the taste but fit to drink. In the shallows there were several kinds of shellfish, polyps and prawns, all of which had once served as food for primitive man. Palm leaves could serve as clothes to keep off the heat of the midday sun. 

T%vo naked people cast up on the naked earth could manage to live somehow. And they began living on that island lost in the watery wastes of the Pacific Ocean. There was not even the hope that some passing ship might see them and take them off. 

Garin collected shellfish or caught fish with his shirt in the fresh-water lake. In one of the boxes thrown up from the wreck of the Arizona Zoe found fifty copies of a luxuriously printed edition of projects for the palaces and pavilions of Golden Island. In the same book w'ere the laws and rules of court etiquette “drawn up by Madame Lamolle, ruler of the world. . . .” 

For days on end Zoe would lie in the shade of their palm-leaf tent turning over the pages of the book created by her insatiable fantasy. The other forty-nine copies, bound in gold-embossed morocco leather, Garin used to build a wind-break. 

Garin and Zoe did not talk. Why should they? What was there to talk about? They had been isolated individu- als all their lives and now they had the most perfect isolation. 

They lost count of the days and at last stopped trying to count them. When storms raged over the island the tiny lake hlled with rain water^ but there were long months when the sun burned herecly in the cloudless sky and then they were forced to drink brackish water. . . . 

Maybe Garin and Zoe ere to this day still gathering shellGsh on that islet. Having eaten her fill Zoe sits down to turn the pages of the book with plans of marvellous palaces, where her beautiful statue stands amidst marble columns and gorgeous flower-beds while Garin, his nose buried in the sand, his back covered with his rotting jacket, relives the past in his dreams. 

AJIEKCEfi TOJlCTOii 

FHnepdoxioHfl HH>KeHepa FapHHa 

Ha anra. HSbiKe