The Forbidden Territory by Dennis Wheatley Read Free Book Online Page A

the
habitués
have counter-revolutionary sympathies.
    “My friend was told that Rex was seen there one night during his stay; I thought that we also might pay a visit to this place. It is called the Tavern of the Howling Wolf. He may have gone there only out of curiosity, but, on the other hand, it is just possible that we might learn something.”
    “Going to be a bit difficult, isn’t it?” Simon laughed. “I mean with these wretched guides about.”
    The Duke smiled. “If it is agreeable to you, I thought that, for once, we might play truant this evening.”
    “What—cut the theatre?”
    “Yes, it is possible that they may not even know that we absented ourselves; but even if they do find out, I do not think that anything very serious can happen to us. We shall be duly apologetic, and say that, at the last moment, we decided on a change of plan for our evening’s entertainment.”
    “Splendid!” said Simon. “Let’s. I tell you one curious thing that happened to me before I left London.”
    “What was that?”
    Simon told De Richleau of his meeting with Valeria Petrovna Karkoff, and her appointment to lunch with him the following day.
    The Duke was pleased and interested. “That friendship can most certainly do us no harm,” he said; “the famous artistes are as powerful here now as they ever were—more so, perhaps. It is always so after a revolution; the one thing which the people will not allow the dictators to interfere with is their amusements. The most powerful Kommissar would hesitate before offending a prima donna or a ballerina.”
    The early twilight was already falling, and in the clear air a myriad lights began to twinkle from the houses and factories across the river. They made their way back across the crisp snow of the Park, and through the slush of the streets, to the hotel.
    Dinner was a long, uninteresting meal, with many tiresome delays in service, and, since they could not talk freely together, they were glad when it was over.
    After, they sat for a little time in the lounge, where dancing was in progress; it was a strange assembly. Most of the men wore the Tolstoyian blouse of the proletariat, or some kind of threadbare uniform; one or two were in evening dress; most of the better clad were Germans or Jewish. The women, for the most part, seemed blowzy and ill-cared for, only a few were dressed in the special costume created by the revolution, mostof them had shoddy copies of the fashions prevailing in London and Paris a year before. Here and there, and not necessarily with the best-dressed men, were women with expensive clothes, who would have passed muster in the smartest restaurants of the European capitals. Everybody seemed to be drinking freely, although the prices were prohibitive; the band was shocking, and the waiters surly. Simon and the Duke did not stay long, and were relieved when the time came at which they should have gone to the theatre. One of the limited number of hired cars that are to be had in Moscow had been ordered by the Duke; they climbed in and settled themselves upon its hard seats. De Richleau gave the address in a low voice to the driver, and the car started off, nosing its way through the crowded streets.
    On each street corner, attached to the electric light standards, were affixed a cluster of loud-speaker megaphones—they blared continuously, not music, but a harsh voice, dinning short sentences into the ears of the moving multitude.
    “What’s it all about?” asked Simon. “Loud speakers never seem to stop here! I noticed them this morning, and again this afternoon—can’t be news all the time, can it?”
    “It is the Five Year Plan, my friend,” the Duke shrugged. “Never for one second are the masses allowed to forget it. Those megaphones relate what is being done all the time—how many tractors have been turned out at Stalingrad today—how many new teachers graduated with honours from the University of Karkov last week—how many tons of