Dennis Wheatley - The Forbidden Territory

“What became of your cousin — the Princess Sophie?”

“Ah, that was terrible — “ she broke off suddenly as three loud raps sounded on the cottage door.

Marie Lou unbarred it at once, and Rex staggered in, bearing Simon slung like a sheep across his broad shoulders.

The Duke gave a cry of delight, then asked anxiously in the next breath: “Is he badly wounded?”

“Don’t know — pretty bad, I guess.” Rex gently lowered his burden to the floor. He waved back the girl. “Have a care, he’s bleeding as if he’d been hit in twenty places.”

The Duke was already kneeling at Simon’s side. “Where did you find him?” he murmured, as he helped Rex to pull off Simon’s blood-soaked clothes.

“Way outside the garden gate. I allow he crawled that far after he’d been shot.”

“He fainted, I expect, from loss of blood,” De Richleau replied, as with his long, slender fingers he carefully drew the shirt away from the wound. “It is this one place only, I think,” he added.

“Well, that doesn’t look any too good.” Rex bent over, and examined the ugly hole in Simon’s thigh, from which blood was welling.

Marie Lou joined them with a bowl of water. “Poor boy,” she sighed. “He is so white and still — almost one would think him dead.”

“I fear he will be very much alive in a moment,” said the Duke, taking out his penknife, and holding it in the flame of the lamp.

“What are you about to do?” asked Marie Lou, who had started to bathe the wound gently.

“Probe for the bullet — remove it if I can. The pain will bring him round, I’m afraid, but it must be done. He will thank me for it if we ever get out of this country alive. Rex, take this cloth — hold it over his mouth to stifle his cries. Mademoiselle, perhaps you would prefer to turn your back on this rough surgery?”

She shrugged. “It is not pleasant, but it is necessary. What can I do to help?”

“My rucksack is in the loft — in it there is a little bottle of iodine — if you could fetch me that.” The Duke knelt down again as he spoke.

Rex leant on Simon’s chest, and pressed the cloth over his mouth. “You fit?” he asked.

“Yes.” De Richleau straddled Simon’s legs. “Now,” he said. “Hold him tight”

For a moment nothing happened, then Simon gave a sudden squeal — his eyes opened, and he wiggled his head wildly as he glared at Rex.

“Take a pull, Simon — all over in a minute,” Rex tried to soothe him.

“I’ve got it,” gasped the Duke, in triumph. “You can let him go.” Rex released his grasp on the unfortunate Simon.

“There,” said De Richleau, holding out the round lead bullet, much as a dentist might a first tooth that he had removed from a frightened child. “Look, you would have had all sorts of trouble from that later!”

Simon looked — and then looked away, groaning, the wound had begun to well blood rapidly again.

Marie Lou began to try and staunch it. “What have you done?” she cried, angrily. “The poor little one — see how you have made him bleed!”

“No matter, it will heal all the better now we have the bullet,” smiled the Duke, taking the iodine from her.

“Now, Simon, my son, this is going to hurt.”

“Like hell it is,” agreed Rex, feelingly.

“Listen,” the Duke went on. “The soldiers are perhaps searching for us in the woods at this very moment If you cry out you may bring them upon us. Can you bear it, do you think, or shall Rex gag you again?”

Simon groaned, and looked from side to side. “Give me the cloth,” he said, in a faint whisper.

They passed it to him, and he took it between his teeth, then nodded feebly. Marie Lou held one of his hands tightly in hers.

De Richleau applied the antiseptic — Simon gave a shudder and lay still.

“He’s done another faint,” said Rex.

“All the better,” murmured the Duke. “I can make a more thorough job of it.”

When Simon came to again his thigh was nearly bandaged.

“You’ll feel fine now.” Rex patted him on the shoulder. “We are going to pop you right between the blankets.”

Simon nodded, feebly.

“I killed him,” he said. “That’s two I killed, isn’t it?”

“Sure,” Rex laughed. “Al Capone won’t have anything on you when you come to see me in the States next fall!”

“We must get him up to the loft — can you manage, Rex?” De Richleau asked. “I’m almost useless with this shoulder of mine. It has begun to bleed again already.”

“I’ll make it — don’t worry,” Rex assured him. “I’ll go up backwards. You steady his game leg.” Very gently he took Simon under the armpits, and lifted him off the ground. He held him dangling in front of him as though he were a little child.

To negotiate the ladder of shelves was no easy task, but it was accomplished, and above Marie Lou had prepared a bed of rugs and skins. De Richleau delved into his knapsack again and produced a bottle of morphine tablets.

“It is fortunate,” he said, “that this is not my first campaign — I never travel without iodine and morphia.”

Simon was made as comfortable as possible, and given a couple of the tablets. The others went below to clear up the mess.

“How long do you figure it’ll be before he can be moved?” Rex asked.

“If he were in London I should say a fortnight at least,” the Duke replied. “Although it is only a flesh wound; here we must move when and how we can. After tonight’s affair the chances are, I suppose, about a thousand to one against our getting away from here alive.”

“I wish to God I’d never met old Shulimoff,” sighed Rex.

De Richleau smiled. “I fear we shall never see those famous jewels.”

“No, we’ll never sit round fingering those pretties now!”

Marie Lou had just finished ramming the last of the bloodstained cloths into the stove. “Did you say, Monsieur, that you had met Prince Shulimoff?” she asked.

At that moment there came a heavy knocking on the door.

De Richleau signalled Rex towards the cupboard with a wave of his hand. The American, with a lightness surprising in so large a man, tiptoed across the room.

The knocking came again, more persistently this time.

“What is it?” called Marie Lou, in an angry voice.

“Open!” cried a voice, in Russian. “Open in the name of the Soviets!”

De Richleau saw the iodine bottle, with its London label. He snatched it up quickly, and thrust it in his pocket.

“I am coming,” cried Marie Lou. “One moment, I must get some clothes. She began to undo the scarf at her neck, and at the same time held out her booted foot to the Duke. He understood, and quickly pulled off first one boot then the other.

“Open!” cried the voice again. “Do not delay.”

The Duke smiled at Marie Lou reassuringly, and held up his big automatic for her to see, then, like a shadow, he disappeared into the cupboard.

She arranged the curtain carefully, took a last look round, and ran to the door.

Two police officers, a civilian, and the kulak , Rakov, stood on the threshold. “What do you want?” she asked, angrily.

The civilian pushed her aside and walked into the cottage. One of the policemen answered her.

“We search, Comrade, for three politicals — foreigners. It is believed that you gave them shelter here, in your cottage.”

“Here?” she exclaimed, her blue eyes wide with astonishment. “I have seen no one.”

The civilian had been examining the inner room, which was her bedroom. He turned to her. “I am of the Ogpu, Comrade, what is your work?”

“She is a teacher in the school,” the policeman answered for her — he was a local man and knew her well.