13

The train gathered speed. Zaleshoff went on talking. I listened to him in stunned silence.

This is the way I see it, he said: Madame Vagas had it in for her ever-loving husband. That note she slipped you the night you went to the Opera proves that. You remember what she said? He killed Ferning. It was obvious that she knew a lot. Ive an idea she knew more than Vagas knew. And theres only one way she could have found out about Fernings being bumped off. My guess is that the Ovra, knowing that she fancied Vagas about as much as a dose of poison, got at her and persuaded her to keep tabs on him. She agreed, with reservations. She didnt tell them, then, that he was actually a German agent. She must be a bit crazy. You could see the way her mind worked in that note. She knew that Vagas hadnt actually killed Ferning with his own hands. But she saw that he was, in a sort of way, morally responsible. Her hatred twisted that moral responsibility into a direct one. She must, he added reflectively, have hated him plenty.

In my minds eye I saw the baroque hangings of that house in the Corso di Porta Nuova, the obscene wall paintings, Ricciardo, pale and dainty in his blood-red satin knee breeches, gliding across the hall. There had been a smell of incense in the air. I remembered that sudden deadly passage of hatred between the husband and the wife. Any talk of death depresses her. For a moment I thought that I understood Madame Vagas, saw through and round her mind, and found her horribly sane; then the moment passed. I looked up at Zaleshoff.

Vagas got away, you said?

Yes, he got away. I dont even know if theyve issued a warrant for him. Maybe not. What happened probably was that his wife, having spilled all the beans to the Ovra, couldnt resist telling him that she had done so. When he knew that they knew he was a German agent, he knew that it was time he went. His pensioners have saved his bacon before, but he couldnt rely on their being able to repeat the process. You cant buy your way through all the time. Sooner or later you come up against folks who havent had their cut. Then youre done. Vagas took it on the lam like any other sensible guy in his position would have done. He was darn lucky to have the chance, and he knew it.

What did you mean by saying that theyd found out about my reports? Madame Vagas may have known nothing about them.

Ah, I was coming to that. Tamara and I were in our office last night when they raided your place. Bellinetti was with them, sort of official guide, but your lad had gone home. I knew you were away, as Id called you up at the Parigi about some dinner the evening before, and theyd told me. Well, I, as a respectable citizen wondering what the devil all the fuss was about, marched up and threatened them with the law. They were a dirty lot of thugs. They shot me out straightaway, of course; but I discovered two things. One was that Bellinetti didnt know where you were, which was odd. The other thing was that they had found out about the poste restante business. As I barged in I heard one of them telling the others to look for any correspondence from a man named Venezetti. That clinched it. Nobody but Vagas wife could have known about that.

I remembered something. Vagas told her that he was meeting me that night on the autostrada. She sent her kind regards.

Oh, did she! Well, now youve got them. Vagas must have been crazy to trust her. But his own self-esteem would place her above suspicion.

Why should she start off by warning me and then do this?

She probably thought that having ignored her warning you had only yourself to blame. And then Vagas must have done something that sent her completely nuts.

You may be right. But what I cant understand is why Bellinetti didnt know where I was. I told Umberto. Incidentally, how did you know Id gone to Rome. I tried to telephone you before I went, but there was no reply.

He grinned. Ah, thats the rest of the story. I told you that they began again on your office this morning. Well, Tamara and I were downstairs pretty early. We hadnt a ghost of a notion what had happened to you. I dont mind telling you we were damnably worried. You might have gone straight back to the Parigi and been arrested. I went along to try and find out, but the place was alive with Ovra agents, and if Id started asking after you there might have been some trouble. We decided that the best thing was to stay at the end of the telephone in case youd found out what had happened and called us up. Then, towards ten oclock there was a scratch at the door, and your lad-Umberto, is it? slipped in with his knees knocking together and frightened out of his wits, wanting to know if I was a friend of yours. I told him yes. He said that hed been questioned upstairs, and then told to go home until he was sent for again. Hed come to me because he was worried about you. He seems to like you, that kid. Theyd asked him where you were, and they hadnt asked any too gently, because he had a cut lip and a hand-mark on his cheek that looked pretty nasty. But he hadnt told them. Hed said he didnt know. It appears that he knew who and what they were, and was afraid for you.

His father was murdered by them, I said shortly.

Ah! Well, it was a bit of luck for you that you told Umberto. Hed forgotten to tell Bellinetti, whod been out most of the previous day. But he told me, and so I left Tamara at the telephone and camped out at the station.

I was silent for a moment. My thoughts were far from pleasant.

Well, I said at last, what do we do now?

Zaleshoff was looking out of the window. The first thing we do, he said slowly, is to get out of this train. I dont think it stops before Brescia, but therell be a ticket collector along before then and neither of us has a ticket. Besides he broke off and added: How much money have you got?

I examined my wallet.

About four hundred odd lire, nearly five hundred.

Is that all? What about Vagas three thousand?

I paid most of it into the bank.

What have you got in that suitcase?

Pyjamas, a change of underclothing, a dirty shirt, toothbrush and shaving things.

Put the toothbrush and shaving things in your pocket, your underclothing too if you want it, then give me the suitcase.

But look here, Zaleshoff

Well talk later, he said impatiently; well be slowing down soon for Treviglio.

I did as I was told. He took the suitcase and examined it carefully.

No initials, no name and address anywhere on it?

No.

Good. Lets go.

He led the way into the corridor.

Now, he said, Im going to walk along the corridors to the last coach before the van. You follow me, but not too closely. Someone may wonder what the hell Im doing carrying a suitcase about when were nowhere near a stop and you dont want to get involved in any arguments.

He disappeared towards the rear of the train. I began to follow slowly. Suddenly he reappeared, walking quickly towards me. He was frowning.

Go back and get into the lavatory at the other end of the coach. Theres a ticket collector coming along. Dont lock yourself in or hell wait for you to come out. Give him ten minutes to pass, then join me at the back of the train.

He turned and disappeared with the suitcase into a lavatory. I followed suit at the other end of the corridor. I waited there nervously for five minutes. Then I heard the ticket collector slide open the door of the compartment next to the lavatory and ask to see the occupants tickets. There was a long pause, then the door slid to again. The man paused as he drew level with the lavatory door, evidently to glance at the indicator on the lock, then passed on. A few minutes later I joined Zaleshoff at the end of the train. I was feeling guilty.

I dont see why, I said bitterly, we couldnt have bought tickets from him.

Youll see why, to-morrow, he said cryptically.

Then I noticed that he no longer had the suitcase.

Threw it out of the window when we were going through that tunnel, he explained.

I dont see where this is getting us, Zaleshoff, I said. Frankly, Im worried, damned worried. I think the best thing I can do is to get off at Brescia and telephone the Consulate in Milan. If there is, as you say, a warrant out for my arrest, Im not going to gain anything by playing the fool like this. The sooner I get in touch with the Consulate, the better.

Do you want to go to jail?

Of course not. But theres surely no question of jail. There may be a fine, possibly a heavy one, and I shall probably be given twenty-four hours in which to leave the country. All very unpleasant, no doubt, but thats the worst of it. Good gracious, man, Im a British subject, known to the Consulate, and fairly respectable, I

The British authorities, he interrupted, would, in the ordinary way, see you through anything from petty larceny to murder. But a charge of espionage puts the thing in a different category. Theyll drop you like a hot cake as soon as they know about it.

But you yourself said that the charge was bribery.

Until they catch you. Then youll get the whole packet.

Well, I said disgustedly, even if you are right, I still dont see any alternative for me.

The only place youll be safe is out of the country, and thats where were going.

You seem to forget, I said witheringly, that I have no passport.

I hadnt forgotten.

Well then!

I said wed talk later

And in the meantime, I suppose

In the meantime, he interjected, you get wise to yourself and do as I tell you.

I shrugged. Well, I suppose it doesnt make much difference.

It makes a lot of difference. Have a cigarette. Itll steady your nerves.

My nerves, I snapped, are perfectly all right.

He nodded calmly. Thats good. Youre going to need them in a minute. Were going to drop off this train when it slows down for the curve at Treviglio.

I did not answer. Things were moving too quickly for me. Twenty minutes before, I had been a comparatively composed Englishman returning from doing what I was conscious of being a sound piece of work. I had been looking forward to a quiet dinner, a couple of hours in a cinema and an early bed with a new book to read. Now I was a fugitive from the Italian secret police, hiding in lavatories, cheating ticket collectors and contemplating leaving a train in an unconventional and illegal manner. It had all happened far too suddenly. I couldnt adjust my mind to these new and fantastic circumstances. I found myself wondering seriously whether perhaps by pinching myself I might wake up to find that I was, after all, still in bed in Rome. But no: there was Zaleshoff smoking and gazing intently out of the window and in my pocket there was a safety-razor, a leaking tube of shaving cream and a pair of American underpants. I looked down on to the track by the side of the train. It looked a long way away and dangerous. The train was going too fast for me to see whether the track was of small or large stones. It was a long, even grey-brown smear. It seemed to me that the train had begun to make a curious thumping noise. I tried to separate the noise, identify it, and realised that it was the sound of the blood pumping in my head. I knew suddenly that I was scared, scared stiff.

Zaleshoff touched me on the arm.

Were beginning to slow down. Well give it another minute, then well get outside on the steps, ready. Dont forget to let yourself go limply if you cant keep your feet when you land.

I nodded, speechless, and looked down again.

To me it seemed as if the train were going as fast as ever. It was running along the top of a steep embankment between ploughed fields. I looked again at the ground streaming past. Then I saw Zaleshoff put his hand on the latch of the door. It was madness, I told myself, madness! We should both break our legs or our arms or we should get flung under the wheels of the luggage van behind us and mangled to death. Suddenly there was a grating noise below us.

Theyre braking, said Zaleshoff, come on. Youd better go first.

He opened the door and the roar of the steel coach seemed suddenly to be lost in the blustering wind.

Down with you, said Zaleshoff. Make it snappy, now.

I looked down. There were four steps down, then the track. I clutched the rail and went down three steps. The wind tore at my hat. With my free hand I jammed it down over my ears. Then I swung myself round facing the direction we were going. I could see the engine now as it began to round the curve. The smoke was flying in a long cone from the funnel. Below me the ground seemed to be going at a sickening speed. I felt suddenly giddy and retreated a step. I looked up. I had to shout against the wind.

Its no good, Zaleshoff, I

But he misunderstood me. Well talk later, he bellowed. Get on with it.

He got down on to the step above me. I could feel his knees pressing against my shoulder-blades. I moved down to the bottom step. Now I could see the wheels as they ran screaming over the rails of the curve. I watched them, fascinated. They reminded me irresistibly of bacon-slicing machines. As a boy I had seen a man cut off half his thumb with one of those machines. Grease was oozing out of one of the axle-boxes. Something poked me sharply in the back. It was Zaleshoffs toe.

Go on! he yelled.

I straightened my back, flexed my legs and swung one foot forward slightly. Then I hesitated again. No, I couldnt do it. We were going too fast. If the train would slow down a little more but it seemed to be gathering speed now. Then Zaleshoffs toe jabbed me again. I drew a deep breath, clenched my teeth and jumped.

The next moment the ground was flailing the soles of my shoes with astounding force. I felt myself pitching forward on my face and put out my arms to save myself. My legs strove madly to reach the speed of the rest of my body. But not for long. A bare second later I had tripped. Just in time I remembered Zaleshoffs advice and let myself go limp. I saw the ground sliding past sideways. Then I hit the edge of the embankment.

The impact nearly stunned me, and before I could stop myself I was tumbling down the side of the embankment. I came to rest at the bottom of it against the concrete stanchion of a barbed-wire fence. For several moments I stayed there, winded. Then, very gingerly, I got to my feet and began to dust myself down. Zaleshoff came scrambling diagonally down the embankment from the point at which he had finished up twenty yards or so away.

Are you all right?

I was still short of breath, but I managed a rather quavering affirmative.

Through the fence, he panted urgently, as he came up, we can clean up as we go.

Whats the matter?

The guard saw us, he said curtly; that means that hell report the fact at Brescia. We darent go into Treviglio.

Well, where are we going?

Well see when we get there. Come on.

We wormed our way through the fence and set off in silence to skirt the ploughed field. The sun was beginning to go down behind the trees on the horizon when we eventually got on to a road. We turned right, away from Treviglio. Twenty minutes later we walked into a small village. Next to the post office there was a caffe-ristorante.

Thisll do, said Zaleshoff.

We went inside and sat down.

Well, I said, what now? I was feeling tired and shaken.

We eat and we share a decent bottle of wine if theyve got one. Then we get down to business.

The place was small and not too clean. There was a zinc-topped bar and four marble-topped tables covered with white paper napkins. The wall behind the bar consisted of shelves packed tight with bottles. On the other walls were Cinzano posters, a lithograph of Mussolini and a poster advertising Capri. The proprietor was a phlegmatic middle-aged man with a long, greying moustache and amazingly grimy hands. He did not seem in the least surprised by our presence, a fact which I found curious until it came out in the course of our brief conversation with him that he assumed that we were something to do with a mineral water factory close by. We did not correct this impression.

We ate spaghetti and a great deal of bread and drank a tolerable Barbera. By the time the coffee arrived I was feeling very much better. Zaleshoff summoned the proprietor and ordered a bottle of cognac.

We cant drink all that, I protested.

Were not going to drink any of it now. But we shall be glad of it later.

I did not understand him, but I nodded.

What about sleeping? Do you think this man can put us up? You know, you might just as well have chucked the case overboard just before we jumped off ourselves. We should have had at least one pair of pyjamas between us.

He dropped three lumps of sugar into his coffee one by one. We arent going to need pyjamas. To-night were walking.

Walking? Where?

Listen. By the morning this district will be thick with police in and out of uniform. We wouldnt be able to move a yard. If we put up for the night anywhere theyll want to see your passport. You havent got one.

Ive got my permit.

He snorted. And a fat lot of good thatll do you. Dont you realise that the particulars on that permit, including your name, go straight to the police?

Dammit, weve got to sleep somewhere? I cried.

Maybe we can have a nap somewhere to-morrow.

Thanks very much, I said sarcastically. Then I became serious. Look here, Zaleshoff, its very decent of you to try to help me like this, but I do think that my original idea was better.

He sighed. Ive told you once. Your Consulate wont lift a finger to help you. If they did, they might compromise themselves. If you were innocent and the victim of an obvious frame-up, they might do something. But youre not innocent-at least, technically youre not. Youre as guilty as hell, and they can rake up the evidence to prove it.

But supposing theres no question of a charge of espionage?

Do you think, he said patiently, that theyd bother to issue a warrant for your arrest just for bribery? Dont make me laugh! If they started anything like that, the prisons would be overflowing in a week and most of the top men would be in them. Look here: we know that theyve got on to that poste restante set-up of yours with Vagas. Theres very little doubt that Madame Vagas gave them the whole works. That means that theyve got hold of the report I wrote. Do you remember that you didnt think much of it? Well, I told you it was dynamite and dynamite it is. You saw how Vagas reacted to it. Well, believe me, that would be nothing to the way the contra-espionage department of the Organizzazione Vigilanza Repressione Anti-fascismo would react when they saw it. Im not a good gambler, but I would not mind betting heavy money that at this very moment theres enough sweating going on among the big boys in Milan and Rome to float that new battle-cruiser of theirs. And they let Vagas slip through their fingers. They must be kicking themselves good and plenty. But theyre not going to make the same mistake twice. Theyre going to get you or bust themselves trying.

I dont see why I should be so important.

No? The first thing theyd do, theyve certainly done it by now, is to descend in a cloud on the Turin factory where those aircraft lifts are being made, to discover just how the leakage of information took place and how much you found out.

But I havent even been there.

Just so. You havent been there. You must have got the information from somewhere else. And the rest of the information in that report was stale before you arrived in the country, so you couldnt have got that by yourself either. In other words, theyre going to tumble like a sack of potatoes to whats being put across them. Thats why youve got to get out of the country, and pretty damn quick.

For a bit I said nothing. I was impressed; very much so. I could feel something cold gripping at my insides. Pretty damn quick. There was a horrible urgency about those three ugly little words. I saw, suddenly, the naked realities of the mess I was in. My mind involuntarily turned away from them. Heavens, what a mess! If only

I began to regret, to try and rearrange things in a more pleasing pattern. Finally I began to argue with Zaleshoff in an effort to get him somehow to modify his conclusions. I wanted him to minimise the danger. It was a plain case of funk, and it deceived him not at all.

Its no use, he said at last. Im not going to call black pale-grey just because youd like it better that way. Youre in a spot. I think I can get you out of it. Ill do all I can to do so because I reckon I did a good deal to get you into it. But youll have to do as I say. It isnt going to be easy. If we have to lose a night or twos sleep itll be just too bad, but youll have to put up with it. If thats all we lose before were through, I reckon we shall have done swell.

I did not like the sound of that at all.

Well, anyway, I said with feeble heartiness, the worst that can come of it is a nice stay in prison.

It was as much a question as a statement. I was afraid, as soon as I had said it, that he would answer the question, and he did.

Prison? Yes-maybe.

What do you mean by maybe?

They have a formula for these things hereabouts. Its called shot while attempting to evade arrest.

And if you dont attempt to evade arrest?

Then, he said calmly, they make you kneel down. Then they put a bullet through the back of your neck and call it shot while escaping.

I laughed, not very convincingly, but I laughed. I decided that he was trying to frighten me.

Newspaper talk! I said.

He shrugged. My friend, when youre above the law, when you are the law, the phrase about ends justifying means has a real meaning. Put yourself in their place. If you felt that the state which you worshipped above your God was endangered by the life of one insignificant man, would you hesitate to have him shot? I can tell you that you wouldnt. Thats the danger of Fascism, of state-worship. It supposes an absolute, an egocentric unit. The idea of the state is not rooted in the masses, it is not of the people. It is an abstract, a God-idea, a psychic dung-hill raised to shore up an economic system that is no longer safe. When youre on the top of that sort of dung-hill, it doesnt matter whether the ends are in reality good or bad. The fact that they are your ends makes them good-for you.

But I was scarcely listening to him. I was trying to sort out the confusion of my thoughts. Claire! what would she have done? But Claire was not there. In any case, she would have been too wise to have involved herself in such an affair. I tried to strike out along a new line, but eventually I found that it turned back on itself. I was thinking in circles. In desperation I turned again to Zaleshoff.

He was busily crushing a lump of sugar in the bottom of his coffee cup.

Tell me what you propose.

He looked at me quickly. Then he put the spoon down, put his hand in his pocket and drew out a small map of Northern Italy. He spread it on the table in front of me. With his pencil he indicated a point north-east of Treviglio.

Were just about here. Now we could make for Como and the Swiss frontier. But if we did that wed be doing precisely what theyll expect us to do. Even if we got as far as Como, the lake patrols would get us. I propose that we make for the Yugo-Slav frontier between Fusine and Kranjska. We can go most of the way by night trains, so that we can sleep. In the daytime we can double on our tracks across country and pick up the railway at another point. Now, thats going to cost money. Trains here are expensive unless you have the tourist discount, and we cant very well claim that. Ive got a bit more than you, but it only makes about fifteen hundred lire between us. Thats not enough. Before we leave here I shall telephone Tamara and tell her to get some money to Udine. Then well make cross-country for the railway where it runs south of Lake Garda at Desenzano. What do you think about it?

There was a pause.

Well, I said grimly, if you really want to know, I think its one of the most remarkable pieces of understatement Ive ever listened to. It sounds like a Sunday-school treat. Auntie Alice will distribute the buns at Udine.

His brows knitted. He opened his mouth and drew breath to speak.

But, I went on firmly, well leave that side of it out for the moment. What I want to know is why on earth you should choose the Yugo-Slav frontier. What about the French? What about the German?

He shrugged. Thats precisely what theyll say.

I see. The French, Swiss and German frontiers are going to be stiff with guards, but the Yugo-Slav frontiers going to be like the Sahara Desert. Is that right?

He frowned. I didnt say that.

No, I retorted angrily, but you wish you could. I suppose the fact that were going to make for the Yugo-Slav frontier wouldnt have anything to do with the fact that Vagas is in Belgrade would it? or with the fact that, as I havent got a passport, I could not get into Yugo-Slavia from France or Switzerland or Germany without swearing affidavits and heaven knows what else in London first?

He reddened. Theres no need to get hot under the collar about it.

I spluttered furiously. Hot under the collar! Dammit, Zaleshoff, there are limits

He leaned forward eagerly.

Wait a minute! Dont forget that youve got close on two hundred and fifty dollars to collect from Vagas. It would look perfectly natural for you to make for Belgrade to collect them. For all he knows, you may be flat broke. You will be, anyway, by the time you get to Belgrade. Besides, what difference does it make? If they catch you, you wont get much change out of them by explaining that youd decided, after all, not to cause them any more trouble. You started a good job of work. Why not finish it?

I regarded him sullenly. I made a fool of myself once. I see no reason why I should do so again.

He stared at the tablecloth. You realise, dont you, he said slowly, that without me to help you, youll be sunk? You havent got enough money. Youll be caught inside forty-eight hours. You do realise that?

Im not going to wait to be caught.

He still stared at the tablecloth.

Nothing will induce you to change your mind?

Nothing, I said decidedly.

But I was wrong.

The proprietor was out of the room, but in the corner of the bar a radio had been quietly churning out an Argentine tango. Suddenly the music stopped. There was a faint hiss from the loudspeaker. Then the announcer started speaking:

We interrupt this programme at the request of the Ministry of the Interior to request that all persons keep watch for a foreigner who has escaped from the jurisdiction of the Milan police. He is wanted in connection with grave charges of importance to every loyal Italian. A reward of ten thousand lire, ten thousand lire, will be paid to anyone giving information as to his movements. He is believed to be in the vicinity of Treviglio. He may attempt to pass himself off as an Englishman named Nicholas Marlow. Here is a description of the man

Zaleshoff walked over to the instrument and twisted the dial to another station. He returned to the table but did not sit down.

Thats not a bad price, Marlow, not at all a bad price! Theyre doing you proud.

I did not answer.

He sighed. Well, I suppose youll be wanting the local police post. I wish you joy of it.

Except for the radio, there was silence in the room. I was conscious that he had walked across the room and was examining the Capri poster.

If youre going to telephone your sister before we leave, I said slowly, youd better do it now, hadnt you?

I was staring at my empty plate. When I felt his hand on my shoulder, I jumped.

Nice work, pal!

I shrugged. I have no choice.

No, he said softly, you have no choice.