For a moment there was an appalling silence; then Richard said quickly: “I’m going back.”
“Ner,” Simon shook his head. “You’re not up to it — I’ll go. Richard, I can’t tell you how sorry I am, but I could have sworn that you said you were sending her by train, so that she shouldn’t be mixed up in this business.”
“I never said anything about trains, but it’s not your fault, Simon. I ought to have made myself clear. Anyhow, I’m going back.”
“It’s this child who’s going back,” said Rex, “neither of you boys is fit to travel.”
De Richleau had remained silent; he opened the door of the car and stepped out into the roadway. Then he smiled at the others, not unkindly.
“Now, my friends, if you have all done, I suggest that we should treat this misfortune like sensible people. It would be madness for any of us to dash back to Kiev in this quixotic manner. An hour either way can make no difference now, and we are all badly in need or rest. Let us breakfast first, and think about saving Marie Lou afterwards.”
Without waiting for a reply he walked over to the farm gate and held it open.
“That certainly is sense.” Rex put the car in gear, and ran her through into the yard.
“Hullo! what’s that?” exclaimed Simon, as he got out stiffly. “Sounds like a ’plane.”
“It is.” De Richleau was gazing up into the sky. “Quick, Rex, run the car under that shed — it may be the frontier people looking for us.”
A moment later they saw her — a big grey air-liner, coming up from the direction of Mogeliev. With a dull booming of her powerful engines she sailed steadily over their heads, following the line of the frontier, the early morning sunlight glinting on her metalwork.
At the far end of the yard a tall, blond peasant had been harnessing a horse into one of the long, boat-shaped carts so common in the Ukraine. He left his work and walked slowly over to them; after De Richleau had spoken a few words to him he turned and led the way towards the house. The aeroplane had disappeared towards the west.
As the small procession trooped into the clean, bright kitchen a portly, apple-cheeked woman looked up with some apprehension, but the farmer quieted her fears, and soon she was busy preparing a hearty breakfast for her unexpected guests.
The Duke went out again with the man into the yard, and when he returned he pointed through the kitchen window, which looked out on the back. The farmhouse stood upon a slight rise, an orchard lay to the right, but before them spread a gently sloping meadow — beyond it fields, and in the valley, not more than a mile away, the edge of a dark forest.
“You see those tree-tops, my friends? Their roots are in Rumanian soil. At last it seems that we have reached our journey’s end.”
Simon let a little sigh escape him. It had been a terrible wrench to leave Valeria Petrovna, but over the border lay freedom — London... Paris... Deauville ... Monte Carlo. The old world capitalist cities, with their life and laughter — their restaurants, the Opera, the print shops, and the excitement of big business deals; everything that he had always loved.
Rex laughed. “My, won’t we throw some party — when we get over there!”
Only Richard turned away disconsolate — not even for a single moment could he cease wondering what had happened to little Marie Lou.
Over breakfast they discussed the situation. De Richleau argued that there was no undue reason for alarm. When Richard failed to put in an appearance she had in all probability gone back to the hotel.
“But just think of her,” Richard explained, “waiting for hours wondering what on earth had happened to us — thinking perhaps that the escape had failed and that we’d all been arrested!”
“Sure,” Rex agreed, “or, like as not, that we were a rotten bunch of pikers, who’d taken her help and quit while the goin’ was good.”
“Ner, she wouldn’t think that,” said Simon. “All I hope is that she hasn’t worried herself into doing something silly — anyhow, I’m going back to get her.”
“No!” Richard looked up quickly. “I am.”
“Well, in any case,” remarked the Duke, “it would be madness for more than one of us to run his head into the noose.”
Simon nodded. “That true — and this is my muddle, so I’m going.”
“My dear fellow,” De Richleau protested, “for you it is impossible. You forget your leg — you could never drive the car that distance.”
“Sure — that lets Simon out,” Rex declared, “and since I’m the fittest of you all I guess it’s my party.”
“No,” said the Duke, “it is highly probable that there is another electric fence on the actual frontier, like that which we found at Romanovsk — whoever goes, you must stay to help the others over.”
Richard looked round with tired eyes. “Please don’t let’s argue any more. The escape will have been discovered by this time, and all three of you are wanted by the police. I’m not — I’m in Russia with a proper passport — and what’s more, she’s my wife.”
His argument was incontrovertible, and ended the discussion. Breakfast was finished in thoughtful silence, then they strolled out into the meadow at the back of the farm to gaze upon the promised land.
The rhythmic throbbing of the big ’plane could be heard again, so they took cover in the orchard. This time it was beating back towards the east.
“She’s a bomber,” said Rex, gazing skywards through the branches.
“Um — I bet she’s carrying troops, though,” Simon laughed jerkily. “A couple of pilots wouldn’t be much good if they spotted us and landed!”
“When do we make the big get-away?” Rex inquired.
“Not till tonight,” said the Duke. “That innocent-looking wood has probably got sentries posted in it at every fifty yards if I know anything about friend Leshkin. We must lie low here today. I’ve had a talk with the farmer and I think he can be trusted — in any case I do not mean to let him out of my sight”
Richard laughed for the first time that morning. “If I make good going, and Marie Lou is still at the hotel, I could be back here in the ’plane before nightfall. I’m feeling much better now. I think I’ll make a start.”
“Before you do that, Richard, I would like a word with you.” De Richleau took him gently by the arm, and led him farther into the orchard.
“Listen,” he went on, when they were out of earshot of the others. “It is quite useless for you to try and take that car, Richard. You will not be able to move it from the shed.”
“Why?”
“Because, my friend, I removed the sparking-plugs before breakfast!”
“What the devil do you mean?”
“Simply that I will not allow any of you to venture your necks in this idiotic way.”
“Look here,” said Richard, angrily. “I’m quite as anxious to get over the frontier as anybody, but you might remember that none of you would be here at all, if it were not for Marie Lou!”
“Thank you.” The Duke’s voice had a trace of asperity. “If you were not so young, Richard, and I was not so fond of you, I should resent intensely your imputation on my honour. As it is I merely ask you not to be a fool.”
“Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“No, I am certain that you did not — but surely you have the sense to see that you would not get farther than Vinnitsa. The car would be recognized. There is a bullet through the mudguard, and another through the rear window. They would have you in prison before midday.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” Richard agreed, reluctantly, “but I can’t leave Marie Lou in Kiev. God knows what will happen to her. I’ll tell you the truth — I’m in love with her, and I’m half crazy with anxiety!”
De Richleau patted him on the arm. “I understand, my friend. I have known love myself, but in this case you can do nothing. You must be a good fellow and cross the frontier with the others tonight.”
“No, I’m damned if I will.”
“Yes, Richard — I wish it. Hasten to Bucharest and get in touch with the British Consul at Kiev as soon as you can. She is a British subject now, and that will stand her in good stead if she is in trouble.”
“But that will take days. Anything may happen to her in the meantime. She must be frantic with anxiety.”
“Don’t worry, my son, I am going back to Kiev to look after her.”
“You!”
“Yes, and I am the only one of you all who can do this thing successfully. I know the language, the people, the country. I shall buy clothes from this peasant — drive the car as far as the outskirts of Vinnitsa tonight, and then abandon it — walk into the town, and take a fourth-class ticket on the train like any kulak; tomorrow morning I shall be in Kiev. If Marie Lou is still at the hotel I will place her under the protection of the British Consul immediately — if not, I will find her for you.”
For a moment Richard was silent — then he turned and faced the Duke. “I say — that’s splendid of you, but I just can’t leave Russia without Marie Lou; let me come, too?”
De Richleau shook his head. “No, Richard. I would rather go alone.”
“Please — ? Hullo — what’s that?”
“Only the big ’plane again.”
“No, it’s not!” Richard was peering up through the trees. “It’s a different one — quite different.”
“Well, what of it?”
“But it’s extraordinary. It’s got a note just like my own ’plane. Look! There she is!” Richard pointed excitedly. “By Jove — it is!”
They ran back through the orchard to the meadow where the others were standing.
“Are you sure?” asked the Duke.
“Certain. She’s got the same markings. Look! She’s coming down!”
Above them in the clear blue of the early morning sky the little ’plane was slowly circling towards the earth.
“Say — who’ll this be?” asked Rex, anxiously.
“Marie Lou,” said the Duke.
“Ner...” Simon shook his head. “She can’t fly a ’plane.”
“It must be...” Richard laughed excitedly. “No one but Marie Lou knew about my ’plane and where to meet us.”
The machine was down to five hundred feet now; in a long sweep it curved into the wind and ’planed down towards them.
“Two people in her,” murmured De Richleau.
“Clever kid,” grinned Rex. “She’s squared a pilot to bring her along.”
They began to run across the meadow to the place where the ’plane would stop. “Best be careful,” panted Simon. “We’ll be in a muddle if it’s not her.”
“It is,” shouted Richard. “I can see her in the back.”
In another minute they were crowding round the ’plane and Marie Lou, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright from the swift flight through the early morning air, had jumped to the ground.
Richard could see that despite the colour in her cheeks, her face was drawn, and her eyes swollen by crying. She gave him a long searching look as she said, quickly:
“Richard — what happened? Why did you leave me behind?”
He seized her hands and for a moment could hardly speak, it was such an enormous relief to see her safe and sound. “Marie Lou...” he stammered, “Marie Lou ... Simon bungled things, he thought you were going by train... and I was hit on the head, so they brought me with them, unconscious, in the car.... I’ve been through agonies this morning!”
“Oh, Richard,” she gave a little sob. “I thought I should go mad last night. I waited in the aerodrome till three this morning. I was terrified. I thought you had been killed or captured — and then when I heard that you had all been seen on the road in the car... I thought... oh, I do not know... it was awful!”
“You heard that — but how?”
“When it seemed that there was no more chance that you should come I went back to the hotel — the lounge was almost in darkness and I ran straight into Valeria Petrovna — she had been walking up and down all night waiting for news.”
“Good God! I wonder she didn’t give you up to the police.” As Richard spoke he followed Marie Lou’s glance, and realized that the tall pilot in breeches and field boots, standing near Simon, was Valeria Petrovna.
Marie Lou nodded. “She was nearly off her head because Simon had left her. One moment she was threatening to have me arrested, and the next pleading with me to let her know where Simon would cross the frontier, that she might see him again. At last we make a bargain — I agree to tell her the place, but she should take me with her.”
“You clever child.”
“No — it was an awful risk — because she might have betrayed you, but I have my little revolver still, and I said that I would shoot her dead if she should try to trick me.”
“What luck that she could fly a ’plane.”
“Yes, her friend taught her — you remember, the tall officer at the air-park in Moscow. But tell me about your hurt — my poor Richard, you look so ill and haggard!”
Richard laughed light-heartedly. “Oh, I’ll be all right now you’re safe. It’s only worry that got me down. We were just fixing up about going back to get you.”
“Oh, Richard!” Marie Lou’s eyes were full of smiles again, then, almost at once, her face grew grave. “But we are not safe — not yet. Leshkin has had all the guards along the frontier trebled, and last night he left Kiev in an aeroplane. He is determined to stop us getting across.”
“Good Lord! I wonder if he’s in the big bomber that’s been sailing up and down. If so, he’s bound to spot my ’plane. We can’t possible hide it.” Richard turned to Rex.
“Look here, there’s not a moment to lose. We must get out before the Bolshie ’plane comes over again. I’m going to take Marie Lou across right away. I’ll be back for another of you as soon as I can.”
“Okay,” Rex nodded. “Make it snappy, or they’ll get us yet!”
Valeria Petrovna had flung herself into Simon’s arms the moment she reached the ground. He looked at her with mingled love and amazement. She was still dressed in the riding kit she had worn for her part at the theatre. Her make-up had not been properly removed, and little furrows down her cheeks showed that she had been weeping bitterly.
“Simon — dear one — this is terrible, that I ’ave to lose you,” she sobbed, breaking into fresh tears. “An’ last night... oh, it was ’orrible. Did you know that Leshkin meant to arrest you again? But no, you could not. ’e come to my dressing-room after the secon’ act — ’e say that ’e ’as been to Moscawa. Oh, why did you not tell me of those men?”
“What men?” asked Simon, puzzled.
“The men you kill. Eight men of the Ogpu! Oh, you are a lion, my Simon, but Stalin, ’e was furious. Nevaire would ’e forgive that — an’ ’e ’as take back your pardon that ’e give me.”
“It was in self-defence!”
“No matter — you ’ave kill them, that is what Leshkin say; ’e is so ’appy that ’e do not know ’ow to contain ’imself. That is why ’e tell me. Then I leave the theatre — to warn you, just as I am — but when I arrive at the ’otel you are no longer there!” Valeria Petrovna struck her breast passionately with her clenched fists.
“Oh, my dear.” Simon slipped his arm around her shaking shoulders. “That was splendid of you.”
“I was distraught. I do not know what I do. Then, when I ’ave left the theatre, the manager ’e make announcement in the middle of the third act; ’e say that I am ill all suddenly, but Leshkin suspect at once and come rushing to the ’otel like a mad bull. ’ow I laugh at ’em when ’e find that you ’ave gone already — but ’e find that my car is gone, also, and ’e go mad with rage because ’e think that it was me that ’elp you to escape — but I, myself, do not know what to think.”
Valeria Petrovna burst into a fresh fit of sobbing, then, when she had recovered a little, she went on: “Leshkin question all the police on the telephone from the ’otel — they ’ave seen my car on the road to Birdichy, but you are not alone — there are others, also! Then ’e speak to the prison, an’ ’e find that your frien’s have escape through a tunnel in the ground... ’e is furious — livid — ’e order troops to ’old the bridge at Vinnitsa, then ’e rush off to follow you by ’plane, shaking ’is great fist in my face, and ’e swear that ’e would put his foot in the face of that damn’ Jew yet!”
“I’m so sorry — so dreadfully sorry. You must have had an awful time,” Simon tried to comfort her. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rex helping Marie Lou back into the ’plane, and, realizing the immediate danger now that he knew Leshkin was somewhere on the scene, he looked apprehensively at the sky-line for signs of the big troop-carrier.
“The suspense! It was ’orrible,” Valeria Petrovna cried. “’Ow I live through the night I do not know. I wait... wait... wait in the lounge of the ’otel, praying for news. Then, at last, when I am worn out, the little one arrive! But why did you not tell me that you mean to leave me?”
“You didn’t tell me that you left my friends in prison to be shot — did you?”
“’Ow you know that?”
“Doesn’t matter much now, does it?”
“Oh, Simon, I ’ave been wrong about that. I know it! But what would you ’ave me do? I could not save you all!”
He frowned. “If only you had told me.”
“My brave one. You would ’ave run into awful danger to try an’ save your frien’s. It is you I love. I try to save you from yourself!”
“Well, let’s not say any more about it.”
“But, Simon, ’ow could you leave me without one word?”
“Seems I’ve got to leave you in any case — unless you’ll come with me?”
“Oh, Simon — Simon —” She wrung her hands.
“’Ow can I? Russia is my country. I love ’er, even as I love you.”
Rex stood by the Duke watching Richard wheel above them to gain altitude. The little white ’plane banked sharply and then, straightening out, headed for the Rumanian frontier. It had hardly disappeared above the tree-tops to the south when his quick ear caught the note of another engine. “Look out!” he yelled. “’Plane over!”
Simon gripped Valeria Petrovna by the arm. “Quick! We must run for it — the farmhouse!”
The dull booming of the big bomber could be clearly heard now. They had hardly crowded into the doorway of the farm when Rex spotted her. “Look!” he cried. “There she is!”
“It is Leshkin,” exclaimed Valeria Petrovna.
Rex nodded. “If he spots Richard I guess our number’s up.”
At that moment Richard was flying low over patches of wood and growing crops on the Rumanian side. He noticed a broad meadow and ’planed down into it, making an easy landing.
“Jump out, Marie Lou,” he called. “I’ll be back in five minutes with one of the others.”
She climbed out, laughing — her blue eyes brilliant in the sunshine. “Be back soon,” she cried. “I will be waiting.”
Richard took off again, and in a few minutes had all the altitude he needed for this short flight. He could see the roof-tops of the tiny township to the east, how the streets twisted in and out among the houses. The orchards and fields spread out before him like a patchwork quilt; he could see the farmhouse again now.
De Richleau saw him first “But they will see him for a certainty,” he cried, anxiously.
The others had their eyes glued to the giant ’plane sailing serenely, high up among the little white clouds that flecked the empyrean blue. Suddenly it swerved from its course!
“He’s spotted!” cried Rex. “Look! The big boy’s circling!”
“We’ll never do it,” said Simon, nervously. “Richard’s ’plane can’t take us all. What about the car?”
“Useless,” the Duke replied, curtly. “The frontier guards would get us. It’s Richard — or capture!”
Valeria Petrovna was right. Leshkin himself was in the big ’plane; since the first light of dawn he had been patrolling the frontier, scouring the road for her car, determined that the fugitives should not escape. The sight of the small ’plane coming in from Rumania had roused his suspicions immediately; he knew that his enemies had powerful friends outside Russia.
“Higher,” he shouted to his pilot, “higher!” He did not want Richard to suspect their presence until he had actually landed.
Two thousand feet under the big bomber Richard’s ’plane showed like a cardboard toy against the flattened landscape. As it circled, and its wings gave free vision, Leshkin could see the tiny group of figures huddled in the farmhouse doorway through his binoculars. Sharply he gave the order to descend.
Richard had landed; he waved a greeting to his friends as they ran towards the ’plane. He was a little surprised at the excitement they displayed, gesticulating as they ran. The roar of his own engine downed the noise of the other; he had taken out his cigarette-case and was just about to light up when Rex reached him.
“Great stuff, Richard,” he shouted. “But it’ll be a mighty near thing. Can you take us all?”
“Don’t be silly — one at a time.”
“Holy mike, man, don’t you see the Bolshies are on your tail?” Rex pointed upwards.
Richard looked up, and saw, for the first time, the air-liner slowly descending in great sweeps above his head.
“Good God! I had no idea. Look here — the ’plane’s only built for two — she’ll never carry five!”
“She’s just got to! If one of us stays behind he’ll be bumped off for sure!”
“I do not come with you,” said Valeria Petrovna.
“But you must,” exclaimed Simon, seizing her arm.
The Soviet machine was at less than five hundred feet now.
“All right, with four we’ll chance it,” shouted Richard. “Take the seat, Rex, you’re heaviest. The Duke must manage, somehow, on your knees.”
“Please — please,” Simon was urging Valeria Petrovna.
“No... no... that I cannot do.”
“Why not?”
“I would ’ate it in your capitalist country.”
“Come on, Simon,” cried the Duke.
He took no notice. “Have you ever thought how I might hate it here?”
“That is different. I do not belong to myself. My art belong to the ’ole Russian people; after they ’ave seen me act they ’ave new strength for the work they ’ave to do.”
“Simon!” pleaded De Richleau.
Still he took no notice. “Work!” he said, angrily. “Destroying all freedom, you mean, and preventing anybody having a chance to get on in the world.”
“No!” she cried, her eyes lit with a fierce enthusiasm. “For the greedy and selfish we ’ave no place, but we give life and ’appiness to all the thousands that toil in the factory and the mine. We free the women from the children that they should not be forced to bear, we save them from the drudgery of the ’ome. In a hundred years we will ’ave destroyed for ever that any ’uman being should suffer from ’unger and disease. Christ ’imself taught the brother’ood of all men, and that will He realize here, in Russia, two thousand years after ’e is dead.”
It was the supreme declaration of the Bolshevist ideal, and Simon was almost stunned by her outburst. Long afterwards he wondered how she reconciled her theories with the fact that she lived in the same state of luxury as the daughter of a capitalist multi-millionaire, but at that moment De Richleau seized him from behind and flung him bodily on to the fuselage of the ’plane.
“Hang on to the back of the seat, and lie flat, with your feet to the tail,” he cried.
With one pull of his strong arms Rex had hoisted the Duke up beside him. “All set,” he shouted. “Let her go.”
They ran forward slowly, bumping on the uneven ground. The ’plane lifted slightly, then bumped again, then rose once more, but only a few feet from the earth. Richard was nervous now that he would not be able to clear the bars at the end of the field. He was frightened, too, that with the extra weight on the tail they might stall at any moment. Quite suddenly the ’plane rose sharply — they were over the barns, sailing freely — rising every moment higher in the air.
Rex looked round to see if the enemy was following; he caught his breath — Simon was no longer there! He hit Richard on the back. “Simon,” he bawled. “We’ve dropped him.”
Richard banked steeply; they peered anxiously downwards, fearing to see a little crumpled heap in one of the fields below. The Soviet ’plane was circling slowly over the farmstead, apparently uncertain whether to land or give chase.
Leshkin scowled from his seat beside the pilot. In his anxiety that Richard should not see him before landing, he had misjudged the time it would take him to descend. His pilot obstinately refused to be hurried; the Kommissar cursed furiously as he saw Richard take off and glide, hesitatingly, towards the barn. Then he saw Simon fall.
“Descend!” he cried. “Make your landing at once.” But the pilot had already begun to follow the other ’plane, now he banked steeply away from the field.
“Descend!” yelled Leshkin again, his small eyes black with anger.
“Have patience, Comrade,” the man answered, sullenly. “I must circle now, to come again into the wind. I have no wish to break my neck.”
Valeria Petrovna had seen Simon slip off. In a second she was beside him, helping him to his feet. “Run, Simon — run,” she urged. “Your frien’ will come back and it will be less far for ’im to come.”
“Say, there he is!” cried Rex, suddenly, pointing from the other ’plane. “Good old Simon — run, boysie — run!” Almost at the same moment Richard and the Duke saw him too, a small dark figure running hard in their direction — a field away already from the meadow, with Valeria Petrovna urging him on some hundred yards behind.
“What bravery!” exclaimed the Duke. “He must have dropped off purposely when it seemed that we should crash into the barn.”
Richard wheeled again, and headed for the frontier, his mouth set tight. It was useless now to try and land again to pick Simon up. He must unload the others first.
A rifle cracked below them, then another. It was the frontier guards. They had realized that something must be amiss; they fired again, the flash of their rifles could be seen distinctly, but the bullets went wide.
Richard did not attempt to reach the field where he had left Marie Lou, he came down in the first he could find on the Rumanian side — that was a decent distance from the frontier guards. His landing was sheltered from their view by a small wood.
“Out you get,” he said, sharply. “Marie Lou’s in a field about half a mile away over there.” He pointed as he spoke. “I’ll join you, if I can.”
“Okay,” Rex sang out, “all the luck,” but Richard was already mounting into the air again.
The big troop-carrier bumped and bounded over the uneven ground of the meadow. The pilot brought it to rest with a jerk, only thirty feet from the barn that had so nearly proved the end of Richard. Leshkin sprang out — a sharp order and his men followed.
Valeria Petrovna turned her head and saw them coming round the corner of the barn as she ran through the farther field. She could see Simon, too; a field ahead of her. Her heart ached for him; how could little Simon, with his recent wound, hope to out-distance those hardbitten soldiers. They would hunt him like a hare, and remorselessly shoot him down in some ditch or coppice. Dashing the tears from her eyes, she stumbled on.
Simon jumped a ditch; he groaned from the pain as a sharp stab went through his leg like a red-hot needle. Panting and breathless he ran on, looking from time to time over his shoulder. He could no longer see the Soviet ’plane — they must have landed now. Richard had disappeared from view. If only he could get back in time after landing the others. Good job he had dropped off or they would never have cleared that barn. He must be half-way to the wood by now... if only he could stick it... but the frontier guards might open fire on him at any moment. God, how his leg hurt! His head was dizzy and his chest bursting.
Simon stumbled and fell; he picked himself up again, white and shaken. His hands were torn and bleeding from the hedges he had forced his way through. He cursed his folly in having taken the straight line across a ploughed field. His boots were heavy as lead with the soil that clung to them. If only he had gone round he would have reached the opposite side in half the time. A shot rang out. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Valeria Petrovna was stumbling along about two hundred yards behind him. His pursuers had crossed the last hedge and were streaming across the field in open order with Leshkin waving them on. Another shot sounded sharply on the still morning air — the bullet sent up a little spurt of earth some way to his right. A sharp order came — there was no more firing; Leshkin did not want to kill Valeria Petrovna! Simon reached the farther hedge; he burst his way through it regardless of fresh tears and pain, and stumbled into a meadow on the far side... there — glorious sight — was Richard in his ’plane, waving encouragement, and steadily coming down.
Three frontier guards had come out of the wood and were blazing away at Richard, but they ceased firing as he landed, fearful of hitting Leshkin’s men. Simon thought his head would burst as he made a last desperate effort to reach the ’plane. The soldiers had crossed the plough now — they were shouting as they struggled through the hedge. Richard stood up in the ’plane and yelled wildly.
“Run, Simon... run!” He saw the soldiers were rapidly gaining ground, and climbed out of the ’plane to go to Simon’s assistance.
Leshkin was through the hedge and bellowing like a bull — his face purple with the unaccustomed exercise. The foremost soldier was running level with Valeria Petrovna. Suddenly she struck out with her crop — a fierce back-hander, that caught the man in the face; he stumbled and stopped with a yelp of pain. Simon had reached the ’plane, white, exhausted, almost fainting. Richard had him by the arm and leg, half-lifting him towards the passenger seat. He grabbed at the rim and hoisted himself over the edge. Valeria Petrovna had stopped and turned — facing the soldiers. With all her remaining force she was lashing at them with her whip, driving off the nearest with her fierce, cutting lash. Richard was in the cockpit again — the ’plane ran forward — one of the men made a futile grab at the wing, and was flung to the earth.
“Shoot!” roared Leshkin, “shoot!” But the soldiers were panting and breathless. By the time they had fumbled with their rifles and taken unsteady aim, the ’plane was sailing high into the air.
Simon looked down into the green field below. A bullet whizzed past his head — another hit the tail with a loud “phut”. The soldiers stood in a little group mopping their perspiring faces; Valeria Petrovna was standing a little apart with Leshkin — she waved her crop in farewell. Simon waved back, and then he saw a curious thing.
She turned suddenly and struck Leshkin with her whip; the lash took him full in the face. For a moment he was blinded by the pain; he sprang back, holding up his hand to protect his head; the swift lash came down again.
“You fool,” Valeria Petrovna was shrieking, “you fool. I ’ave trick you. I pay you now for what you make me suffer — that you ’ave been to Stalin and make me lose ’im I love.” She struck again and again with her swift, cutting lash, until Leshkin’s face was a mass of blood; at last she was hauled off by the soldiers.
The ’plane had vanished into the distance, when he was once more able to see her out of feverish, bloodshot eyes. “It is you who are a fool,” he said, harshly. “You have forgotten that these men have done murder — and that there is a law of extradition.”