The farmhouse door had opened, and a dark-skinned woman, enveloped in so many layers of clothing that all semblance of waistline had vanished, stood looking at them with round, dark eyes.
Immediately De Richleau’s ill humour and fatigue vanished. He went up to her, breaking into voluble Russian. It was evident, however, that she had some difficulty in understanding him—and he her. Even Simon could appreciate that her harsh patois had little resemblance to Valeria Petrovna’s sibilant tongue.
A lad of about seventeen was fetched, also a little girl and an aged crone. The latter regarded them with bleary eyes, and for some mysterious reason shook her stick threateningly at Simon.
De Richleau produced his well-filled wallet once again, and it was obvious that whatever might be the ideas and wishes of the Kommissars, hard cash still had a certain value in the eyes of the thrifty Russian peasants.
The young boy unharnessed and led away the horses, the Duke gave liberal payment for their keep in advance, and soon the two friends were trudging down the track to. the highway.
“Have you considered what we should do now?” Contrary to custom, it was the tired Duke who asked the question.
“How far to the town?”
“Three miles,” said De Richleau, bitterly.
“Come on, old chap.” Simon thrust his arm through that of the older man. “It’ll be all right—don’t you worry.”
They trudged on through the darkening evening; somehow, since they had left Moscow, it had always seemed to be night, the short, sunny days of these high latitudes were gone so quickly.
De Richleau walked in a stupor of fatigue. Simon was racking his able brain for some idea as to where they could spend the night; some shelter must be found, that was certain—they could not sleep in the snow. The hotels in Tobolsk were barred to them in this forbidden territory.
Simon almost wished that they had begged a night’s lodging at the farmhouse, in spite of the threatening ancient and her stick.
As they trudged on the houses became more frequent, until the road developed into a mean and straggling street. It seemed endless, but it gradually grew narrower, and the buildings of more importance. At last they entered a large square.
On the corner they halted. How much Simon wished that this was some provincial town in England. He looked about him anxiously; few people were passing, and these few seemed to be scurrying from one glowing stove, with its attendant pile of logs, to another. Then, suddenly, Simon stepped forward, drawing De Richleau after him.
He had seen a queer figure shamble by—a man, whose dark curls were discernible even in the faint glow from the irregular lamps; a man who wore a strange, brimless high hat, puffed out at the top, not unlike a chefs cap, only that this was made of black velvet instead of white linen.
Simon laughed his little jerky laugh into his free hand. “Now,” he said. “If only I haven’t forgotten all my Yiddish!”
He addressed the queer figure, hesitantly, in a strange tongue. The man halted, and peered at him suspiciously, but Simon was persistent. Forgotten words and phrases learnt in his childhood came back to him, and he stumbled on.
That the man understood was evident. He answered in a similar language, asking some questions and nodding at the Duke.
“He is a goy,” Simon admitted. “But, even so, he is as my own father.”
“It is well—come with me,” said the stranger, who was a Rabbi of the Jewish faith.
They followed him down many narrow turnings, until he stopped at last before what seemed, in the dark, to be a large, old-fashioned house. The Rabbi pushed open the great nail-studded door, and it swung open upon its leather hinges.
Simon kept on his fur papenka, for he knew at once by the Shield of David on the windows, and the perpetual light burning before the ark, that this was a synagogue; although in every way different from the smart Liberal Synagogue in London, of which he was recognized, but non-attendant, member.
This synagogue in Tobolsk was not used for fashionable ceremonies, but as a meeting-place—a club almost —frequented daily by the more prominent members of the Jewish community. Just as in the immemorial East the synagogue is the centre of all life and thought wherever there is a Jewish population, so here, for Russia is but an extension of the East—differing in little but its climate.
The Rabbi led them through the place of worship to the school. A number of persons were present—no women, but about twenty or thirty men in various costumes. They sat round a long table, reading and discussing the Torah, and the endless commentaries upon it; just as their progenitors had, in this or similar synagogues, for upwards of three thousand years.
Their guide took them to an elderly man, evidently the chief Rabbi, whose white curls fell beneath his high velvet hat on to his shoulders.
Soft words were spoken in the guttural Yiddish tongue. “It is the house of God,” said the old Rabbi. “Peace be upon you.”
Simon and the Duke found a warm corner near the stove, and a young man brought them a large platter each of smoked salmon—that age-old Jewish dish. They both agreed that it could not have been better cured if it had been served at Claridge’s or the Ritz. With it were wheaten cakes and tea.
After, they sat talking a little in low tones, but De Richleau’s answers became shorter and more infrequent, until Simon saw that he had dropped asleep.
The evening’s debate upon the eternal “Law” seemed to have come to an end, and the members of the synagogue left in twos and threes. At last only Simon, the sleeping Duke, and two or three students remained.
The Rabbi they had first met came up to Simon. “You will stay here?” he suggested. “We shall meet in the morning.”
Simon rose and bowed. “So be it,” he said in Yiddish.
The Rabbi bowed in return, his hands folded before him, and covered by the sleeves of his long gown. Simon settled himself beside De Richleau, and wrapping his furs around him, was soon asleep.
In the morning the Rabbi who had befriended them came to them again. Simon had been awake for quite a time before he arrived, and had been trying to translate what he wished to say into simple Yiddish phrases. He told the Rabbi the plain truth, without either elaborating or concealing anything.
The Rabbi looked grave. It was his duty to avoid bringing trouble or discredit upon his community, yet he wished, if he could, to aid this brother in the faith from a far country.
“I can take you to the prison,” he said at length. “There are Jewish prisoners whom it is my duty to visit from time to time. It may chance that you shall see the brother whom you seek, but more than this I cannot do. I think it wise, also, that you do not stay here longer than another night, else it may be that you will bring trouble upon us, who have ever many troubles.”
Simon inclined his head gravely, more than happy to have secured so much assistance. “When can we go?” he asked.
“I must speak to the chief Rabbi. If he consents we may leave here at once.”
When he had gone Simon translated the conversation to De Richleau, who had woken stiff, but much refreshed.
“I fear we have undertaken a difficult task,” De Richleau shook his head, despondently. “How are we to plot an escape for a prisoner, which may take days of careful organization, when we are suspects ourselves? However, we can only trust our luck will hold, we’ve been very fortunate so far.”
After a little while the Rabbi returned. “It is well,” he said. “The Rabbi consents. Let us go.”
Simon pulled on his furs, and followed the Rabbi through the great wooden door into the narrow street.
They walked quickly and silently—the cold was piercing. Their way lay through the twisting streets of the old town,” and at last they came to a high wall surrounding a number of bleak, two-storeyed stone buildings. The great gates in the wall stood wide open. One heavily bearded man, wrapped in a great top coat, sat in a little watch-house, warming his feet at an open brazier. He nodded to the Rabbi, and they walked through in
to the courtyard. A very different business, Simon thought, to the regulations which he had encountered when he had had occasion to enter Brixton Prison on account of Richard Eaton.
Several men were playing a game of volley-ball in the courtyard, but Simon saw that Rex was not among them. They entered a long, low room in one of the buildings. Most of the occupants seemed to be asleep.
The place was furnished only with trestle tables, hard benches, and the usual big porcelain stove. The floor looked as though it had not been swept for weeks.
Simon’s sharp eyes travelled backwards and forwards, while the Rabbi spoke to one or two of the prisoners, evidently men of the Jewish race, but there was no sign of the big American.
They left the building, and entered a hall in the second block; it was furnished in the same way, and was identical in size with the first. No warders were in evidence, and it seemed that the prisoners were allowed to move freely in and out just as they liked. Here also the majority of the occupants were sleeping or talking quietly together—still no sign of Rex.
In the common-room of the third block, a similar scene met Simon’s eyes; filth, discomfort, lassitude, but no attempt at any ordered control. It was in the third building that he noticed a curious thing—none of the men wore boots! Instead, they had list slippers. He was just pondering over this when his attention was attracted by a small group squatting on the floor in the corner. Two little Yakuts, with merry faces and long Mongolian eyes, sat with their backs to the wall; before them, facing away from Simon, was a fat, bald-headed man, and a broad, strapping fellow, of unusual height, with powerful shoulders.
The bald man shook a small box that rattled, and it was evident that the four were engaged in a primitive form of dice.
Simon looked again at the colossal back of the young giant. “Could it be? If it was—gone were the dark, wavy curls—this man’s head was close cropped. Suddenly, in a loud voice, he spoke: “Come on, digger—spill the beans!”
Then Simon knew that the first part of their mission was accomplished. In this sordid Siberian prison, he had run to earth that most popular figure among the younger generation of society from Long Island to Juan les Pins —Mr. Rex Mackintosh Van Ryn.
XII - Escape
Simon was in quandary—he could not see any guards, but did not know if it was better to go up and speak to Rex, or wait till the latter saw him; either way there seemed to be the risk that Rex might give the show away in his surprise. The problem was solved by the American turning round, and Simon saw that he had been recognized. Rex kept his head—he did not stand up at once, he played two more rounds of dice, and then, getting lazily to his feet, strolled out of the room.
Simon followed him slowly—he found Van Ryn eagerly waiting for him round the corner of the building, none of the other prisoners was in sight.
“Say, boy!” Rex exclaimed, seizing his shoulders in an almost painful grip. “If this isn’t just marvellous! I’ll tell the world, I never thought to see you in this Godforsaken quarter of the globe.”
Simon grinned, delighted. “See too much of me if you’re not careful—I’ll be in there playing dice with you.”
“How in heck d’you make this place? It’s in their darned forbidden territory—but I reckon you’ll be wise to that!”
“Two trains and a stolen sleigh,” Simon chuckled.
“Good for you! The Duke’ll have got my chit, I guess.”
“Yes, he’s here, too—in the local synagogue!”
“Holy smoke!” Rex shook with silent laughter.
“What a perfect hide-out. No one will go looking for the big thief there!”
“Oh, he’s all right for the moment—but how are we going to get you out, now that we are here?”
Van Ryn laughed, showing his white, even teeth. “That’s easy,” he said casually. “I’ll walk!”
“Aren’t there guards and warders?”
“Not so’s you’d notice them. They’ve got peculiar ideas about prisons in this city. It’s got Sing-Sing beat to a frazzle! No one tries escaping, ’cause they can’t get anywhere—no money, and no boots, that’s the bars they use in this burg; that, and one spy in each block to let them have the low-down about any little plan to frame a get-away.”
“But lots of the prisoners must have friends in the town—surely they could get out first and get help later?”
“That’s where you’re all wrong. Not a man in this prison was raised in Tobolsk. The local crooks get put on rail for a lock-up a thousand miles away—so what could a fellah do, anyway, with no friends, no boots, no money, and a couple of hundred miles of snow between him and the next town?”
“You can get out, then, if we can get you away afterwards?”
“I certainly can! About five o’clock ’ll be the best time.”
“How—er—will you manage?” Simon asked, a little doubtfully.
“Get a pal to have a yarn with the man on the gate —it’ll be near dusk—I’ll be able to slip through all right —the rest of the guard sleep most of the day. They start in rounding us up for the night about six, locking us in our own blocks and doing a sort of inspection round.”
“They will miss you at once then? That’s a pity.”
“We’ll be unlucky if they do. The inspection they have in this place would give the Governor of Dartmoor fits. I’ll leave a bundle of stuff in my bunk. Ten to one they’ll never realize it isn’t me!”
“Where will you go when you get outside?”
“Down to the north-west corner of the prison wall. That’s to the right going out of the gate, get me? And for the Lord’s sake don’t forget to bring me boots—if you do my toes’ll drop off under the hour in this cold. Say, Simon, you haven’t by chance got any food on you, have you? I’m that hungry I’d pinch peanuts off a blind man’s monkey.”
Simon searched his pockets and found a decrepit bar of chocolate. He proffered it dubiously.
“Thanks!” Rex seized and bit into it ravenously. “My, that’s good and no mistake. I guess I’d eat ten dollars’ worth if you’d got it. Now tell me about the Duke.”
“He drove the sleigh for seventeen hours yesterday. He was about all in last night”
“Did he though? At his age! I’ll say he’s the greatest man in Europe, is our Duke, and you’re a close second, Simon!”
“Don’t be silly—I’ve done nothing.”
“Honest, I mean it.” Rex patted Simon’s arm affectionately. “I don’t know two other guys who’d risk getting into this place to get another fellah out I was never so glad of anything in my life as when I saw your ugly mug just now,” Rex grimaced. “Another month or so of this and I’d have had to wring the neck of one of these fool guards, just to make life more interesting.”
Simon chuckled. “Wouldn’t have been much good our coming if you had!”
“No. I reckon it would have been a free ad. in the wrong end of the hatched, matched, and dispatched column of the New York Times for this child. Still, praises be you’ve come. I guess we’d better separate now.”
“Yes. I’ll get back. We’ll be waiting for you at five.”
“Sure—” Van Ryn moved away with a last grin.
“See-yer-later, Simon—round about cocktail time!”
Simon rejoined the Rabbi. They visited three more of the barracks and then left the prison. Simon’s heart was high with the good news that he was bringing to the Duke. True, Rex was lean and cadaverous now, but well and cheerful.
The Duke, meanwhile, had been exercising his stiff limbs. The long drive from Turinsk had been a great strain on him. He thought, ruefully, of his marble bathroom at Curzon Street, and the gentle ministrations of the excellent Max, but not for long. If it had been his habit in recent years to spend much of his time idling in the pleasant places of the earth, he had, during his earlier life, been soldier, hunter, and explorer, and the experiences of those strenuous days stood him in good stead now. At one period he had had a Japanese manservant, from whom he had l
earnt many things about the human body. Among them was the secret of certain exercises, which relaxed the muscles and relieved their strain. He ceased therefore to think of Lubin’s bath essence, and applied himself to these continual and gentle evolutions, much to the astonishment of the morning gathering of students in the school of the synagogue.
On Simon’s return the two retired to a quiet corner, and began to make their plans.
The sleigh seemed to be their only means of escape, and very glad they were that they had not abandoned it the previous night.
The man who owned it would have notified the police at Turinsk of the theft, but, fortunately, the story which the Duke had told of his dying wife in Sverdlovsk, had also been told to the innkeeper at Turinsk, therefore it was to be hoped that the main hunt would take that direction. In any case, even if the police in Tobolsk were on the look-out it seemed hardly likely that the people at the farm would have been questioned, for the farm was three miles from the centre of the town. With any luck they might secure possession of it again without difficulty.
The next question was—should they attempt to get hold of it before or after Rex had made his escape? If there was going to be trouble with the farm people, it would be a help to have him with them—on the other hand it meant delay. It was an hour’s trudge from the prison to the farm, and if Rex’s disappearance was discovered at the six o’clock inspection, the alarm would be raised before they could get a decent start, and mounted patrols scouring the country in all directions.
If the farm people were questioned afterwards, and Rex had been with them, the police would immediately connect the escaped prisoner with the stolen sleigh. It was far better that these events should remain unconnected in their minds. Simon and the Duke decided to attempt to retrieve the sleigh early that afternoon.
Then the problem arose—which road should they take? They would have liked to have gone to the west, back into Russia, but to do that was to run right into the centre of the hue and cry for the stolen sleigh at Turinsk. The route to the east led farther into unknown Siberia. They would be placing an even greater distance between themselves and the Embassies, which were their only hope of protection. The choice, then, lay between the north and the south. The former, with its vast impenetrable forests, was uninviting in the extreme; whereas to the south, some hundred and fifty miles away, was the Trans-Siberian Railway—their only link with civilization. But, they agreed, that was the direction in which the escaped American would be most keenly sought. The authorities would reason that he would try and reach the line and jump a goods train. Finally they agreed that they would make due north. In that direction, at least, there was good cover. If they could get a start it should not be difficult to evade their pursuers in the depths of those trackless woods. Later, if they were successful in throwing off the pursuit, they would veer west, and try to recross the Urals into Russia.
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