British Agent (Warner Bros.) (1934)

BRITISH AGENT | The story of First National’s film hit fictionized by Arthur Zellner, inspired by R. H. Bruce Lockhart’s book. THE STORY THUS FAR In the midst of planning a counter revolution, to keep the Russian government from making a separate peace with Germany, Stephen Locke, discredited agent of the British government finds he has been betrayed by Elena, beautiful spy of the dreaded secret police. His associates have been captured one by one. Only he remains. Both he and Elena love each other beyond life itself, but each is loyal to the cause. CHAPTER IX ENIN’S condition was the most important of all considerations to the Soviet. New Russia’s strength was Lenin’s strength. He was the master mind—the tower of brains and. foresight that made him more than a mere leader. ~The suspicion that Locke had been connected in some way with the attempted assassination of their idol made it necessary for Locke to stick close to the little garret where he and his friends had their headquarters. Attempts to get into communieation with the Cadets by telegtdph“were futile, and LaFarge Slipped ‘away in the night to contaét them. roti ' The terror was on! The Cheka, believing that thé’’only way to Keep ‘Whitd' ‘Army sympathizers from taking advantage of Lenin’s absence was to arrest and” ‘execute every suspect. Pavlov’ sent word to his lietitenants “Remember we have no time for trials.” When LaFarge failed ‘to return, Del Val decided to ldok for him.’ He, likewise fdiled to report, within a reasonable’ time. Finally ' Medill’s impatience exploded. “lm going to ‘get through to “Pose “cadefs and I’m going to bring them back.” “Don’t be a fool” said Locke. Don’t you see what they’re doing? The Reds are starting a massacre to keep the revolt down. You’ll never get through.” “Don’t worry about that—lI’ll get through” was the answer. “How” asked Locke Anxiously. “ve got to think that up, on the way! So long.” An hour later—Medill was in Pavlov’s office, a prisoner. As a representative American welfare worker, it would have been dangerous to execute him off hand, but he was given a third degree that gave him moments when death would have been welcome. Pavlov wanted to know Locke’s whereabouts, above all things. He offered Medill immediate release in exchange for Locke’s ad ‘dress. In the end, Medill was thrown into prison, with the threat of execution in the morning. Pavlov had one hope—Elena. He sent for her. This time, there was no preamble. His bestial face, hardened by the despera: tion of the Soviet’s position, bore no sign of friendliness when she faced him. “You know Medill?” he asked and at her nod, added, “He is the one man left who knows where Locke is hiding.” “Why is it necessary to hunt down one lone man when there are so many?” “Because our government is teetering if Lenin dies, and if these riots continue, it will fall. These riots must be stopped — Locke is one of the sources. He must be found.” Elena did not answer. She knew what was coming, and her heart was filled with a terrible fear. Pavlov continued—“We must think of the thousands of Russians whose lives hang in the balance right now, and of those to come. Love is a small concern beside that. Go to Medill—he knows you love Locke—gain his confidence—find out where Locke is.” ; “But I love him—Sergei, I love him.” She pleaded. “More than Russia?” he snapped. “More than the future of a million people to come? No, Elena, he would hate you then.” Elena never knew how she got out of Pavlov’s office. In a daze, she walked about the corridors, trying to fight herself back to an understanding of this driving force she called duty. It was almost night when she was shown into Medill’s cell, her heart steeled for this most horrible sacrifice on the altar of. duty. To Medill, she appeared pale and tired, but she was still strong “You didn’t come here as a spy, did you? No woman could be that rotten, could she? . . .” (Kay Francis and William Gargan in a heart-gripping scene of perfidy in the First National dynamic drama “British Agent,” coming to the Strand Theatre Thursday.) enough to hide other traces of her inner turmoil. “I am sorry you are here,” she said in greeting. “Merely a stop-over,” Medil: answered blithely. “You’re to be shot in the morn. ing?” she asked, her hands clenched. “It was mentioned in the conversation” said Medill. “Locke” she said—“Where is he?” Medill raised his eyebrows. “Pll tell you tomorrow — afternoon.” “Tf I could only reach him” said Elena. “You were rather fond of him, weren’t you? Asked Medill. “T love him” said Elena. “You know” said Medill, “there used to be four of us, but now with the rest of us almost gone, he’s playing a lone hand. He can’t win. If he could only get out of the country—” “T could help him” said Elena. Medill’s big hand grasped her arm and he looked at her steadily for a moment—and then said with deadly calm—“You didn’t come here as a spy, did you? No woman could be that rotten, could she?” “No,” answered Elena huskily. By the time Elena reached Pawlov’s office, she was numb to the agony that tore at her heart. She hardly heard Pavlov repeat what she said to him—“‘in a garret over two stores.” His voice went on, “I’ll send a squad.” “But the place is full of ammunition,” she explained hurriedly. “He could kill twenty men before they reach the stairs.” “Then” was Pavlov’s grim conclusion, “there is only one way. We will blow up the place.” “Klena gasped — She knew now that there was only. one thing for her to do. It has been in her mind ever since she had talked with Medill. (To Be Concluded) BRITISH AGENT The story of First National’s film hit fictionized by Arthur Zellner, inspired by R. H. Bruce Lockhart’s book. CHAPTER X T was nearly nine o’clock, when Locke, sitting dejectedly beside the telegraph ticker in the little garret, heard a signal knock at the door. Before he reached it, he shouted joyfully — ‘‘Medill.’’ A grim look replaced the welcoming smile. He stepped back as Elena came into the room. ‘‘Where did you learn that knock?’’ he asked. ‘““Wrom Medill.’’ ““Where is he?’’ Klena hesitated and then said slowly ‘‘Deported.’’ “Where’s LaFarge?” “Shot!” she answered. Locke’s eyes closed as though this would help to bear the shock of this new blow. “aFarge” he repeated mechanically. Then bitterness crept into his heart with a new force. “LiaFarge, Del Val, Medill! Well, you might as well finish it up— eall the soldiers—or would you rather ery first?” He walked over to the door and held it open his eyes glaring with a_nearmadness. “Close the door, Stephen.” Something in her voice made him slowly push the door shut. “Against what?” He asked. “T want to be alone with you, Stephen—forever.” “Forever” he sneered. “That’s about twenty minutes to your mind, isn’t it? She never answered his question. She knew that their time was short. Her voice was vibrant with earnestness as she spoke. “Stephen, I have never lied to you. Think back. Have I?” Her question ' arrested him. Page Twenty-two She looked at him with such directness, he felt that there was still something he did not fully understand. He shook his head thoughtfully— “No—’ he said “You never have.” She motioned him to sit beside her and he found himself complying with her unspoken command. “This is the first time you’ve ever heard me do or say anvything to compromise with the Cause, isn’t it? Tve been loyal, haven’t I?” He laughed ruefully. “VII agree with you, there. You’ve ended everything for me because of that strange loyalty.” She leaned toward him and he found her hand in his as_ she went on speaking. “T haven’t the courage to be a patriot or an idealist. any longer, Stephen. I’ve tried, but I’m too much of a woman! She paused a moment and then put her hands on his shoulder. “Look at me, Stephen, everything that makes me a woman is yours, isn’t it?” His answer was to take her in his arms. In their kiss, both surrendered whatever might have been withheld before. As she drew away from him she caressed his hand—and touching his wrist watch, she remembered! Ten minutes to nine! She heard him say—“I suppose we can find a way out of this, somehow.” “Of course,” she answered, “but. let’s talk about it after-_ wards.” “We'd better get out of Russia —go to England, perhaps.” “Yes.” Her answer was a trembling whisper. “You'll love it, Elena... I know a little village in Sussex— quiet and peaceful. We’ll get a little cottage and a second-hand motor to knock about in and we'll take our time about doing what we jolly well please.” He kissed her tenderly. “Tell me more about our little village, Stephen.” “It’s just a little hamlet with one church spire. There’s a doctor and the squire and the sheriff. Every house has a fence and a garden and on Sunday morning they all file out in their best—the morning smells fresh, and you can hear the church bells—” Suddenly there came on _ the very heels of his words the sound of pealing bells—the Kremlin bells. Elena opened her eyes and she and Locke looked at one another as though awakened from a dream. Elena looked quickly at his wrist watch. It is nine o’clock! Wildly she threw her arms about him = and_e eried ‘“Stephen—hold me tight—tell me you love me! ’’ A bomb crashed through the window and its explosion was deafening. Somehow it fell short of the ammunition piles. ‘‘We must get out of here’’ Stephen said, as he grasped her and pulled her up. ‘‘We can’t!” she said ‘‘We haven’t a chance.’’ He looked at her eyes wide with question—an overwhelming question that made him forget the death that he expected every moment. ‘¢Then’’ he stammered—‘‘ you knew — you expected — all the time—?’? ‘‘Hold me’’ she answered ‘‘That’s all — just hold me, Stephen.’’ He took her in his arms—and slowly. released her. Then, through the window, they heard a car roaring to a stop. They went over to see—and below an officer stepped from a car and shouted at a squad of soldiers gathered about a truck. His words reached them faintly — but their import rang like erash of cymbals—‘‘Stop the terror. Lenin has passed the crisis. It is his order! ’’ Neither Elena nor Stephen spoke, until they had turned to the little divan, to sink weakly upon it. The effort of words seemed too much, until Elena could gather strength from his arms about her. Then from the muffled depths of his coat-he heard her say. ‘¢Tell me more, Stephen, about our little home in England. My work is done and I can leave with you whenever you say so. —THE END— “We have so little time, Stephen. Kiss me—hold me tight—tell me you love me...” (Kay Francis and Leslie Howard await death in the astounding climax of First National’s “British Agent” which opens at the? ::.....0005.5.... Theatre on .................... )