The Broken Penny Read online

  My comrades, when the iron heel of the invader

  Pressed deep upon our country mercilessly crushing

  Our youth, our children, mothers of unborn socialist warriors,

  Who was it said: ‘They shall not conquer, they shall never conquer’?

  When bosses and landowners ran away

  Who stayed to fight?

  Who but the people, the real people of our country,

  Trodden by the jackboot, beaten by whips,

  Imprisoned, enslaved.

  Who but the people broke the iron shackles,

  Rising triumphant and glorious at last?

  Garden thought, I seem to perceive traces of nationalist deviation. Then he reproached himself for cynicism. Ilona stood stiffly by his side.

  After the recital a buffet supper, which Garden saw with relief was ample. He ate three different kinds of salt fish, a plate of cold meat and what appeared to be hot chicken patties with cheese. Then he felt very thirsty and, with an awareness of his own unwisdom, drank several glasses of sweet, strong local wine. Lady Vi came up to him. ‘Magnificent, our poet, was he not?’

  Garden gulped chicken patty. ‘Superb.’

  ‘Such feeling.’

  ‘Such power.’

  ‘–rhythm–’

  ‘–sincerity–’

  Lady Vi looked at him suspiciously. Sincerity, plainly, was a thing she preferred to have taken for granted. ‘We missed you this afternoon. I hope you will be with us tomorrow.’

  Garden bowed his head graciously. He felt a little drunk. He made his way across the room to where Belton stood sipping uneasily at a glass still almost full. ‘Belton!’ Garden dug him suddenly in the stomach. ‘I am still here, you see. Have you denounced me yet?’ Belton looked terrified. Garden wagged a finger. ‘You have not. My agents have reported half-hourly on your movements. Your word is your bond, Belton. And so is mine. Your sinister slogan is safe with me. Do you know what it is? It’s a wise peacemonger who knows his own slogan. Your slogan is Peace through Non-aggressive War. Let non-aggression be victorious, eh, Belton?’

  After supper there was a cinema show. They went into another room and sat down on hard chairs. A newsreel showing Soviet athletes was followed by a historical film about the lubricious lives of monks and nuns in pre-Revolutionary days, and the power insidiously exercised by the Catholic Church. Garden closed his eyes, then opened them and look at his watch. The time was half-past eight. He pressed Ilona’s arm. She got up and went out. After a few seconds Garden followed her. He tripped over a foot on the way. It was Trelawney’s.

  ‘Old boy,’ a voice hissed in the darkness. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Out for a leak, old boy.’

  ‘Oh, ah.’

  Ilona was waiting outside the Union Hall. They boarded a tram that took them to the outskirts of the town, within half a mile of Zeb. It had been, after all, perfectly easy to get away. But sitting in the tram as it jolted through the old city over cobbles, past drinking shops in dimly lighted streets, Garden was aware of a profound unease. The people in the tramcar sat silent, almost unmoving. The friendliness he remembered in them seemed to have gone. Fear was here, sitting next to everybody, ready to place a tight hand on a reluctant arm.

  Who but the people broke the iron shackles,

  Rising triumphant and glorious at last?

  Had the word-intoxicated young poet ridden in many tramcars lately, he wondered?

  The tramcar jolted to a stop. Two People’s Police got in and checked papers. It was an everyday matter, Garden saw, perhaps something that might happen two or three times in a day. Hands were dug into pockets, grubby papers looked at and handed back. Garden showed his own papers and launched into

  an explanation about Ilona leaving hers at the hotel. The policeman looked at him sharply, then scribbled a note instructing Ilona to present papers at the local station within twelve hours. Two stops later the policemen got off again. By the time they had reached the terminus the tramcar was almost empty.

  Just outside the town the metal road ended and became dirt. It was quite dark. By his side Ilona spoke:

  ‘Do you think they will be there?’

  ‘Yes. You know Milo. He has a great many friends.’

  ‘If not, what shall we do?’

  ‘We can get back by tram and keep the other appointment.’

  ‘I do not think they will be there. I think they are caught or have got away.’

  ‘I don’t think they would leave us.’

  ‘I don’t think they would leave us,’ she mocked him savagely. ‘Of course they would. Anyone with any sense would leave Milo and Theo to look after themselves and keep the other appointment. That must be a friend, or he would have given us away.’

  ‘I’ve told you, we can still keep it.’

  ‘And if Milo and Theo are here and have no plan of their own you will take them with us, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And if our friends, the people who have arranged things for us, will not take them, what then?’

  ‘We’ll meet that when it comes.’ Spacing his words like a man talking to a child he said to the invisible figure by his side, ‘Try to understand, Ilona, that it is important for people to behave decently toward each other. If we fail in that, how can we hope to succeed in anything?’

  Her voice was shrill. ‘You make me sick. Do you think Milo is anything but a pimp?’

  ‘Be quiet. This is Zeb.’

  Now they could see the outlines of cottages on either side. Here again there was a silence that Garden found ominous. Nothing moved in the village street, doors were closed, there was no sound of voices. They could hear, not far away, the lapping of water. Garden took a torch which he had found in the pocket of his duffel coat and flashed it briefly up and down. The street seemed absolutely deserted. His apprehension of disaster grew stronger. They went on walking up the street. Once Ilona’s foot slipped in a rut and she caught his arm. Every twenty yards Garden flashed his torch. It showed nothing but blank houses.

  ‘We are getting near to the end of the village.’ Garden drew in his breath. His torch had picked out a small cottage, unmistakably coloured pink. It looked as dead as the rest. There was a door and a curtained window. Recklessly he played the torch over the cottage, up and down the road.

  ‘They are not here.’

  ‘We shall soon see.’ Garden took three steps to the door and knocked.

  The door opened almost at once. A burly figure stood there. He was wearing a jersey. Inside a light glimmered, not enough to show through the curtains. ‘You are the fisherman, Poltzer?’

  The man said in a deep voice. ‘I am the fisherman, Poltzer.’

  ‘Is Milo here?’

  ‘He is here.’ The man stood aside and they entered. ‘Why is the village so silent?’ Garden asked as he went in. Then he stopped. There were several people in the square, low, dim room. In one corner a woman sat, heavy-faced and sad, with two boys perhaps seven and five years old, and a baby wrapped in a shawl. The other figures in the room, who now crowded round Garden and Ilona, searching them for weapons and briskly pinioning their arms, all wore the black uniform of the People’s Police. They had been everywhere – standing behind the door, crouching by the open fireplace, sitting at the deal table. No doubt there were more of them outside.

  ‘You are always wrong,’ Ilona said. Her voice was bitter and loving at once. ‘And now you are wrong for the last time.’

  The man in the jersey had gone over to stand by the woman. His arms were folded, his face had a sombre dignity and strength. ‘You are really Poltzer?’ Garden asked. ‘Was Milo here?’

  ‘He is here,’ the man said with no change in his deep voice. ‘Inside.’

  Their captors jerked them forward, and opened the door of an inner room. In the right-hand corner of this room there was a large bed, above it a crucifix. On the bed lay two bodies. A voice said, ‘Let them look,’ and the grip of hands was removed. Garden went over to
the bed and stood looking down. Milo lay there, a nut-brown man brightly smiling as he had smiled in life, and by his side gigantic Theo, his face a mass of blood and bruises, clothing torn, jaw hanging open. Ilona buried her face in Garden’s coat. Her body, touching his, was racked with

  sobs. It was strange, Garden thought as he looked down dispassionately at these two who had so recently been alive and were now dead, that she should be moved so much and he so little. Yet it was she who had been prepared to let Milo and Theo look after themselves, he who had insisted on walking into a trap.

  The voice that had spoken before said, ‘Three of you stay here, the rest outside.’ There was a clatter of feet. The door closed. Garden turned slowly to see the figure he had expected. At the other side of the room, round-faced and genially smiling, Peplov sat on a rickety chest-of-drawers, swinging his leg.

  He said in perfect English, ‘So it is all over, Mr Garden. In a way you must feel almost as relieved as I do. Have a cigarette?’ He offered the case with a smile so warm and friendly that it was hard for Garden to resist smiling back. Hard for Garden but not apparently for Ilona, who launched herself at Peplov like a large cat. He ducked aside and one of the police caught her. ‘Tie her hands,’ Peplov said. ‘I have suffered enough from her tantrums. That damned dog.’ He rubbed his ankle ruefully, with an air of appealing for sympathy which was again extremely engaging.

  ‘Why did you have to kill them?’ She flung her head up. ‘But I had forgotten. It is your trade.’

  ‘My dear girl, I can assure you that such stupid remarks do not serve your purpose of annoying me. They are merely a waste of time, and we have not’ – Peplov looked at a wristwatch – ‘very much time to waste. I did not kill these two men – some over-enthusiastic subordinates did so before my arrival because they offered such persistent resistance, and were so troublesome. I can assure you that I would much prefer Granz to be alive. Granz alive might have been of some use. Granz dead, is like the rest of us, something that needs a quick burial.’

  ‘They admitted nothing. Then how–’

  ‘How did I know about you? Poltzer. They had made a plan for escape in his motor boat, and had told him of the two friends who were joining them. We picked up their trail in Dravina and followed them out here. They did not talk. Neither did Poltzer, when he was threatened. I gave him promises instead of threats and he talked. He has a wife, you see. That is bad. And children. That is worse. I promised that he would continue to live here unharmed, even receive certain fishing concessions. He talked.’

  ‘He will find out what your promises are worth,’ Ilona said.

  Peplov looked surprised. ‘But I shall keep my promises. Why not? Do you think I make a profession of breaking promises? I am not so foolish. But this is all of little interest. You were in the hands of Lepkin at HQ here, isn’t that so? Then somehow you managed to shoot Lepkin and his assistant and walked out. You must have acted quickly and resourcefully. On the other hand, Lepkin must have been very careless. That is odd, because Lepkin was efficient. I respected him. What happened?’

  The smoke rose from Garden’s cigarette and curled in the lamplight. ‘Just what you said. Lepkin was careless and I took advantage of it.’

  ‘I doubt very much whether you are telling the truth. There is something I do not understand about it. No matter.’ Peplov’s smile broadened. His head was no longer bandaged, but there was a big patch of plaster above one eyebrow. ‘Then you separated. Granz had the idea of getting help from a comrade in Dravina, and it happened that the comrade was one of my agents. He reported immediately, and I had Milo and Granz followed here in the hope that they would lead us to you. The people of the village shut themselves in when they saw what was happening. It is strange that they don’t love us when we are their protectors. We were less successful in tracing you. A shop manager reported that a woman whom we identified as Miss Arbitzer had bought some clothes from him. We were looking out for those clothes. I see that Miss Arbitzer is wearing the frock she bought, but yours is not a new suit, Mr Garden. At the same time you are not wearing the easily identifiable fisherman’s clothes in which you were dressed this morning.’ Peplov crossed the room and felt the cloth of Garden’s jacket. ‘Not good quality, but English I should say. Now, where would you have been able to get English clothes in Dravina? You wouldn’t care to tell me, I suppose? It is a matter of almost idle curiosity. After all, we have you.’ Peplov looked at Garden quizzically, with his round head on one side.

  ‘But not my friends.’

  ‘We shall have them soon.’ There was a touch of complacence about Peplov. ‘But I can see that you are determined not to talk. Very well. I, however, am not so taciturn. Is there anything you would like to know during the next’ – Peplov looked again at his watch – ‘ten minutes?’

  Ilona asked, ‘What has happened to Jacob?’

  ‘Arbitzer?’ For the first time Peplov looked a little surprised. ‘He is dead. One of you shot him and he died within five minutes. It was Granz, I suppose? You won’t say? Well, there again it is not of much importance.’

  Garden stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Why haven’t you announced his death?’

  ‘We waited until we had caught you. That, now, was a matter of some importance.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you will be able to confirm the confession made by Arbitzer in the few minutes before he died, that he had been induced to come here by the Anglo-American Imperialists, who wished to replace a people’s government by one that would serve their own ends. For this purpose you, as a notorious spy and agent-provocateur, were an ideal instrument. That is what you will say at your trial, Garden. You, Miss Arbitzer, will give general confirmation of the plot. It is a pity that Arbitzer himself cannot testify, but fortunately you will give ample confirmation of his verbal confession. And there will be plenty of support in the testimony of the member of the committee arrested in Lodno.’ The merry eyes twinkled. ‘You have caused me a great deal of trouble, the pair of you. Had everything gone as we intended I should have been arrested and put on trial with the others, and any remnants of your organisation that still existed would have found it difficult to trace their failure to its source. As it is you have changed my sphere of usefulness. But I forgive you. After all, I have you, in the end.’

  ‘And if you hadn’t got us?’ But Garden knew the answer.

  ‘Then no trial – what is the use of a trial with the principal defendants all dead or missing? Perhaps rapped knuckles for Peplov, perhaps worse.’ Outside Garden heard a car stop. ‘Time is up.’

  Garden leaned forward. There was a question to which the answer seemed desperately important. ‘Peplov, you worked with the people you call conspirators for months, perhaps for years. You know that their motives were not as you describe them. You know that Arbitzer’s motives and mine were not as you describe them.’

  ‘Time is up,’ Peplov repeated. His smile had gone. His look was cold and withdrawn.

  ‘You know that if there is hope for this country and for the world it lies in us,’ Garden cried. He waved an arm wildly. ‘Admit it, Peplov, admit it once and save yourself. These men won’t hear you, or if they hear they won’t understand.’

  The door opened and two men came past the guards. Both were very tall and woodenly handsome. One of them carried a machine-gun. ‘It is useless for you to talk to these men,’ Peplov said. ‘They are deaf and dumb.’ He wrote on a sheet of paper and held it up so that they could read: ‘Handcuffs. Deliver them unharmed.’ One of the men nodded. Garden felt the cold steel on his wrists.

  ‘Peplov,’ he shouted. ‘You have not answered my question. You said you would answer all my questions.’

  ‘There is only one answer for you,’ Peplov said. He came close to Garden and spat in his face. ‘Spy! Saboteur!’

  They began to hustle Garden out. He backed against the wall so that they had to drag him. While they dragged he shouted: ‘Listen, Peplov, you are infected, do you understand, you spent t
oo long with those conspirators, their ideas have eaten into your beliefs. You will be in the dock soon after us.’

  ‘Stop him,’ Peplov screamed, his face a mask of rage. Garden had a glimpse of Poltzer’s hand raised in a kind of feeble protest. Then they had dragged him outside and pushed him into the car.

  Chapter Nine

  He moved uneasily on the seat of a car that was sliding over a wet ribbon of road. His head ached violently. ‘Did they hit me?’

  ‘A little tap.’ Ilona’s voice sounded almost cheerful. ‘You made Peplov angry.’

  Garden opened his eyes and saw that one of the men was driving. The other had turned round in the front seat to look at them, revolver in hand. ‘My word, they take good care of us, don’t they? What a tribute to our escaping powers.’

  ‘It’s no good,’ she said. ‘No fear they’ll give anything away when they’re dumb.’

  ‘They may be dumb, but I’m not so sure they’re deaf. They can probably lip-read.’ Experimentally he said, ‘Why not take us back to Dravina? We have friends there who will pay you well or get you out of the country if that’s what you want.’ The man beside the driver leaned over and cracked Garden playfully on the knee with his revolver. The blow was painful. ‘Hold on, now. I’m a valuable property. You know you were warned to deliver me in perfect condition.’

  The mute grunted, waved the gun warningly at Garden. Ilona repeated, ‘It’s no good.’

  ‘Stop saying that. There are advantages in being handcuffed and in being a kind of sacred cow who mustn’t be damaged. Garden jumped forward suddenly with the cuffs raised ready to bring down on the driver’s head. The other man gave him a push in the chest which sent him sprawling back on top of Ilona. Before he could get up again the car had stopped and the two mutes were communicating with each other in grunts. They got out and took lengths of rope from the luggage boot. While they were doing this Garden scrambled over into the front seat and tried to turn the engine key with his handcuffed hands. The mutes grunted with alarm. They pulled him out of the front seat, tied the rope round and round him so that his arms were tight at his sides and thrust him into the back again. Then they did the same to Ilona. The man beside the driver continued to give them his exclusive attention.