CHAPTER XXIII.HOMYAK.
Atlast, after so much ill luck, fortune favored me. At no great distance from Von Gaden’s house, in a lonely street, I saw a small figure dodging along ahead of me. Dark as it was, I was certain of my discovery. There were many court dwarfs, but there was something about Homyak’s figure and gait that was unmistakable. He did not know who was behind him, and was off his guard. In a moment I had overtaken him, and had him by the collar; he shrieked and cowered like a frightened animal, but I put my pistol to his head for the second time.
“Be quiet, you rogue!” I said, in a low tone. “If you make any outcry, it will cost you your life.”
He recognized my voice at once, and I fancied that he drew a long breath of relief.
“Why do you use me so ill, M. le Vicomte?” he whined. “I was on my way to the Kremlinon business for her majesty; it is not safe to interfere with me; the czarina—”
I had turned him about, and was half pushing, half dragging him along.
“You will come back with me, nevertheless,” I replied calmly, making my way towards Von Gaden’s. “You can give us some information that we need, and give it you shall.”
He whimpered in the darkness, and writhed in my hands like the miserable ape that he was.
“I know nothing, M. de Brousson,” he cried feverishly; “you are wasting time on a poor wretch who cannot fight you.”
I did not reply, but tightened my grip on his collar, remembering Zénaïde, and longing to whip the hound as he deserved. But he was determined not to give up without a protest.
“Where are you taking me?” he moaned. “I shall be punished at the palace for my delay. What can your excellency want with so humble a creature?”
I smiled grimly in the darkness; I was not without some enjoyment of the situation.
“I am taking you to an old acquaintance, Homyak,” I said quietly; “to the Boyar Feodor Sergheievitch Ramodanofsky.”
Homyak cried out in his agony of alarm,and almost wrenched himself from my grip. “Have mercy!” he shrieked, with a repetition of Polotsky’s abject terror. “Anything but that, M. le Vicomte; do with me as you will, but spare me that. I will tell anything, do anything if you will keep me from him.”
I could not help sympathizing with his desire to escape; I could scarcely imagine a more relentless fate than the boyar. However, I saw my advantage, and merely hastened my steps, although I had literally to drag the dwarf by main force, while he begged for mercy. At the door, I found Von Gaden, and together we took the limp prisoner into the study, and there, while he cowered before my pistol, we cross-examined him, Von Gaden annoying me by his eagerness to fathom the dwarf’s connection with Ramodanofsky, while I was endeavoring to obtain information about Zénaïde.
“Polotsky has confessed,” I said, “and it only remains for you to tell us what you know. Denials will not serve.”
“I know nothing,” whined the dwarf, reassured by the absence of Ramodanofsky, and resuming his original pretense of ignorance.
“Pshaw, Homyak!” interposed Von Gaden, sternly, “what is the use of lying to me? Do you think I have forgotten the attempted murderof Feodor Sergheievitch? Do you think you can escape his vengeance? There is no one to protect you. Vladimir has gone to meet the eternal justice.”
The dwarf stared at him wildly.
“Vladimir Sergheievitch dead?” he cried; and then a sudden thought brought a gleam to his eyes. “By the hand of Feodor?” he asked.
“By his own act,” I retorted gravely; “and we know that you were employed to remove Mademoiselle Zénaïde Feodorovna from this house, and you must take us to the place where she is imprisoned. You were Vladimir’s agent.”
“Yes,” interrupted Von Gaden again, to my annoyance, “just as you were employed fifteen years ago to stab Feodor on the threshold of his home.”
“I was not,” cried the dwarf, vehemently. “Vladimir Sergheievitch stabbed his brother himself; I only witnessed it.”
“It is easy to accuse the dead,” retorted Von Gaden, scornfully.
“It is true,” protested Homyak, angered and frightened by the physician’s mocking manner. “I knew it all, and he feared me,—feared I would betray him to the Czar Alexis.”
“Yet you were guilty, Homyak,” said theother, calmly; “it was you who stripped the dead body of the prisoner and put the clothes on Feodor, while he was yet unconscious.”
The dwarf cowered, watching his interlocutor as if under a spell.
“I never put the clothes on the boyar,” he exclaimed. “I did strip the corpse in the prison and helped Polotsky to throw it in the Yauza, but they dressed Feodor Sergheievitch in the clothes and put him in the cell themselves; he was about the size of the dead felon, and it didn’t cost much to make the guards think he was the same. I did nothing then.”
“You have admitted a good deal,” said Von Gaden, with a laugh; “the boyar may have another opinion about your innocence.”
Homyak collapsed in his chair, suddenly awakened to the trap into which the Jew had skillfully led him. I was beside myself with impatience.
“Come, Homyak,” I said impatiently, “where is Mademoiselle Zénaïde?”
“I do not know,” he reiterated sullenly.
I looked at the clock and ran my finger down the barrel of my pistol.
“The Boyar Ramodanofsky will be here in a quarter of an hour,” I said quietly, “and youcan take your choice between answering him and leading me to the place.”
It seemed to me that the dwarf’s pale face turned green as he stared at us. It was the last straw, and he surrendered quickly enough.
“Zénaïde Feodorovna is safe,” he protested; “she is in a house across the Moskva, in the Biélui-gorod. I will take you there instantly, M. le Vicomte; I will do anything if you will but save me from that man’s hands.”
“Prepare yourself, then,” I said at once; “we will go without delay to the house, and woe to you if you have deceived me—in the smallest particular—for your life shall answer for Mademoiselle’s safety.”
Von Gaden had been called out of the room while I spoke, and returned now with a grave face. I was making ready for instant departure.
“You will have to go out by the secret stair, M. le Vicomte,” he said to me in French; “the Streltsi have risen, and there is a mob in the street. I hear them calling for me.”
While he was speaking, I heard a loud noise at the street door; in our excitement we had not noticed the sounds without, which might have warned us. We stood listening now, taken by surprise, and could hear the shoutingof a mob and the crash of stones against the door.
“Where is your wife?” I asked at once.
“Fortunately not here to-night, but with a friend,” he replied quietly.
Looking suddenly at Homyak, I saw a gleam of demoniac triumph on his white face; it roused me to immediate action.
“We have not a moment to lose,” I said to Von Gaden; “we must get out by the secret staircase, and take this knave with us, or all will be lost.”
The servants were crowding into the room, shaking with fear, to tell us that a mob was beating in the door.
“They will not harm you, you fools!” Von Gaden said. “They want me; they think me a poisoner, a magician, a devil.” He spoke with a passionate scorn, realizing how bitter was the requital for all his skill and devotion. “You can save yourselves easily,” he added, looking at the trembling menials, “by throwing open the door and delivering me into their hands.”
Meanwhile the tumult without increased, and we could hear the door creak under the shower of heavy blows; it was only a question of a few minutes before they would be upon us. Iseized Homyak by the collar and touched Von Gaden’s sleeve; he started as if suddenly roused, and awakened to the importance of haste.
“We must be off, Dr. von Gaden,” I said. “The door will not hold many minutes more.”
He told the servants to return to their quarters, where they would be safe, as soon as the mob found that he had gone. Then we went up the stairs, he leading and I following with Homyak, who came submissively enough, hoping, probably, that we should not be able to escape. There had been a momentary lull without, but I knew that the quiet boded ill. We had barely reached the top of the stairs when there was a tremendous crash, and the outer door fell, and with a roar of triumphant rage the rioters poured in. Von Gaden extinguished his light, and in the dark we rushed along the passage, and getting into the rooms formerly occupied by Zénaïde, secured the doors. We could hear the mob shrieking and crashing through the lower part of the house, and we had not a moment to spare. The doctor had procured another light, and I held it, while he unfastened the panel and listened a moment, to assure himself that the secret passage was not discovered. A blow on the room door endedhis hesitation; signing to me to enter first, he secured the panel on the inner side just as we heard the other door give way. Would they discover the panel? We had no time to think, but dashed down the stairs, almost dragging Homyak, who either could not or would not keep pace with us. When we reached the cellar, we were confronted with the possibility that the house was surrounded, and the lane cut off. All was quiet behind us; evidently they had not discovered the stair, and we paused to draw breath. Then Von Gaden put out the light, and cautiously unfastening the trap-door, peeped out. The fresh air struck my face with a strangely reviving power. It was still; only distant sounds came from the house above us. Von Gaden raised the trap and called to me to come.
“All is well here,” he said quietly, a tone of relief in his voice.
Approaching with Homyak, I stood beside him and looked out. The first gray light of the morning of the twenty-fifth of May was shining upon the stone walls and the deserted lane. It was as quiet and lonely as the most peaceful spot in the world, but the coming light troubled me not a little.
“Where will you go?” I said to Von Gadenin French. “You cannot accompany us in broad daylight; it would be certain death to you.”
“Ay, and ruin to your project, M. le Vicomte,” he replied calmly. “I know of a temporary refuge near at hand. You must go on at once, and may success attend you.”
“I cannot bear to leave you in this extremity,” I rejoined, hesitatingly.
“Delay is fatal,” he replied quietly; “this is the beginning of the end. Sophia has let loose the fiends, and who will chain them up again? Zénaïde Feodorovna is in danger from them also; therefore farewell, M. de Brousson, and may your patron saint befriend you.”
We were standing in the lane, and he pressed my hand; his face was sad, it may have been with a prescience of impending fate. His warning had taken effect, however, and my thoughts were all for Zénaïde’s safety; and so I parted from him and hurried on with the reluctant dwarf, who saw that his chances of evading me grew momentarily less. Once I looked back and saw the Jew disappearing into the low door of a pine hovel at the end of the lane,—one of those huts occupied by peasants, and built in two days, at the cost of a few rubles, and at that time scattered through Moscow,beside the palaces of the nobles, in every quarter of the town. After this, I turned my face steadily towards the river and hurried on, guided by Homyak, who seemed to grow more resigned to the inevitable as he realized my relentless determination. I had selected a way that I knew was not likely to be crossed by the rioters, and our progress was uninterrupted. This part of the city seemed quiet enough as yet, undisturbed as it was by the tumult stirring in the quarters of the Streltsi. Yet there was a portentous aspect even about these silent houses; occasionally a face would appear at a window, to be withdrawn as quickly at our approach, and once or twice I heard the heavy bolts drawn across a door as our footsteps sounded in the silent street. There was terror here, concealed in these quiet corners; the specter of some danger already lurked in these lonely alleys. The gray of dawn had passed into the broad daylight, but there were no signs of the busy life of a city waking up; it seemed as if the active element must have been drawn off to another quarter, and there was only desolation here. How still it was! We were in the Biélui-gorod now, walking in the direction of the Smolensk Gate, and suddenly we were startled by a strange sound, the galloping hoofsof a horse and a man’s hoarse voice shouting something, the same words repeated again and again. I stopped involuntarily to listen, and in a moment he crossed the end of the street, riding recklessly, and swinging his long arms over his head. It was one of the Streltsi, and his uniform was splashed with mud and his long hair was flying. He saw us but did not pause, only calling out his constant cry:—
“The Naryshkins have murdered the Czarevitch Ivan! To arms! To the Kremlin and punish the traitors! Rescue the czar!”
And with this he dashed on, repeating his alarm as he went. Could it be true? It was not probable that the blind czarevitch had been injured; but, in any case, I had no time for reflection, but hastened on, knowing that this must be a preconcerted signal, and anticipating the worst. My fears were soon justified by another more ominous sign. The silence of the quiet city was once again broken, and now by a tremendous wave of sound, a deep, warlike note; the tocsin in four hundred churches called the Streltsi to arms. On every side, the loud, full notes smote the air and awoke a tremendous echo, and in the intervals, far off I heard the roll of drums. Still, the streets about me remained deserted; the rioters were not here.
I had released my hold on Homyak, because I did not wish to attract the notice even of the occasional watcher at a window; but he walked in front of me, knowing that I carried my pistol, ready to send him to his last account if he made an attempt to escape. It struck me now that he was walking slowly, and I mended my pace. “More haste, Homyak,” I remarked grimly; “every moment lost increases your risk of falling into Ramodanofsky’s hands.”
“It is but a little way now, M. le Vicomte,” he said sullenly; “yonder is the house.”
I looked eagerly in the direction he indicated, and saw a plain-looking building that might be the home of one of the middle class, and it was closed in a gloomy fashion. Running my eye over the portions that faced us, I could not see a sign of occupation. It occurred to me that the dwarf might be leading me into a trap, and I laid my hand again on his collar, at the same time pushing on to the door.
“If you have duped me,” I said sternly, “it will cost you your life, if the odds are twenty to one.”
“I have not duped you, master,” he replied earnestly. “M. Ramodanofsky’s daughter was there, and must be there still.”
We had reached the door, and he tapped on it three times in a peculiar manner; and after a little it was opened by a plain-looking woman, who gazed at me curiously, but stood aside to admit us, as if Homyak’s presence was a sufficient guarantee.
“Take this gentleman to Zénaïde Feodorovna’s apartments,” the dwarf said to her; and without a word she led the way, and we followed to the rear of the house and up a flight of steps; and here, at an open door, they both stood aside, and I tapped gently before entering, my anxiety swept away by the anticipation of seeing Zénaïde. A large vacant room met my eyes, sparsely furnished, and with a door leading into another apartment. I paused, hesitating to intrude farther. I looked back, and the woman stood in the other door, watching me curiously.
“Go in and tell mademoiselle that M. de Brousson is here,” I said.
She only stared at me for a moment, and then I repeated my order sharply.
“I thought you knew that she was not here now,” she said stupidly.
“Not here?” I rushed into the inner room, only to find it empty; but on the floor lay a woman’s glove, a glove like the one dropped byZénaïde in the Kremlin long ago. In an instant I divined the truth.
“Where is that rogue?” I exclaimed as I came out.
“He has gone, master,” she answered stolidly; “he went down the stairs as soon as you turned your back, and out at the door.”
I saw that she at least spoke the truth, and ran to the outer door; but there was no sign of the dwarf,—he had escaped. I came back, determined to learn the truth from the woman, who, I saw, was a dull tool, little schooled in evasion.
“When did the young lady leave here?” I asked her sharply.
“About an hour ago, perhaps,” she replied, simply enough, “and much against her will; she would rather have stayed with me.”
“Who was with her?” I asked, a horror possessing me.
“A tall man, master,” she said slowly. “I did not know him, but he gave the signal and he had the boyar’s signet,—a man with an ill-favored face, and one eye turned in towards the nose, and very long teeth.”
There was no difficulty in recognizing the description; it was Viatscheslav.
“Did he say where he was going?” I asked, curbing my excitement.
“To the Kremlin,” she replied promptly, “and they have scarcely been gone an hour.”
Without waiting for another word, I dashed out and turned my steps towards the Kremlin, frenzied with anxiety.