Dennis Wheatley - Traitors' Gate

Now and again thoughts of Erika drifted into Gregory's mind, but he came to dismiss them with angry resentment. He had been faithful to her for over two and a half years, and he had never remained faithful to any other woman for more than six months. Her life before he had met her had been as hectic as his own and neither of them had ever subscribed to the 'one man for one woman' Christian ethic. He was still at the height of his manly vigour and for him to have suppressed it would have been, he decided, entirely against both the laws of nature and common sense.

During those days they emerged only to use the bathroom each morning, while Huldah sent her cleaning woman off on some errand, and in the evenings for a hot meal with the family; except for once after dinner on the second night, and then they ventured down into the street. Their reason was Sabine's anxiety about her jewels and her wish to get hold of them to take with her if she could.

The risk of telephoning from the Levianskis' fiat was small, but there was just a chance that police had been installed in the Tuzolto palace and the call might be traced back; so Gregory accompanied her to a telephone kiosk some two hundred yards away. Her call was answered by Magda, who was able to assure her that the jewels were safe. But there was no possibility of getting them to her as, on the Monday morning, Pipi had lodged them at her bank, and it was certain that the bank would not let them be withdrawn again without her own signature. For her to call there herself would have been much too dangerous, and to have sent an order for their collection by anyone else might easily have led to their being traced; so she had to resign herself to leaving them behind.

However, with the large sum she had drawn in cash from her bank on the Saturday, and the considerable amount Gregory carried on him, even after paying for their transport down the Danube and their new clothes they still had over three hundred pounds between them; so they had no immediate anxieties about money.

It was on Thursday, after lunch, that Leon came to their ' room to say that he had unexpected good news for them. His friend had just let him know that the man of a Jewish couple who had planned to leave had been stricken with appendicitis; so the couple had had to cancel, leaving two places free on a barge that was sailing that night.

As they had few things to pack and there was ample room in their suitcase, it suddenly occurred to Gregory that he could, after all, take some foie gras back to England; so he asked Leon to buy for him three of the biggest tins he could find.

That evening, after dinner, they sat about rather anxiously until eleven o'clock. When at last the time came to say goodbye Sabine handed a plain envelope to Huldah and said, 'In this is a message that I am particularly anxious should reach a friend of mine tomorrow evening, when we are safely on our way. Will you please keep it and telephone it to her; but not till then.'

Actually in the envelope there was a slip of paper on which was written:

Etienne and I will never be able to repay you and Leon for your courage and kindness, but will you please buy something for your little boys with these, and 'these' were two five hundred pengo notes.

Leon took them as far as the Customs House and on a corner nearby handed them over to a small hook-nosed Jew, whom he recognized from a description that had been given him. The little man said quickly:

'It is unnecessary that we know one another's names. Just call me Ike. Please show me your money.'

Gregory produced his wallet; they exchanged a final hearty handclasp with Leon and then set off with Ike. For over half a mile they walked in silence, mostly in the shadow of tall dark warehouses and across seemingly endless railway sidings, until they came to a gate in a tall corrugated iron fence. There was a watchman on duty there, but at a word from Ike he let them through and they found themselves on the riverside near a row of towering grain elevators. Alongside the wharf lay a string of immensely long barges, at least three times the size of those in use on the Thames. A dim light was showing from the stern hatch of one of them. Following Ike, they scrambled aboard her and he called down the hatch, 'Szabo!'

A huge, untidy, hairy man lumbered up the ladder and greeted them in Hungarian. The Jew told Gregory to produce the passage money and he paid it over into the leg-of-mutton hand of the barge master. Szabo thumbed it through then peeled off notes to the value of a thousand pengoes and thrust them at Ike. With a quick grin the Jew pocketed them. Next moment, without a word, he had slipped back on to the wharf and was disappearing in the darkness.

Szabo spat and muttered in Hungarian. Sabine translated for Gregory. 'He says that little runt takes no risk and does nothing except guide passengers to the barge, yet he insists on a twenty per cent commission; and that all Jews are scum.'

'The Levianskis prove how wrong he is about that,' Gregory replied. 'But there are plenty of them like Ike, and it's his kind that gets the whole race into its troubles.'

Meanwhile Szabo had beckoned them to follow him, and led the way below to quite a big cabin. It was clean with bright chintzes as curtains and covers and a row of brilliantly polished kitchen utensils hanging in one corner over a cooking stove. In a rocking chair a fat, jolly faced woman of about forty was sitting knitting. She struggled to her feet and gave them a smile of welcome.

'This is my wife Yolande,' said Szabo, with a happy grin. 'She is the best cook on the whole Danube; so you are lucky to be travelling with us. My two hands, Dem and Zoltan, have cabins forward. They get a cut so you need not be afraid that they will split on you. Now, it is understood that we ask you no questions, but we must call you something. What shall it be?'

Again Sabine translated, and Gregory suggested, 'Joseph and Josephine.'

'So be it!' the big man nodded. 'And now a drink to a lucky voyage.'

Turning, he took a bottle of Baratsch and four glasses from a cupboard, then poured four generous rations. It was immature fiery stuff, but they drank the toast no less enthusiastically.

Their cabin was down a short passage. That too was clean, and more comfortable than they had expected. The bunks were one above the other and the springless mattresses in them much harder than the beds to which they had been accustomed; but each was quite wide enough to hold two people cuddled together, so they put the two mattresses one on top of the other in the lower bunk. As they undressed, although they had not yet sampled Yolande's cooking, they were already prepared to endorse Szabo's opinion that they were lucky to be travelling in his barge.

When they woke next morning the barge was in motion, although they would hardly have known it had it not been for the fast rippling of water against her sides. Having washed and dressed they went through to the big cabin. Yolande was there and cooked them a good breakfast of eggs and ham, but there was no tea or coffee, so they had to wash it down with light beer. She told them that there was nothing against their sitting on deck all day, except when the string of barges lay moored in a riverside town for the tug to refuel and the women of the crews to buy fresh provisions; and then they must remain under cover in case someone asked awkward questions.

When they had fed they went on deck and found big Szabo at the tiller. They had passed the large factory covered island of Cespel in the early hours of the morning, and the flattish green plain now stretched away into the distance from both banks of the wide river. Their barge was the last of three being towed by a powerful tug, and Gregory estimated that she must be doing a good six knots.