Conrad had not been entirely correct when he had told Forest that Frances and Pete had fallen in love with each other.
Pete had certainly fallen in love with Frances. Love was something he had never before experienced, and it reacted on him with a tremendous impact.
But he realized the experience could be but short-lived, and could never come to fruition. He had no illusions about Maurer’s power. He had been safe now for eight days, and this he considered to be a major miracle. He knew there could not be many days left for him to live: the margin, as the hours passed, was whittling away. Before very long Maurer would strike, and the combined vigilance of the police guards, Conrad’s careful planning and the supposed inaccessibility of the hunting lodge would then be proved to be as flimsy a protection as a thin veil held up to ward off the scorching flame of a blow lamp.
Pete’s discovery of love came to him with an added poignancy because he knew it would be so short-lived, and he realized the experience would only be a kind of waking dream in which his imagination would play the major role.
Whenever he caught sight of Frances when she sat in the walled-in garden and he stood at the window of his room, he conjured up vivid scenes in his mind of what they could have done together, how they might have lived, the house they might have owned, the children they might have shared if there had been no such man as Maurer to make such mind images impossible.
He was quite stunned then when Conrad told him that he could talk to Frances if he wished.
“She seems to think you saved her life,” Conrad said, moving about the big room where Pete slept. “She wants to talk to you. Well, I have no objection — have you?”
Looking at the thin, narrow-shouldered young fellow with his serious eyes and the livid birth-mark across the right side of his face, Conrad suddenly realized that perhaps a girl like Frances could fall in love with such a man.
During the week Conrad had been staying at the lodge, seeing Frances every day, he had come to love her more each time he saw her. She seemed to him, especially now she was no longer angry with him, to be the exact antithesis of Janey. Her voice, her movements, her eyes, even the way she moved her hands, expressed a kindness and an understanding for which Conrad had unconsciously been groping all his life.
Janey had bitterly disappointed him. She took everything and gave nothing in return, but even then he might have been content to have an outlet for his affection had she not demanded more and more attention as if she were determined to find out the exact depth of his love.
The depth was deep enough, but it revolted against Janey’s unreasonableness and her selfish and constant demands.
Frances wouldn’t be like that, Conrad told himself. Experience had opened his eyes. He wished he had his time over again, and he cursed himself for being such a fool to have persuaded Janey to marry him.
His love for Frances had the same poignancy as Pete’s, for he believed, like Pete believed, that his love would never come to fruition. Instead of Maurer standing in the way as in Pete’s case, it was Janey.
Conrad had made the mistake that Frances’s interest in Pete was founded on love when in fact it was founded on compassion.
Frances wasn’t in love with Pete, but she was sorry for him, and in a girl of her sensibility, pity was as strong, if not stronger, than love.
She knew he had had the chance to kill her. He had had the weapon and the opportunity. He had been ordered to kill her, and he had risked his own life by staying his hand. That act made a great impression on her, and the fact that the crude naevus that disfigured his face must have embittered and soured his life made her want very much to try to make up in kindness for the years of bitterness he must have suffered.
When they met in the garden on the afternoon of the day Conrad had talked to Forest, Frances was very kind and sweet to Pete. They talked as other young people will talk to each other for the first time. They were shy and hesitant, groping for common ground.
It wasn’t an easy meeting. They were sharply aware of the guards who patrolled the garden and who watched Pete with stony hard eyes.
Pete was painfully conscious of his birth-mark; he sat on Frances’s right, and he kept his face turned so she shouldn’t see the birth-mark. When he did turn to
look at her, his hand went instinctively to cover the mark.
Frances felt that this embarrassment was a slight on her own feelings, and after they had talked for a little while, she said suddenly, “That mark on your face is called a naevus, isn’t it?”
He flinched and blood rushed to his face, and his eyes suddenly angry and hurt, searched for the slightest hint that she was about to bait him.
But he couldn’t mistake the kindness he saw in her eyes nor the sudden friendly smile she gave him.
“I want to talk about it,” she said quietly. “Because it so embarrasses you, and it shouldn’t. I believe you think it shocks me, but it doesn’t. Don’t you realize when I’m talking to you I look beyond that, and I don’t really see it?”
Pete stared at her, and he was convinced at once that she was speaking sincerely. He realized she had said something he had longed to hear said by someone — anyone — but had never believed he would hear it. He was so moved he had to turn his head while he struggled to control his feelings.
He felt her hand on his arm.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, but isn’t there something that could be done about it? I’ve read, I’m sure, that people can be cured. Haven’t you thought about it?”
“I guess so,” he said, not looking at her. “It means an operation, and I’ve got some blood condition that makes an operation unsafe.” He swung around to face her. “But never mind about me. I want to talk about you. I’ve never met a girl like you before. You’re real and kind and decent.” He looked down at her hand, still on his arm. “You don’t mind touching me. What a fool I’ve been! If I’d met you before I wouldn’t have done what I’ve done. It was because the way people treated me, the way they looked at me, that I hooked up with the gang.” He moved closer to her. “But never mind that either. I’ve got to tell you something. This guy Conrad wants you to give evidence against Maurer. You’ve got to realize what I’m saying is right. I know. Don’t listen to Conrad or any of these coppers. They don’t know; they only think they do. They think you saw Maurer at Dead End. Now listen, I don’t want to know if you saw him or if you didn’t see him. The thing that matters is you must never admit having seen him; not to me, nor Conrad, nor anyone; not even to your mother or your father. You must never admit you saw him; not even to yourself! You stand a slight chance of keeping alive so long as you say nothing. It’s not much of a chance, but it is a chance. But understand this: if you let Conrad persuade you to tell him what you know — if you know anything — then no power on earth can save you!”
Frances was a little shaken by his tense fierceness, but she wasn’t frightened. Conrad had explained the impossibility of anyone reaching her, and she had been impressed by the precautions he had taken.
“I know I can’t stay here for ever,” she said, “but so long as I’m here, I’m safe, and so are you.”
Pete stared at her blankly.
“Safe? Here? Of course we’re not safe! Do you imagine Maurer couldn’t reach either of us if he wanted to? How many guards are there here? Twenty? If there were a hundred, they wouldn’t stop Maurer. No one has ever survived when he has given the word for him to the. No one! You don’t know that guy. The moment he failed to make good a threat, the Syndicate would wipe him out. It’s his life or ours, and it won’t be his.”
“Aren’t you letting your imagination run away with you?” Frances asked. “Of course we’re safe here. Mr. Conrad has shown me the precautions he has taken. No one could get near us.”
Pete clenched his fists and beat them on his knees.
“Maurer can go through those guards like a hot knife through butter. I didn’t want to tell you this, but I’m going to, because you’ve got to realize what you’re up against. When I warned you about Moe I disobeyed an order, and Maurer can’t afford to let me live. If he lets me get away with it, some of the others will start disobeying his orders. That’s why I talked to Conrad. I was buying a little time. I didn’t tell him much, but enough for him to hold me. But in a while Maurer will get me. My time’s running out. I’m not kidding myself. I haven’t much longer to live; maybe an hour, maybe three or four days, but not longer.”
Frances suddenly felt sick. Although Pete spoke calmly, she could see the terror in his eyes. It was this terror that convinced her he believed what he was telling her.
“But they can’t get at you,” she said, gripping his arm. “You mustn’t be frightened. How can they get at you?”
“Of course they can, and they will. When they’re ready to take me. they’ll take me.”
“But how?” Frances asked. “With all these policemen watching you…”
Pete threw out his hands in despair.
“Do you think I trust any of them? If Maurer offered them enough money one of them would sell me out. Maurer could buy them all if he wanted to. When the time comes for him to take me, he’ll pay them to look the other way. It’s been done before, and it will be done again.”
“But he can’t get at them!” Frances pointed out. “Mr. Conrad assured me these policemen are incorruptible.”
“Yeah, he assured me that too. I don’t even trust him. He might be the one to sell me out for all I know.”
“Oh, that’s nonsense,” Frances said sharply. “I don’t believe that for a moment. You are letting your imagination run away with you.”
“When I am dead,” Pete said quietly, “please remember what I’ve told you. And please remember your only chance to survive is to say nothing. If Conrad persuades you to tell him what he wants to know, no one, no power on earth, can save you. Please remember that. No one, do you understand? The organization will never let you reach the witness-box. So say nothing, admit nothing, and there may be a chance that Maurer will believe you do know nothing and you’ll survive. It’s your only chance. Please, please, remember this.”
“Yes, of course,” Francis said soothingly. “But you’re not going to the. You mustn’t think that.”
Pete stood up abruptly.
“You’ll see,” he said. “Time’s running out. There’s one other tiling I want to say: you’re the only girl who’s ever been kind to me — ever, and I love you for it. You’ve given me more happiness in the short while we’ve been together than I’ve ever had in my life.”
While he was speaking, Conrad came across the lawn towards them, and Pete abruptly turned away and walked quickly to the house. Three of his guards went after him. By the time he had reached the entrance to the hunting lodge, they
were close on his heels.
Frances sat staring after Pete, her face a little pale, and her eyes troubled. She didn’t look up as Conrad joined her.
“What’s wrong, Miss Coleman?” he asked. “You look worried.”
She looked up then.
“He doesn’t believe he is safe.”
“I know.” Conrad sat down beside her and lit a cigarette. “He’s a neurotic type. After he’s been here a few weeks, he’ll begin to realize just how safe he is. It’s an extraordinary thing what suggestion will do. He’s so convinced Maurer is all-powerful that no amount of persuasion can make him think otherwise. But don’t worry about him. He’ll be all right.”
She looked at him gratefully. His quiet voice gave her confidence.
“Will I be all right too?”
Conrad smiled.
“Of course, but with you I have a special problem. I can’t keep you here much longer. I shall soon have to think what I’m going to do with you.” He looked down at his hands, frowning. “The solution to your problem, and to Werner’s for that matter, would be the arrest of Maurer. Once I have got him behind bars, there would be little danger to you both. I could then hold you both as material witnesses and protect you until after the trial. When Maurer’s convicted, I could arrange for you to go to Europe until all the fuss has died down. You could then come back and start your life over again and in perfect safety. But I can’t get a conviction against Maurer unless you’ll give evidence against him.”
He saw her immediately stiffen.
“I have a hunch you did see Maurer at Dead End,” he went on before she could speak. “I believe you have a very personal reason for avoiding the inevitable publicity of the trial. Isn’t this something we can discuss? Couldn’t you trust me and let me help you?”
Frances didn’t say anything. She had gone a shade paler and her hands began to tremble.
“Now look,” he went on quietly, “we’re alone together. No one can hear what we’re saying. There are no witnesses. Won’t you take me into your confidence? Forget I’m a police officer. Let’s talk as private individuals. Put your cards on the table and let me advise you. I give you my word I won’t use anything you tell me unless you say so. I can’t be fairer than that, can I?”
He saw her hesitate, and for a brief moment he began to hope he was at last going to succeed.
But Frances was thinking of what Pete had said: The thing that matters is you must never admit having seen him: not to me; nor to Conrad, nor anyone; not even to your mother or your father. You must never admit you saw him; not even to yourself! You stand a slight chance of keeping alive so long as you say nothing. But understand this: if you let Conrad persuade you to tell him what you know — if you know anything — then no power on earth can save you!
She stood up.
“I have nothing to tell you. If you don’t mind I’ll go in now. I’m finding the sun rather hot.”
She turned and walked back towards the house, leaving Conrad staring after her.