Part 9 (1/2)

Karl joined him on the landing. High above, a little light filtered through a patched fanlight. Most of the gla.s.s had been replaced with slats of wood. From the room behind them the small sounds of sewing continued, like the noises made by rats as they searched the tenements for food.

Karl smiled at Kovrin and said familiarly: ”He's mad, that old man. I think he meant you were a victim. But you are rich, aren't you. Mr. Kovrin?”

Kovrin ignored him.

Karl went and sat on the top stair. He hardly felt the cold at all. Tomorrow he would have a new coat.

He heard the street door open below. He looked up at Kovrin, who had also heard it. Karl nodded. It could only be Pesotsky. Kovrin pushed past Karl and swiftly descended the stairs. Karl followed.

But when they reached the pa.s.sage, the candle was still flickering and it was plain that no one was there. Kovrin frowned. His hand remained in the pocket of his coat. He peered into the back of the pa.s.sage, behind the stairs. ”Pesotsky?”

There was no reply.

And then the door was flung open suddenly and Pesotsky stood framed in it. He was hatless, panting, wild-eyed. ”Christ! Is that Kovrin?” he gasped.

Kovrin said quietly. ”Kovrin here.”

”Now,” said Karl. ”My five s.h.i.+llings, Mr. Pesotsky.”

The young man ignored the outstretched hand as he spoke rapidly to Kovrin. ”All the plan's gone wrong. You shouldn't have come here...”

”I had to. Uncle Theodore said you knew where Cherpanski was hiding. Without Cherpanski, there is no point in -” Kovrin broke off as Pesotsky silenced him.

”They have been following me for days, our friends. They don't know about Cherpanski, but they do know about Theodore's d.a.m.ned press. It's that they want to destroy. But I'm their only link. That's why I've been staying away. I heard you'd been at the press and had left for Whitechapel. I was followed, but I think I shook them off. We'd better leave at once.”

”My five s.h.i.+llings, sir,” said Karl. ”You promised.”

Uncomprehending, Pesotsky stared at Karl for a long moment, then he said to Kovrin: ”Cherpanski's in the country. He's staying with some English comrades. Yorks.h.i.+re, I think. You can get the train. You'll be safe enough once you're out of London. It's the presses they're chiefly after. They don't care what we do here as long as none of our stuff gets back into Russia. Now, you'll want Kings Cross Station...”

The door opened again and two men stood there, one behind the other. Both were fat. Both wore black overcoats with astrakhan collars and had bowler hats on their heads. They looked like successful businessmen. The leader smiled.

”Here at last,” he said in Russian. Karl saw that his companion carried a hat-box under his arm. It was incongruous; it was sinister. Karl began to retreat up the stairs.

”Stop him!” called the newcomer. From the shadows of the next landing stepped two men. They held revolvers. Karl stopped halfway up the stairs. Here was an explanation for the sound of the door opening which had brought them down.

”This is a good cover, Comrade Pesotsky,” said the leader. ”Is that your name, these days?”

Pesotsky shrugged. He looked completely dejected. Karl wondered who the well-dressed Russians could be. They acted like policemen, but the British police didn't employ foreigners, he knew that much.

Kovrin laughed. ”It's little Captain Minsky, isn't it? Or have you changed your name, too? ”

Minsky pursed his lips and came a few paces into the pa.s.sage. It was obvious that he was puzzled by Kovrin's recognition. He peered hard at Kovrin's face.

”I don't know you.”

”No,” said Kovrin quietly. ”Why have they transferred you to the foreign branch? Were your barbarities too terrible even for St. Petersburg?”

Minsky smiled, as if complimented. ”There is so little work for me in Petersburg these days,” he said. ”That is always the snag for a policeman. If he is a success, he faces unemployment.”

”Vampire!” hissed Pesotsky. ”Aren't you satisfied yet? Must you drink the last drop of blood?”

”It is a feature of your kind, Pesotsky,” said Minsky patiently, ”that everything must be colored in the most melodramatic terms. It is your basic weakness, if I might offer advice. You are failed poets, the lot of you. That is the worst sort of person to choose a career in politics.”

Pesotsky said sulkily: ”Well, you've failed this time, anyway. This isn't the printing press. It's a sweatshop.”

”I complimented you once on your excellent cover,” said Minsky. ”Do you want another compliment? ”

Pesotsky shrugged. ”Good luck in your search, then.”

”We haven't time for a thorough search,” Minsky told him. He signed to the man with the hatbox. ”We, too, have our difficulties. Problems of diplomacy and so on.” He took a watch from within his coat. ”But we have a good five minutes, I think.”

Karl was almost enjoying himself. Captain Minsky really did believe that the printing press was hidden here.

”Shall we begin upstairs?” Minsky said. ”I understand that's where you were originally.”