CHAPTER VIII.THE VELVET PAW.
On leaving Petersburg I had been compelled to part from Mariána Néstoff, nevertheless she wrote me weekly letters full of tenderness. Six months after my return to London an exciting and extraordinary adventure befel me.
One foggy December evening I had entered an empty second-class carriage at the Temple Station of the Metropolitan District Railway, when I was followed by a tall girl, neatly attired in black, who seated herself in a corner opposite me. I noticed she was fairly good-looking, about twenty years of age, with auburn hair, clear blue eyes, and well-moulded features; then, after a furtive glance, I took up my newspaper and commenced reading.
Scarcely had the train moved off, however, when I felt a light touch upon my arm, and heard a musical voice utter my name with true Russian accent.
“I confess you have the advantage of me,” I said, surprised.
“Yes, possibly,” she replied, in Russian. “When last we met it was in Petersburg. But we never spoke.”
“In Petersburg! You are Russian, then?”
She nodded, adding a word by which I knew at once that she was a Nihilist.
“You are a friend,” she continued earnestly; “Jakovleff has told me so. Moreover, I have read your articles in the English magazines, in which you exposed the vile treachery of the Secret Police, described the prison horrors, and told the English public the truth about our oppressed people. You have rendered our cause great assistance, and,” she added, looking frankly into my face, “I—I wonder whether I, personally, might count upon your aid!”
“What is the nature of your difficulty?” I asked, rather interested.
“Well,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation, “I expect my brother to join me at South Kensington. If you will accompany us home, I will explain all to you. I am in great peril—how great you cannot imagine. Indeed, if you refuse your assistance, I shall probably lose my life.”
“What do you mean?” I asked in consternation. “Is your life threatened?”
“Hush!” she cried. “Although we are strangers, nevertheless our common Cause, the freedom of Russia, unites us.” Then, noticing how perplexed I was over her strangely sensational announcement, she said quickly, “Pray pardonmy omission. I ought to have told you my name—Axinïa Pankrátiévna.”
By her manner and conversation I saw she was a political enthusiast, and suspected that she was in England for some reason connected with the operations of the Circle. My curiosity having now been thoroughly aroused, I told her I would do whatever lay in my power to help her.
On alighting at South Kensington, we failed to meet her brother as she expected; but, notwithstanding the fog, we walked together a considerable distance through several quiet thoroughfares, until we came to a large, old-fashioned house, standing in a square.
An elderly man-servant opened the door, and after I had divested myself of my overcoat I was ushered into a small drawing-room, while my fair hostess ascended the stairs.
The moment I entered the house I experienced a vague feeling of regret that I had accepted her invitation. There was something about the place I did not like. The room was dimly lit by one pink-shaded lamp, the furniture had a frowsy, faded appearance, and there was an odour of pastilles that was sickening.
For fully ten minutes I had been patiently awaiting the mysterious Axinïa’s reappearance, when suddenly I experienced a strange dizziness, and at the same time a terrible pain shot across my forehead.
A fit of coughing seized me—my breath cameand went in short, quick gasps, and I felt myself choking.
Rising, I walked quickly across the room, and then discovered something that increased my suspicions. Everything was thickly coated with dust. The place had evidently not been used for years!
Halting before the fireplace, and glancing at the fire burning clear and bright, I discovered, to my horror and dismay, that it was of charcoal!
Then it suddenly dawned upon me that I had been entrapped into a lethal chamber!
Rushing to the door I tried to open it, but it was securely fastened; every crevice had been stopped up from the outside! I went to the window, but, on drawing aside the curtains, found that the heavy shutters were held in position by a padlocked bar! The chimney, too, had been closed by an iron plate, which I could not remove.
I was being asphyxiated!
Stirring the fire, I endeavoured to subdue it, but it only burned more brightly! Unable to breathe on account of the poisonous fumes, and feeling my strength fast failing, I tied my handkerchief across my mouth and nose. Then, taking up a heavy fender, I commenced a frantic but unsuccessful endeavour to batter down the door.
In mad despair I rushed from side to side of the apartment, shouting for help, but I couldhear no sound, and my voice seemed so hollow and hoarse that I doubted whether it could be heard even outside in the hall.
The objects around me were slowly fading from my gaze. Seconds seemed hours. I remember hearing a sound as if something heavy had fallen in the room above. Confused voices whispered about me, and I have a distinct recollection of strange, ominous words.
A heavy weight seemed to press upon my brain; my palsied limbs failed to support me, and I fell backward upon the dust-encrusted carpet.
Then all became an utter blank.
Gradually I regained consciousness. Awakening as if from some terrible nightmare, I opened my eyes and gazed wonderingly around.
The gray light of the wintry dawn showed that the room, small and unfamiliar, was evidently used for lumber. Half-reclining in an old and rickety armchair, I felt some cold object in my right hand, and found it was a revolver, some of the chambers being loaded. My hand, too, was covered with blood that had dried.
Staggering to my feet, and noticing that a half-open door communicated with the adjoining apartment, I walked across and entered a small, shabbily furnished sitting-room. The sight that met my gaze filled me with horror and amazement.
Stretched upon the floor lay the woman Axinïa Pankrátiévna.
I touched the face! Its contact thrilled me; it was icy cold. Around her was a pool of blood, and on examination I discovered she had a bullet wound in the region of the heart, and that the breast of her dress was singed, showing that the weapon had been discharged close against her.
A horrible thought took possession of me. I still held the revolver in my hand, and blood was upon my fingers! Was not this circumstantial evidence that I had been guilty of murder?
For several moments I stood in hesitation, my eyes fixed upon the ghastly face of the corpse. At length I turned, made my way downstairs, and, after inspecting the various apartments and finding the place empty, stole out at the front door.
So suspicious were the circumstances in which I had discovered myself that I refrained from giving information to the police, and resolved to keep my secret and watch the newspapers, in order to see what sensation would be caused when the body of my mysterious hostess was discovered.
Having noted the number of the house, and ascertained that it was in Onslow Square, I found my way into Brompton Road, and turned my footsteps in the direction of Gray’s Inn, where I at that time had chambers.
On arrival home I found I had lost my latch-key, and had therefore to seek the assistance of a locksmith before I could enter. An additional surprise was in store for me, for when I walked into my sitting-room, I discovered that burglars had effected an entrance during the night and ransacked the place. Every drawer in my writing-table had been turned out, and the contents investigated in a methodical manner, after which the thieves had apparently inspected a chest of drawers, a nest of pigeon-holes, several trunks, and one or two cupboards. The carpets had been disturbed, and every nook or corner where anything might be concealed had been turned out.
Evidently the thieves had sought for something of value they believed I had in my possession, and were disappointed; for, as far as I could discover, they had stolen nothing. My first impulse was to send for the police, but on reflection I resolved to remain silent on this matter also.
The days passed, but no announcement of the discovery of the body appeared in the papers.
There was a possibility of something belonging to me being found in the house by the police. My pockets had been almost emptied on that night; but whether the contents had fallen out or been abstracted I was unable to determine. It was, however, certain that clues to my identity were not wanting, and I confess that the fearful suspicion that I was the actual murderer causedme constant and terrible anxiety. Inquiries I made regarding the house revealed that it belonged to a well-known baronet, who was abroad in the diplomatic service; that it had been to let furnished, but that for nearly five years it had remained unoccupied.
With the object of recovering anything which might serve as evidence against me, I called upon the house-agent, and, representing myself as a likely tenant, obtained the key. The afternoon was wet and gloomy when I revisited the place. Being alone, I felt rather unnerved as I ascended the wide, old-fashioned stairs to the chamber of death; but when I entered the inner room I found, to my amazement, that the body was not there! It had mysteriously disappeared!
All traces of the crime had been carefully obliterated. Even the portion of threadbare carpet that had been stained with blood had been cut out, revealing the dust-covered boards. The other apartments were just as I had left them, and in the drawing-room—where, by unknown means, I had so narrowly escaped death—the ashes of the charcoal still remained. A streak of grey light that came in over the top of the shutters enabled me to inspect the room, and, although I failed to find any of the missing contents of my pockets, I saw that the dust that lay thickly upon a little rosewood table had been disturbed. There was a small mark—the perfect imprint of a woman’s hand.
All endeavours to solve the mystery were in vain. I had been the victim of an extraordinary plot; but the fact of my friendliness towards the Revolutionists made its object appear the more incomprehensible.
One gloomy day I was sitting before the fire in my bachelor den, lazily enjoying my pipe and a novel, when there came a heavy knock at the outer door, and a boy handed me a telegram.
Tearing it open, I read words that caused me to utter a cry of dismay. They were—
“Mariána Néstoff arrested. She left Petersburg byétapefor Siberia yesterday.—Jakovleff.”
“Arrested!” I cried aloud. What, I wondered, could be her crime? She had evidently fallen into the drag-net of the Russian police as a “political,” otherwise Jakovleff would not have telegraphed.
The horrors of the journey on foot thousands of versts beyond the Ourals, the privations, the brutality of Cossack escorts, and the terrible existence in the mines to which political exiles are doomed, shut out from the light of hope or mercy, all occurred to me. A dozen times I re-read the telegram, pacing the room in anxiety and despair; then I resolved to leave that night for Petersburg, obtain a permit to travel in Siberia, and endeavour to save her. There was no time to be lost, for it was already three o’clock and I should be compelled to draw money from the bank.
My only thought was of Mariána. How bitterly I regretted having left her in Russia, and reproached myself for not having warned her against associating too closely with those suspected of holding pronounced political views. For myself I cared nothing; being prepared to run any risk in order to rescue her from the terrible fate.
I had taken out a large portmanteau, and was busy thrusting into it some things I should require on my journey, when I was startled by another loud rat-tat. On opening the door a tall, fair-haired woman entered. She was well dressed; wearing a small, close-fitting bonnet, and a fashionable cape trimmed with costly fur. At first I did not recognise her; but when she had passed through into my sitting-room and lifted her veil, I saw with astonishment that the young and handsome face was that of Agraféna Teréshkevna, a wealthy woman whom I had known in Petersburg as an active member and generous supporter of the Nihilists.
“It is with much pleasure that I meet you again, m’sieur,” she exclaimed in Russian, smiling, and extending her hand. “Since you left us I have often thought of you,” she added, seating herself as if quite at home. Then, glancing round, she said, “Ugh! What an untidy room! You want a wife to keep things straight.”
Although I assured her how greatly I appreciated the honour she had done me by calling,I was no means pleased at her visit. Though but twenty-four years of age, she had already been a widow two years. At twenty, in order to secure a set of diamonds and a position, she had bound herself to an aged merchant king, who, two years later, died suddenly of heart disease. After a brief period of mourning she became one of the leaders of fashion in the Russian capital, and the brilliant entertainments she gave at her great house in the Nevski were attended by the smartest set. At hersalonI was always a welcome guest, and it was the remembrance of certain mild flirtations that now caused me some little uneasiness.
“My rooms are certainly rather untidy,” I said mechanically. “But I am preparing to start on a long journey.”
“To where?”
“To Siberia.”
“Dieu!Are you going there voluntarily?” she inquired, shuddering.
“Yes.”
“For what reason?”
“To seek a dear friend.”
“A woman, I presume?” she asked, with an ill-disguised sneer.
“Yes, Madame, it is a woman.”
“And her name is Mariána Néstoff, eh?” she asked slowly, watching my face.
“You are right. But how did you know?”
“I heard of her arrest. It is the common talkof Petersburg. The police made a raid at one of the meetings, and captured twenty of our comrades. Some explosives were found in Mariána’s room, and she has been sent to Sredne Kolymsk.”
“My God!” I cried. “Why, that is beyond the Arctic Circle—the worst region in all Siberia!”
She nodded, sighing slightly. “It must indeed be a terrible blow to you,” she said.
“I—I love her,” I said hoarsely.
“Yes, yes, I understand. But do not take it to heart so much, Anton,” she urged. “Mariána has been unfortunate; but for what reason should you sacrifice your own liberty? You are known by the police as a Nihilist; therefore, if you go to Siberia, you are almost certain to be detained there. Besides, even if you found her, you would be unable to secure her liberty.”
“No; I must do my best,” I replied.
“Do not run such an unnecessary risk,” she exclaimed, rising suddenly, and coming behind my chair in an endeavour to console me. “You remember that once you told me you cared for me?”
“What—what do you mean?” I cried wildly.
“I mean—I mean that I love you, Anton!”
“Love me!” I stammered, in amazement.
“Yes,” she said earnestly. “You know how passionately I have loved you, yet this is the first time I have admitted it. Surely you are notblind? Since I first saw you I have thought of no other man. It is you—you only—that I care for.”
“But I——”
“Say the word,” she implored. “Tell me that you will cast aside that pink-and-white, ill-bred doll, whose prettiness is already fading, and I, Agraféna Teréshkevna, am ready to become your wife as soon as the marriage formalities can be arranged.”
I shook my head.
“Think!” she urged. “I have wealth, position, and—and men say I have beauty. I am at your feet. See...!”
And, casting herself upon her knees, she lifted my hand to her lips, covering it with passionate kisses.
“Madame,” I said, withdrawing my hand firmly, “this interview is painful. Thetête-à-têtewe had some months ago amused us; it had a savour of romance, but I did not dream that you had taken my foolish words seriously. Let us part, and forget all that has passed between us to-day.”
For a moment she was pale and mute, her hands clenched, her body rigid as marble. Then, struggling to her feet, she gave vent to a sudden passionate outburst, tearing the furs from her throat.
“You cast me aside!” she cried. “You!—who declared your affection for me—preferthat red-faced, uncouth furrier’s wench! So! We shall see!”
“Pray calm yourself,” I exclaimed.
“Calm myself!Davolno, Anton Prèhznev! Have I not been befooled? This latest idol of yours has gone to Siberia, and you will follow! Good! When you are toiling in the gloom of the lead-mines beyond Irkutsk you will perhaps remember that you forsook the woman who loves you better than her life—that she whom you insulted was Agraféna Teréshkevna.”
With a momentary glance at the mirror over the mantel-shelf she rearranged her bonnet. Then, mortified and affronted, she bowed stiffly, swept past me, and disappeared, slamming the door after her.
Six weary, anxious weeks passed.
Under a grey, lowering sky, a boundless, snow-covered plain stretched far away into the mist.
It was already sixteen days since my driver and myself had left Ekaterinbourg—the last Russian town—and a fortnight since we had gained the great Siberian post road. With three horses, which we changed at the post-stations, we had travelled almost night and day; yet I did not experience fatigue, for the expectation of finding Mariána sustained me.
Sitting back in the sleigh, wrapped in a heavy ottershuba, and half buried under thick rugs, painful thoughts were produced within me bythe loneliness and gloom as the last rays of the short wintry day were fading amidst the icy vapours. The snorting of the horses, the jingling of the bells on the wooden arch over their heads, and the hissing of the sleigh-runners, combined to produce a noise that was indescribably irritating and monotonous.
I had already visited Tiumen, where there is a great exile-forwarding prison, through which all persons condemned to banishment, colonisation, or penal servitude have to pass. On inquiry at thePrikaz o Silnikh, or Chief Bureau of Exile Administration, I had learnt that Mariána had left a week before with a convoy ofkatorzhniki(hard-labour convicts) on foot for Tomsk. With the object of overtaking them, I was now travelling incessantly. The thought that she, innocent of crime, was compelled to mix with murderers, robbers, and common criminals, sharing the same filth, enduring the terrible hardships of the march, and living in the sameentouragein the vile, fever-infectedétapes, goaded me almost to madness.
It grew quite dark, and the icy wind blew in fierce, sharp gusts, while the snow, which commenced to fall thickly, beat into my face.
“How far is the next station?” I asked, in Russian, of the driver.
“Two versts, your High Nobility,” he replied.
“Very well,” I said, “let us hasten. We must remain there to-night, I suppose.”
As I paid him to drive me with all possiblespeed and without resting, he had not grumbled at being compelled to travel during the night, but my decision apparently proved gratifying to him, for he whipped up his horses, and within half an hour I was thawing myself before the great stove in the log-built post-house of Abatskaya, distant two thousand miles from Petersburg. Early on the following morning we were again on the road, continuing throughout the day. In the dull afternoon, soon after we had changed horses at Kalmakova, and were speeding across the great undulating plain towards Omsk, the driver turned suddenly, and, pointing with his whip to a distant hill, exclaimed excitedly—
“See! there they are!”
Jumping to my feet, and straining my eyes eagerly in the direction indicated, I descried what appeared to be a black, winding streak disappearing over the brow of the hill.
“Perhaps, after all, it may be only a train of freight sleighs,” I said.
“No! I can see the Cossacks’ bayonets,” he replied; for his practised eyes could detect objects on the snow-covered plains where I could see nothing.
For an hour we travelled at increased speed, until we gradually overtook the convoy. My thoughts went back to the ever-to-be-remembered days when I was a “political.” Trudging wearily onward through the deep snow, they were a sorry band. The men wore flat caps on their half-shavenheads, long grey overcoats with diamond-shaped patches of black or yellow on the back, and leg-fetters that filled the air with an ominous clinking. The women, too, wore coarse and ragged clothes of grey homespun, with woollen squares tied tightly over their heads, while in the rear of the sad procession were severaltelegasfilled with the sick.
Driving on past the party, we came up to the captain of the Cossack escort. Jumping eagerly from the sleigh, I saluted him, telling him whom I sought, and at the same time handing him an official paper bearing the seal of the Minister of the Interior.
Opening it, he shouted an order to halt, and at that moment a ragged, unkempt-looking woman rushed towards me and flung her arms wildly about my neck. So tightly was the kerchief bound over her head for protection from the icy blast, that it was only on second glance that I recognised Mariána. She shed tears of joy.
“What’s this?” exclaimed the officer, carefully examining the document. “An order from the Ministry for the immediate release of the convict Mariána Néstoff?”
“Yes,” I said. “Here are my identification papers.”
“An order for my release, Anton?” she cried. “How did you obtain it?”
“It was simple, darling,” I replied, caressingher tenderly. “General Korolénko now occupies a high position in the Ministry of the Interior in Petersburg. In exchange for his written confession of the mysterious death of Marie Smirnitskaya I obtained the document by which you are released, and I have brought it personally in order to take you back again to civilisation and happiness.”
We conversed with the officer for a few minutes. Then he turned to her and said, “Death is preferable to the life to which you had been consigned. You are indeed fortunate to obtain release, and you both have my best wishes for your future welfare.”
Wishing mebon voyage, he shouted the order to march, and a moment later the envious, despairing band of exiles moved slowly onward towards their doom.
As we drove back together in the direction of Kalmakova I asked her about her arrest. What she related astounded me.
“The spy who denounced me to the police was Madame Teréshkevna. There are claws beneath the velvet paw,” she said.
“Agraféna Teréshkevna!” I cried. “I thought she was a member of the Circle?”
“Yes. But it has since been ascertained that she is also in the pay of the Secret Police, and that she gives her brilliant entertainments in order to seek victims against whom to give information.”
As she went on to describe the circumstances of her arrest, and the horrors of her imprisonment in the Fortress, I sat silently listening, and wondering whether I should ever solve the mysteries connected with my adventure in Onslow Square.
The solution came in a curious manner about six months afterwards. Mariána and I, whose marriage was now publicly announced, had taken up our residence in London, and were frequently the guests of the Revolutionary refugees. At the house of one of these I met an elderly man who was introduced as Ivan Ivanovitch, which was, of course, an assumed name. It was he who explained the conspiracy against me.
“The Third Section received orders to suppress you,” he said. “It was hinted to anagent provocateurthat your death would be gratifying, and Axinïa—who for some time had acted as maid to Agraféna Teréshkevna—aided by an adventurer named Goltmann, who assumed the part of ‘flunkey,’ formed a plot to kill you. We, however, were determined to frustrate their designs, and, assisted by Paul Maiefski, I kept a close watch upon them. We saw the girl Axinïa induce you to go to the house in Onslow Square, a key of which she had obtained, and where she had prepared a very ingenious death-trap. Madame was in the house at the time, as well as Goltmann, and the object was first to murder you, and secondly to secure thecontents of your pockets, which they suspected contained letters from ‘politicals.’ Soon after you had been admitted Maiefski and I entered through a window, afterwards unlocking the door of the drawing-room and dragging you out of the suffocating fumes. There were sounds of quarrelling upstairs, and we took you up with us. The high words between Madame and her maid prevented us from being heard, and, leaving you insensible on the landing, we entered the room unobserved. The women were quarrelling about you, when Axinïa uttered some insulting words to Madame, and the latter, without more ado, drew a revolver from her pocket and shot the girl dead.
“It was then we appeared. Madame, startled at finding her crime had been witnessed, gave vent to a loud shriek, whereupon Goltmann decamped, taking with him your latch-key and a number of letters, including one from Mariána Néstoff, for he had rifled your pockets the moment we had left you.”
“Then that accounts for my rooms being ransacked on that night!” I exclaimed.
“Yes,” he continued. “The letters and papers were forwarded by Madame to Petersburg, with the result that Mariána and the others were arrested. It was no doubt one of the chief objects of the plot to get Mariána exiled, because Madame herself loved you; but when she participated in the conspiracy she did not intendthat you should die, and it was over this that the fatal quarrel arose. In order to make you believe you had committed the murder, she placed the revolver in your hand, and on the following day, fearing detection, she and Goltmann removed the body secretly. The whole motive of the plot, it seems, was the fact that she loved you, and desired to get Mariána out of the way.”
“And where is Madame now?” I asked.
“In Brussels. The Executive have sentenced her to death as a spy.”
A fortnight later the newspapers contained a telegram from Brussels headed, “Mysterious Death of a Russian Lady.” It stated that the body of the wealthy and beautiful Madame Teréshkevna, of St. Petersburg, had been found floating in the Meuse near Namur.