Deception Read online

  At two in the morning we drove slowly past the entrance to the Penguin Club in order to survey the situation. ‘I will park there,’ I said, ‘just past the entrance in that patch of dark. But I will leave the door open for you.’

  We drove on. Then George said, ‘What does he look like? How do I know it’s him?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I answered. ‘I’ve thought of that,’ and I took from my pocket a piece of paper and handed it to him. ‘You take this and fold it up small and give it to the doorman and tell him to see it gets to Pantaloon quickly. Act as though you are scared to death and in an awful hurry. It’s a hundred to one Pantaloon will come out. No columnist could resist that message.’

  On the paper I had written: ‘I am a worker in Soviet Consulate. Come to the door very quickly please I have something to tell but come quickly as I am in danger. I cannot come in to you.’

  ‘You see,’ I said, ‘your moustache will make you look like a Russian. All Russians have big moustaches.’

  George took the paper and folded it up very small and held it in his fingers. It was nearly half past two in the morning now and we began to drive towards the Penguin Club.

  ‘You all set?’ I said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We’re going in now. Here we come. I’ll park just past the entrance … here. Hit him hard,’ I said, and George opened the door and got out of the car. I closed the door behind him but I leaned over and kept my hand on the handle so I could open it again quick, and I let down the window so I could watch. I kept the engine ticking over.

  I saw George walk swiftly up to the doorman who stood under the red and white canopy which stretched out over the sidewalk. I saw the doorman turn and look down at George and I didn’t like the way he did it. He was a tall proud man dressed in a fine magenta-coloured uniform with gold buttons and gold shoulders and a broad white stripe down each magenta trouser-leg. Also he wore white gloves and he stood there looking proudly down at George, frowning, pressing his lips together hard. He was looking at George’s moustache and I thought, Oh my God, we have overdone it. We have overdisguised him. He’s going to know it’s false and he’s going to take one of the long pointed ends in his fingers and then he’ll give it a tweak and it’ll come off. But he didn’t. He was distracted by George’s acting, for George was acting well. I could see him hopping about, clasping and unclasping his hands, swaying his body and shaking his head, and I could hear him saying, ‘Plees plees plees you must hurry. It is life and teth. Plees plees take it kvick to Mr Pantaloon.’ His Russian accent was not like any accent I had heard before, but all the same there was a quality of real despair in his voice.

  Finally, gravely, proudly, the doorman said, ‘Give me the note.’ George gave it to him and said, ‘Tank you, tank you, but say it is urgent,’ and the doorman disappeared inside. In a few moments he returned and said, ‘It’s being delivered now.’ George paced nervously up and down. I waited, watching the door. Three or four minutes elapsed. George wrung his hands and said, ‘Vere is he? Vere is he? Plees to go see if he is not coming!’

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ the doorman said. Now he was looking at George’s moustache again.

  ‘It is life and teth! Mr Pantaloon can help! He must come!’

  ‘Why don’t you shut up?’ the doorman said, but he opened the door again and he poked his head inside and I heard him saying something to someone.

  To George he said, ‘They say he’s coming now.’

  A moment later the door opened and Pantaloon himself, small and dapper, stepped out. He paused by the door, looking quickly from side to side like a nervous inquisitive ferret. The doorman touched his cap and pointed at George. I heard Pantaloon say, ‘Yes, what did you want?’

  George said, ‘Plees, dis vay a leetle so as novone can hear,’ and he led Pantaloon along the pavement, away from the doorman and towards the car.

  ‘Come on, now,’ Pantaloon said. ‘What is it you want?’

  Suddenly George shouted ‘Look!’ and he pointed up the street. Pantaloon turned his head and as he did so George swung his right arm and he hit Pantaloon plumb on the point of the nose. I saw George leaning forward on the punch, all his weight behind it, and the whole of Pantaloon appeared somehow to lift slightly off the ground and to float backwards for two or three feet until the façade of the Penguin Club stopped him. All this happened very quickly, and then George was in the car beside me and we were off and I could hear the doorman blowing a whistle behind us.

  ‘We’ve done it!’ George gasped. He was excited and out of breath. ‘I hit him good! Did you see how good I hit him!’

  It was snowing hard now and I drove fast and made many sudden turnings and I knew no one would catch us in this snowstorm.

  ‘Son of a bitch almost went through the wall I hit him so hard.’

  ‘Well done, George,’ I said. ‘Nice work, George.’

  ‘And did you see him lift? Did you see him lift right up off the ground?’

  ‘Womberg will be pleased,’ I said.

  ‘And Gollogly, and the Hines woman.’

  ‘They’ll all be pleased,’ I said. ‘Watch the money coming in.’

  ‘There’s a car behind us!’ George shouted. ‘It’s following us! It’s right on our tail! Drive like mad!’

  ‘Impossible!’ I said. ‘They couldn’t have picked us up already. It’s just another car going somewhere.’ I turned sharply to the right.

  ‘He’s still with us,’ George said. ‘Keep turning. We’ll lose him soon.’

  ‘How the hell can we lose a police-car in a 1934 Chev,’ I said. ‘I’m going to stop.’

  ‘Keep going!’ George shouted. ‘You’re doing fine.’

  ‘I’m going to stop,’ I said. ‘It’ll only make them mad if we go on.’

  George protested fiercely but I knew it was no good and I pulled in to the side of the road. The other car swerved out and went past us and skidded to a standstill in front of us.

  ‘Quick,’ George said. ‘Let’s beat it.’ He had the door open and he was ready to run.

  ‘Don’t be a fool,’ I said. ‘Stay where you are. You can’t get away now.’

  A voice from outside said, ‘All right, boys, what’s the hurry?’

  ‘No hurry,’ I answered. ‘We’re just going home.’

  ‘Yea?’

  ‘Oh yes, we’re just on our way home now.’

  The man poked his head in through the window on my side, and he looked at me, then at George, then at me again.

  ‘It’s a nasty night,’ George said. ‘We’re just trying to reach home before the streets get all snowed up.’

  ‘Well,’ the man said, ‘you can take it easy. I just thought I’d like to give you this right away.’ He dropped a wad of banknotes on to my lap. ‘I’m Gollogly,’ he added, ‘Wilbur H. Gollogly,’ and he stood out there in the snow grinning at us, stamping his feet and rubbing his hands to keep them warm. ‘I got your wire and I watched the whole thing from across the street. You did a fine job. I’m paying you double. It was worth it. Funniest thing I ever seen. Goodbye, boys. Watch your steps. They’ll be after you now. Get out of town if I were you. Goodbye.’ And before we could say anything, he was gone.

  When finally we got back to our room I started packing at once.

  ‘You crazy?’ George said. ‘We’ve only got to wait a few hours and we receive five hundred dollars each from Womberg and the Hines woman. Then we’ll have two thousand altogether and we can go anywhere we want.’

  So we spent the next day waiting in our room and reading the papers, one of which had a whole column on the front page headed, ‘Brutal assault on famous columnist’. But sure enough the late afternoon post brought us two letters and there was five hundred dollars in each.

  And right now, at this moment, we are sitting in a Pullman car, drinking Scotch whisky and heading south for a place where there is always sunshine and where the horses are running every day. We are immensely wealthy and George keeps saying that