Chapter VIII

Gerald, worn out with long and comfortless travel, pulled the long, iron bell outside the closed door of Elsa Francks’ house in Sokar, with a sense of relief that the first part of his quest was accomplished. The street was one which formerly had been possessed of some pretensions. The houses were tall, solidly built, and had apparently been occupied by a wealthy class of merchant. They were now mostly let out in tenements. Exactly opposite where Gerald stood waiting, men and women--shrunken-looking creatures, most of them--were continually passing in and out of a broad entrance, from which the gates had been done away with altogether, with sacks or baskets of partly finished boots, and the sound of fitful hammering seemed to denote a factory devoid of machinery. In the centre of the road were some rusty rails, around which some grass was growing,--the remains of an electric car service. Most of the houses seemed empty or over-full,--locked and barred, with broken window frames and closed shutters, or converted into tenement houses. The long street, full of holes and strewn with all manner of refuse, ended in a steep hill. Way beyond it, the so-called fortress, a sinister, grey building of many stories, glittered in the afternoon sun.

The door in front of which Gerald was standing was suddenly opened. A dark-visaged, corpulent woman, dressed apparently in nothing but a petticoat and shawl, thrust out her head. Gerald handed her a card, on which, through the friendly offices of the hotel porter, was inscribed his desire to see Madame Francks. The woman turned it over, looked Gerald up and down with wide-mouthed astonishment, and finally motioned him to enter. As soon as he had done so and stepped into the little cobbled courtyard, she drew the bolt and muttered something which he understood as an invitation to follow her. She pushed open a heavy door on the right, and they ascended a gloomy staircase. The atmosphere was close, almost stifling. There seemed to be no window, or any means of giving light or ventilation. Arrived on the first floor, she threw open the door of a room and departed, with a wholly incomprehensible grunt. Outside, she began to shout, apparently through the door of another apartment. There was a vigorous duet, the other voice shriller but scarcely more pleasant. Then there was silence, followed by the sound of some one moving about in the adjoining room.

Gerald took a seat upon a couch, upholstered in stained purple velvet, over which several soiled coverings of imitation lace had been thrown. The room itself was large and lofty, but scantily furnished. There was a huge undecorated stove in one corner, which, notwithstanding the heat of the day, already exuded fumes of burning coke. The polished floor was innocent of any rug or carpet, and covered with stains and fragments of cigarettes and cigars. There was a piano, littered with soiled and torn copies of music, in a distant corner, a small gramophone with black enamel mouthpiece, blistered by the continual heat of the room. The walls were hung with the faded remains of some former attempt at decoration. The windows were covered with a sort of wire netting, which kept out alike light and air. There was everywhere an odour of stale tobacco smoke, mingled with a strange smell of cheap incense or crude perfume of some sort. Gerald, exceedingly sensitive to surroundings, felt a momentary faintness as he sat and waited for the woman whom he had come to visit. He began to fidget in his place. He walked up and down. He was even meditating an attack upon one of the window fastenings, when he was aware of the sound of heavy footsteps outside. The door was opened. A woman entered and came towards him with an enquiring expression upon her face.

It seemed to Gerald that the newcomer alone was needed to complete the squalour of his surroundings. She was a big woman, coarsely built, and with indications of obesity. She wore a dressing gown of some red material, trimmed with soiled white fur and fastened round her waist with a girdle. Her hair was a bright yellow, abundant but badly arranged. It lay in loose coils upon the top of her head, fastened with some flamboyant ornament. Her features were not ill-shaped, but were partly concealed under a thick coating of powder. She had eyes of a peculiarly light blue shade, large and saucer-like when she first entered the room, but with a habit of narrowing at intervals. She spoke in English, with a strong German accent.

“You wish to see me, sir? I am Elsa Francks.”

Gerald rose to his feet and bowed.

“Madame,” he said, “I have found my way here under the name of Harmon P. Cross. I have told every one that I am an American, looking for an opportunity to invest money. That story is not true. It is my wish, if you will allow me, to be perfectly candid with you?”

“You can sit down,” she invited, regarding Gerald with suspicion not unmixed with favour. “I will hear what you have to say.”

She threw herself in a lump at the far end of the sofa, and pointed to a battered horsehair easy-chair.

“Bring that to the side of me,” she continued. “I do not hear very well and it is some time since I listened to English. Tell me what you want?”

“I have a further confession to make,” Gerald began. “I am an Englishman.”

“There are Englishmen and Englishmen,” she said indulgently. “Some are different from others. You are not like those whom our officers have had to correct in the streets and cafés of Berlin. Now what is your business, please?”

“It is very difficult to state,” Gerald admitted frankly, “and I am only emboldened to approach you because in these difficult times, and in Russia especially, one needs money. If you will do me a service, I can find you a great deal of money.”

Gerald’s methods had at any rate succeeded in exciting the interest of the woman he had come to visit. Her becarmined lips were parted; her pale eyes were filled with the light of cupidity.

“There is not much we would not do for money, nowadays, over here,” she declared, laughing hardly. “You are a very interesting man. Go on.”

“Major Ivan Krossneys is a friend of yours,” Gerald said.

“Ho, ho!” the woman laughed. “So you dabble in politics, eh? Never mind, Krossneys is my friend. What of it?”

“He is the Governor of the fortress here,” Gerald went on. “He has a great number of prisoners under his care.”

“One hundred and thirty-seven,” Elsa Francks replied promptly. “I see some of them exercising when I am at the fortress. What he keeps them alive for, I cannot imagine. They crawl about the yard like lice. What about these prisoners?”

Gerald moved his chair a little nearer. The woman smiled at him graciously.

“If one of them should escape,” he remarked significantly, “there would be a great deal of money.”

“What do you call a great deal of money?” she asked.

“I do not bargain,” Gerald replied. “I know very well that the escape of a prisoner is a serious thing. I have at my disposal the sum of ten thousand pounds.”

The woman started so that she nearly rolled off the sofa. She sat suddenly upright. She was too stupefied for emotion.

“Ten thousand pounds?” she almost shrieked. “Why, it is two million roubles! Ivan Krossneys would sell you his whole batch of prisoners for that, and throw the fortress in! Why, if it rested with me,” she went on, “you could have Krossneys as well, for a quarter of that. Talk sense, please! There is not an Englishman there. Of that I am certain.”

“The prisoner whose liberty I desire to buy,” Gerald confided, “is a Russian. I do not know under what name he passes, but his number is twenty-nine.”

Elsa Francks rose to her feet, opened the door and shouted to her maid in Russian. Then she took up a battered telephone instrument.

“I will speak with the Major,” she said. “I am the only civilian in the town with a telephone. It is a great favour. You can wait whilst I speak with him.”

There was a good deal of delay before she was connected, and a further delay before the person with whom she desired to speak arrived. In time, however, the conversation was finished, apparently to her satisfaction. She set down the instrument.

“The Governor is on his way down,” she announced triumphantly. “Come, we will see to this little affair quickly. You can remain.”

The maid entered the room, carrying a tray on which were bottles of beer and glasses. The woman eyed them with satisfaction.

“You are not Russian,” she said, “so I do not offer you the samovar. Beer every one drinks--the English especially. That is so, is it not?”

“That is so,” Gerald admitted. “I shall drink to your good health, Madame.”

“You may call me Elsa,” she invited graciously, coming over to his side with a glass in her hand. “We will drink to the success of our enterprise.”

Gerald accepted the glass and exchanged courteous amenities with his hostess. She eyed him with growing favour.

“It is a pity that you are not staying longer,” she observed. “We might become friends. Who knows?”

“In that case,” Gerald replied gallantly, “I might have to quarrel with Major Krossneys, and that would not do at all.”

She snapped her pudgy fingers. A man who had ten thousand pounds to dispose of! What was Krossneys!

“Do you think,” she scoffed, “that I shall stay here with him if I can get hold of half that sum you spoke of? Not I! I shall choose a different companion. I shall go to Monte Carlo. I shall never enter this accursed country again. Even to think of leaving it makes me giddy with happiness. It will be you who will be my deliverer. Let us drink again together.”

“Perhaps,” Gerald suggested, “the Governor will not give up his prisoner.”

Her exclamation of contempt was almost a shout. The very idea, while she scouted it as ridiculous, seemed to infuriate her.

“Give him up? Of course he will give him up!” she declared. “If he refused--why, I would take him by the beard--I would kill him!”

Her eyes were lit with cruelty. The snarl of an animal of prey twisted her lips. Then she burst into a fit of laughter.

“Why do I make myself furious?” she exclaimed. “Why, Ivan would sell every one of his hundred and thirty-seven prisoners for a tenth part of the money you speak of! Come, let us be gay. I will put something on the gramophone. You shall dance with me, yes?”

“What about His Excellency the Governor?” Gerald asked.

The woman made a little grimace.

“You are perhaps right,” she acquiesced. “One must wait--wait until everything is arranged. After that I shall snap my fingers at Ivan. He wearies me, and he is an old man. Will you take me out of the country, my friend? We might go into Poland--I have friends at Warsaw.”

There were heavy steps outside. She held up her hand as though to warn him.

“It is the Governor,” she announced. “It is Ivan Krossneys who arrives. Mind, he is very jealous. Be careful.”

Gerald, with all his nerves on edge, was yet able to indulge for a moment in a grim smile. The door was opened. The maid poked her head in and muttered something unintelligible. Close behind her entered the Governor of the fortress.