Читать книгу The Elephant Never Forgets - Ethel Lina White - Страница 6

Table of Contents

AT first, Anna could only stare at Ivan in stunned silence. It was contrary to her nature, however, to accept defeat. As her brain grew accustomed to the news, she began to think of the possibility of salvage. Her philosophic reflection, "The money's gone, forget it," was altered to "The money's gone so I must go after it."

"Do you know the name of this dealer?" she asked.

"Nicolas Granovsky," replied Ivan.

"What's his address?"

Ivan supplied it, and added in the same breath, "Why do you ask?"

Unable to fabricate a plausible excuse, Anna snapped back at him:

"That is my business."

Leaving him with his curiosity unappeased, she hurried out of the office. Once again, the time complex had her in its grip—raising her temperature and distorting the issue at stake to disproportionate value. At that moment it seemed a matter of desperate urgency that she should recover her money.

She galloped downstairs in dangerous haste, but when she reached the Square she had to stop a man and appeal to him for further directions. Although the dealer's store was not far from the office, it was difficult to locate, since it was situated somewhere amid a tangled district beyond the "backs."

As she half ran down a twisting street, she began to speculate on her chances of success. She had a vague notion that the dealer was legally entitled by purchase to the contents of the desk, in which case he would naturally oppose her claim.

On the other hand, if he had no idea of the value of the envelope, he might be willing to part with it for a tip. It seemed a matter for quick action, allied to bold policy—while much depended on the character of the dealer.

Presently she reached the end of the street which was guarded by wooden posts. She squeezed through them into an alley, running between the backs of old wooden houses. It wound and twisted like the bed of a dried torrent, but led finally into a small court.

There was a bare tree in the middle and its cobbles were choked with fallen leaves. She looked around her, but could see no sign of life. As she paused she imagined she heard a rustling sound somewhere in the distance.

"I believe some one's trailing me," she thought uneasily.

She listened again, but the silence was only broken by the crawl of rusty leaves in the wind. Reassured, she crossed the court and entered a dark passage. It was so narrow that it was almost roofed by the overhanging eaves. Feeling slightly uneasy, she followed its crooked course around a corner and through a low archway.

On the other side was a small yard. It was almost filled by a ruined leaden cistern, broken barrels, and other rubbish. She gazed around her in bewilderment.

"Where's the way out?" she wondered.

Presently she discovered a gap in the wall which was partially hidden behind a pile of butts. It led to another alley—about the width of a narrow pavement.

As she hurried on, she fancied that she heard again the sound of following footsteps.

"I don't like this," she thought distrustfully. "I'm getting farther in, all the time, and it keeps on growing more constricted. Perhaps I was wrongly directed."

She paused, undecided whether to turn back or to press on in search of some outlet. As she did so, she was struck by the absence of life and the frozen silence. There was no drip of water—no distant cry of child. The gloom was so eerie that she was tempted to give up the hunt.

Even as she hesitated, however, the thought of her money which might be waiting for her, round the next corner, inspired her with fresh resolution.

"In an hour's time, perhaps, I'll have my ticket," she thought.

But instead of finding the dealer's store, she seemed to come to a dead end. She rounded the next bend and then stopped with the feeling that some one had opened a gigantic carriage-umbrella right in her face.

A decrepit timbered house barred her way completely, penning her inside a kind of bottle-neck, and inducing a sense of claustrophobia.

"I'm in a trap," she thought foolishly. "I must get out before the other end is closed too."

To her joy, at that moment, a boy came out of the house whistling.

"Granovsky?" she appealed breathlessly.

"Through there," he replied, nodding towards the half-opened door, to indicate that there was a right-of-way through the house.

The inside passage was dark as a cellar, but—ashamed of her recent nerves—she plunged through it boldly, and came out into a little grey square. At its end she recognised Granovsky's store by the office furniture which was dumped outside. It was well stocked with various commodities—tubs of pickled apples, chunks of frozen meat, blocks of solidified tar, glass jars of petroleum, cranberries, chess-sets, and clumsy toys.

As she stopped beside the bureau, which looked incredibly battered in the open, the dealer came out of his store. In his dirty quilted coat and sheepskin cap, he had a moist and mildewed appearance; but like filberts which have been buried in earth, there was sound goodness under the rotting husks. His small black eyes were kind as he listened to Anna's request.

"You have concealed a letter inside the desk?" he remarked. "Search for it, by all means, little one."

He encouraged her with his smile as she inserted her manicure file into the crack of the pigeon-hole. It made contact at once with the envelope and she began to push it gently upwards.

"He's a darling," she thought, smiling up at the dealer.

At that moment, she felt a throb of triumph. With the money at her finger-tips, her ticket was practically bought. The next prod would bring the envelope within her reach.

Even as she exulted, she started at the sound of a familiar voice.

"What are you searching for, Comrade?" asked Ivan. "Is it something that you know to be hidden in the desk?"

"It is a letter," explained the dealer indulgently, as Anna did not speak. "A love-letter, I think."

"If that is all, it is well," remarked Ivan. "But if it should be money—" his eyes glittered, "—it would be wiser to forget it."

"Why?" demanded Anna.

"Because all the office money that was confiscated was proved to be of Fascist origin. Naturally, the police will conclude that the claimant of this hoard is in Fascist pay."

"But I've never discussed politics with any one. I used to listen. That was all," protested Anna.

"Then perhaps you were in Otto's confidence and you lent him money for his own purposes? If that is so, it is yours."

Warned by the crafty gleam in his eye, Anna saw the trap in time to avoid it.

"I was completely in the dark about his wretched propaganda work," she said. "My attitude has always been pro-Soviet. Every one knows my enthusiasm for what has been achieved—and when I've not understood, I've said nothing."

"In that case, any hidden money could not belong to you?" asked Ivan.

Anna had to make a swift decision. The last thing she wanted was to be connected with the office. Since ownership of the money might constitute a link, she decided to renounce it.

"If there is money in this envelope," she said, "it is no concern of mine. Any one can have it who wants it."

"Then stand aside, Comrade, and let me see what is hidden here."

In his eagerness, Ivan tried to pull Anna away from the desk, but she was too quick for him. Before he could reach it, she deliberately pushed the envelope back behind the board. Although this snooping student had forced her to stand and deliver, she was determined that he should share his loot.

"Grand-dad," she said, smiling into the puzzled face of the dealer, "have you a strong young assistant?"

"I have my son," he replied.

"Then call him here. There may be money hidden in the desk you have bought. If so, of course it is a duty to notify the police. But I shall remember nothing." She turned to Ivan and added, "Perhaps your lips could be sealed too, Comrade?"

His face was livid with temper as he realised that he had been tricked into a division of plunder. When a muscular young man came out of the store, Anna spoke to Ivan.

"There is a proverb that tells us not to grasp at the shadow and lose the substance. I have always felt it should be altered to, 'Do not grasp at the substance, lest you lose the shadow.'"

"What do you mean?" he asked sullenly.

"I mean that material things—which can be handled—are not to be compared with spiritual gains, or intangible treasures...Good-bye to you both—and 'Good Hunting.'"

As she walked back through the right-of-way passage, she had to console herself with her own philosophy. Even though her ticket were gone, liberty was better than roubles.

The return journey through the alleys and courts seemed shorter and less complicated than her first venture. There were no footsteps which followed her and halted when she did—keeping always behind the last corner. But as she ploughed through the accumulated leaves, she was vaguely worried by the episode.

It was her first glimpse of the stranglehold of conspiracy and it made her realise that it was possible for an innocent person to be implicated. Fortunately she had escaped the peril, at the cost of her ticket-money and a fright. Yet her mind felt pleated as a pie-frill when she turned into the café and reviewed the situation over tea and cigarettes.

It was not long before she succeeded in smoothing out some of the creases.

"There's nothing to connect me with Fascist funds," she assured herself. "If Ivan or Granovsky wanted to inform the police, they would have to produce the money as evidence. And that is the very last thing they wish to do. It's not mine any longer, it's theirs."