THE END OF BOOLBA
Cherry Bim, the last of the party to enter the room, made a dash for the
door, and came face to face with the levelled rifle held in the hands of
a soldier who had evidently been waiting the summons of Boolba's shout.
Behind him were three other men. Cherry dropped to the ground as the
man's rifle went off, shooting as he fell, and the man tumbled down.
Scrambling to his feet, he burst through the doorway like a human cannon
ball, but not even his nimble guns could save him this time. The hall
was full of soldiers, and they bore him down by sheer weight.
They dragged him into the refectory, bleeding, and the diversion at any
rate had had one good effect. Only Boolba was there, roaring and raging,
groping a swift way round the walls, one hand searching, the other
guiding.
"Where are they?" he bellowed. "Come to me, my little beauty. Hay! I
will burn alive. Where are they?"
"Little Commissary," said the leader of the soldiers, "she is not here.
They did not pass out."
"Search, search!" shouted Boolba, striking at the man. "Search, you
pig!"
"We have the other boorjoo," stammered the man.
"Search!" yelled Boolba. "There is a door near the fire--is it open?"
The door lay in the shadow, and the man ran to look.
"It is open, comrade," he said.
"After them, after them!"
Boolba howled the words, and in terror they left their prisoner and
flocked out of the door. Cherry stood in the centre of the room, his
hands strapped behind his back, his shirt half ripped from his body, and
looked up into the big blinded face which came peering towards him as
though, by an effort of will, it could glimpse his enemy.
"You are there?"
Boolba's hands passed lightly over the gun-man's face, fell upon his
shoulders, slipped down the arm.
"Is this the thief? Yes, yes; this is the thief. What is he doing?"
He turned, not knowing that the soldiers had left him alone, and again
his hands passed lightly over Cherry's face.
"This is good," he said, as he felt the bands on the wrists.
"To-morrow, little brother, you will be dead."
He might have spared himself his exercise and his reproaches, because to
Cherry Bim's untutored ear his reviling was a mere jabber of meaningless
words. Cherry was looking round to find something sharp enough on which
to cut the strap which bound him, but there was nothing that looked like
a knife in the room. He knew he had a minute, and probably less, to make
his escape. His eyes rested for a moment on the holster at Boolba's
belt, and he side-stepped.
"Where are you going?"
Boolba's heavy hand rested on his shoulder.
"Not out of the doorway, my little pigeon. I am blind, but----"
So far he had got when Cherry turned in a flash, so that his back was
toward Boolba. He stooped, and made a sudden dash backward, colliding
with the Commissary, and in that second his hand had gripped the gun at
Boolba's waist. There was a strap across the butt, but it broke with a
jerk.
Then followed a duel without parallel. Boolba pulled his second gun and
fired, and, shooting as blindly, Cherry fired backward. He heard a groan
over his shoulder and saw Boolba fall to his knees. Then he ran for the
main door, stumbled past the state-bedroom of the monks, and into the
chapel. It was his one chance that the priest had returned to his
devotions, and he found the man on his knees.
"Percy," said Cherry, "unfasten that strap."
The priest understood no language but his own. But a gesture, the strap
about the wrists, blue and swollen, and the long revolver, needed no
explanation. The strap fell off and Cherry rubbed his wrists.
He opened the breech of his gun; he had four shells left, but he was
alone against at least twenty men. He guessed that Boolba had made the
monastery his advance headquarters whilst he was waiting for news of the
fugitives, and probably not twenty but two hundred were within call.
He reached the road and made for the place where the car had been left.
If the others had escaped they also would go in that direction. He saw
no guard or sentry, and heard no sound from the walled enclosure of the
monastery. He struck against something in the roadway and stooped and
picked it up. It was stitched in a canvas cover and it felt like a book.
He suddenly remembered the scraps of conversation he had overheard
between the girl and Malcolm.
This, then, was the "Book of All-Power."
"Foolishness," said Cherry, and put it in his pocket. But the book
showed one thing clearly--the others had got away. He had marked the
place where they had stopped, but the car was gone!
It was too dark to see the tracks, but there was no question that it had
been here, for he found an empty petrol tin and the still air reeked of
rubber solution.
He had need of all his philosophy. He was in an unknown country, a
fugitive from justice, and that country was teeming with soldiers. Every
road was watched, and he had four cartridges between him and capture.
There was only one thing to do, and that was to go back the way the car
had come, and he stepped out undauntedly, halting now and again to stoop
and look along the railway line, for he was enough of an old campaigner
to know how to secure a skyline.
Then in the distance he saw a regular line of lights, and those lights
were moving. It was a railway train, and apparently it was turning a
curve, for one by one the lights disappeared and only one flicker, which
he judged was on the engine, was visible. He bent down again and saw the
level horizon of a railway embankment less than two hundred yards on his
left, and remembered that Malinkoff had spoken of the Warsaw line.
He ran at full speed, floundering into pools, breaking through bushes,
and finally scrambled up the steep embankment. How to board the train
seemed a problem which was insuperable, if the cars were moving at any
speed. There was little foothold by the side of the track, and
undoubtedly the train was moving quickly, for now the noise of it was a
dull roar, and he, who was not wholly unacquainted with certain
unauthorized forms of travel, could judge to within a mile an hour the
rate it was travelling.
He fumbled in his pocket and found a match. There was no means of making
a bonfire. The undergrowth was wet, and he had not so much as a piece of
paper in his pocket.
"The book!"
He pulled it out, ripped off the canvas cover with his knife, and tried
to open it. The book was locked, he discovered, but locks were to Cherry
like pie-crusts--made to be broken. A wrench and the covers fell apart.
He tore out the first three or four pages, struck the match, and the
flame was touching the corner of the paper when his eyes fell upon the
printed words. He stood open-mouthed, the flame still burning, gazing at
the torn leaf until the burning match touched his finger and he dropped
it.
Torn between doubts, and dazed as he was, the train might have passed
him, but the light of a match in the still, dark night could be seen for
miles, and he heard the jar of the brakes. He pushed the book and the
loose leaves into his pocket and ran along the embankment to meet the
slowing special--for special it was.
He managed to pass the engine unnoticed, then, crouching down until the
last carriage was abreast, he leapt up, caught the rail and swung
himself on to the rear footboard, up the steel plates which serve as
steps, to the roof of the carriage, just as the train stopped.
There were excited voices demanding explanations, there was a confusion
of orders, and presently the train moved on, gathering speed, and Cherry
had time to think. It was still dark when they ran into a little
junction, and, peeping over the side, he saw a group of officers descend
from a carriage to stretch their legs. To them came a voluble and
gesticulating railway official, and again there was a confusion of
voices. He was telling them something and his tone was apologetic,
almost fearful. Then, to Cherry's amazement, he heard somebody speak in
English. It was the voice of a stranger, a drawling English voice.
"Oh, I say! Let them come on, general! I wouldn't leave a dog in this
country--really I wouldn't."
"But it is against all the rules of diplomacy," said a gruffer voice in
the same language.
"Moses!" gasped Cherry.
The road led into the station-yard and he had seen the car. There was no
doubt of it. The lights from one of the train windows were sufficiently
strong to reveal it, and behind the stationmaster was another little
group in the shadow.
"It is a matter of life and death." It was Malcolm's voice. "I must get
this lady to the Polish frontier--it is an act of humanity I ask."
"English, eh?" said the man called the general. "Get on board."
Malcolm took the girl in his arms before them all.
"Go, darling," he said gently.
"I cannot go without you," she said, but he shook his head.
"Malinkoff and I must wait. We cannot leave Cherry. We are going back to
find him. I am certain he has escaped."
"I will not leave without you," she said firmly.
"You'll all have to come or all have to stay," said the Englishman
briskly. "We haven't any time to spare, and the train is now going on.
You see," he said apologetically, "it isn't our train at all, it belongs
to the Polish Commission, and we're only running the food end of the
negotiations. We have been fixing up terms between the Red Army and the
Poles, and it is very irregular that we should take refugees from the
country at all."
"_Go!_"
Malcolm heard the hoarse whisper, and it was as much as he could do to
stop himself looking up. He remembered the motor-car and Cherry's
mysterious and providential appearance from the roof, and he could guess
the rest.
"Very well, we will go. Come, Malinkoff, I will explain in the car,"
said Malcolm.
They lifted the girl into the carriage and the men followed. A shriek
from the engine, a jerk of the cars, and the train moved on. Before the
rear carriage had cleared the platform a car rocked into the
station-yard, dashing through the frail wooden fencing on to the
platform itself.
"_Stoi! Stoi!_"
Boolba stood up in the big touring car, his arms outstretched, the white
bandage about his neck showing clearly in the car lights. Cherry Bim
rose to his knees and steadied himself. Once, twice, three times he
fired, and Boolba pitched over the side of the car dead.
"I had a feeling that we should meet again," said Cherry. "That's not a
bad gun."
CHAPTER THE LAST
"All my life," said Cherry Bim, fondling his Derby hat affectionately,
"I have been what is called by night-court reporters a human parricide."
He occupied a corner seat in the first-class compartment which had been
placed at the disposal of the party. To the Peace Commissioners in their
saloon the fugitives had no existence. Officially they were not on the
train, and the hot meal which came back to them from the Commissioner's
own kitchenette was officially sent to "extra train-men," and was
entered as such on the books of the chef.
The girl smiled. There was cause for happiness, for these dreary flats
which were passing the window were the flats of Poland.
"I have often thought, Mr. Bim, that you were a human angel!"
Cherry beamed.
"Why, that's what I was named after," he said. "Ain't you heard of the
Cherry Bims? My sister Sarah was named the same way--you've heard of
Sarah Bims?"
"Seraphims," laughed Malcolm; "true, it's near enough. But why this
dissertation on your moral character, Cherry?"
"I'm only remarking," said Cherry, "I wouldn't like you gu--fellers to
go away thinkin' that high-class female society hadn't brought about a
change in what I would describe, for want of a better word, as my
outlook."
"All our outlooks have been shaken up," said the girl, laying her hand
on Cherry's arm.
"I am a Grand Duchess of Russia and you are--you are----"
"Yes, I'm that," said Cherry, helping her out. "I'm one of nature's
extractors. But I'm through. I hate the idea of workin' and maybe I
won't have to, because I've got enough of the--well, any way, I've got
enough."
Malcolm slapped him on the knee.
"You've brought more from Russia than we have, Cherry," he said.
"But not the greatest prize." It was the silent Malinkoff who spoke.
"Highness, is there no way of recovering your father's fortune?"
She shook her head.
"It is gone," she said quietly, "and if Russia were pacified to-morrow I
should be poor--you know that, Malcolm!"
He nodded.
"I have not even," she smiled, "poor Israel Kensky's wonderful book."
"I was a careless fool," growled Malcolm, "when we struck the road I was
so intent upon getting to the auto that I did not realize the book had
dropped out. We hadn't a second to lose," he explained for the third
time to Cherry. "The soldiers were searching in the yard when Malinkoff
found the breach in the wall. I hated leaving you----"
"Aw!" said the disgusted Cherry. "Ain't we settled that? Didn't I hear
you tellin' Percy--and say, is it true that the young lady is--is
broke?"
"'Broke' is exactly the word," she said cheerfully. "I am going to be a
nice Scottish wife and live within my husband's means--why, Cherry?"
He had a book in his hand--the "Book of All-Power."
"Where----?"
"Found it on the road," he said. "I broke the lock an' tore out a couple
of leaves to light a flare. I wanted to flag the train--but I've got
'em--the leaves, I mean."
"You found it?"
She reached out her hand for the volume, but he did not give it to her.
"I can't read Russian," he said. "What does this say?" and he pointed to
the inscription on the cover, and she read, translating as she went on:
"THE BOOK OF ALL-POWER
"Herein is the magic of power and the words and symbols which
unlock the sealed hearts of men and turn their proud wills to
water."
Cherry was silent.
"That's a lie," he said quietly, "for it didn't turn my will to
water--take it, miss!"
She took it from his hand, wondering, and turned the broken cover. She
could not believe her eyes ... and turned the leaves quickly. Every page
was a Bank of England note worth a thousand pounds.
* * * * *
"That was how Kensky kept his money evidently," said Malinkoff. "In such
troublesome times as the Jews passed through, he must have thought it
safest to convert his property into English money, and when he had
reached the limit of his hoard he bound the notes into a book."
The girl turned her bewildered face to Cherry.
"Did you know that this was money?" she asked.
"Sure," he said; "didn't I start in to burn it?"
THE END