N
No reader can have failed to notice one remarkable point in the interview between the Princess Y—— and myself. I refer of course to her invitation to me to dine with her in the course of a day or two.
Unless the etiquette of the Russian Court differed greatly from that of most others in Europe, it would be most indecorous for a lady-in-waiting, during her turn of service, to give entertainments at her private house.
I felt certain that this invitation concealed some trap, but I puzzled myself uselessly in trying to guess what it could be.
In the meantime I did not neglect certain other friends of mine in the city on the Neva, from whom I had some hope of receiving assistance.
Although I have never gone so far as to enroll myself as an active Nihilist, I am what is known as an Auxiliary. In other words, without being underthe orders of the great secret committee which wages underground war with the Russian Government, I have sometimes rendered it voluntary services, and I have at all times the privilege of communicating with it, and exchanging information.
While waiting for the next move on the part of the Princess, therefore, I decided to get in touch with the revolutionists.
I made my way on foot to a certain tavern situated near the port, and chiefly patronized by German and Scandinavian sailors.
The host of the Angel Gabriel, as the house was called, was a Nihilist of old standing, and one of their most useful agents for introducing forbidden literature into the empire.
Printed mostly in London, in a suburb called Walworth, the revolutionary tracts are shipped to Bergen or Lubeck, and brought thence by these sailors concealed in their bedding. At night, after the customs officers have departed, a boat with a false keel puts off from a quay higher up the Neva, and passes down the river to where the newly arrived ship is lying; the packages are dropped overboard as it drifts past the side and hidden under the bottom boards; and then the boat returns up the river, where its cargo is transferred to the cellars of the tavern.
The host, a namesake of the Viceroy of Manchuria, was serving in the bar when I came in. I calledfor a glass of vodka, and in doing so made the sign announcing myself as an Auxiliary.
Alexieff said nothing in reply, but the sailors lounging in the bar began to finish off their drinks and saunter out one by one, till in a short time the place was empty.
“Well?” said the tavern-keeper, as soon as we were alone.
It was not my first visit to the Angel Gabriel, and I lost no time in convincing Alexieff of my identity. As soon as he recognized me, I said:—
“You know the Princess Y——?”
The expression of rage and fear which convulsed his features was a sufficient answer.
“You know, moreover, that she is at present working her hardest to bring about a war between Russia and Japan, with the hope of ultimately involving Great Britain?”
He nodded sullenly.
“How does that affect your friends?” I asked cautiously. Something in the man’s face warned me not to show my own hand just then.
“We hate her, of course,” he said grudgingly, “but just now we have received orders that she is not to be interfered with.”
I drew a deep breath.
“Then you regard this war——?”
“We regard it as the beginning of the revolution,”he answered. “We know that the Empire is utterly unprepared. The Viceroy Alexieff is a vain boaster. Port Arthur is not provisioned. The Navy is rotten. The Army cannot be recruited except by force. The taxes are already excessive and cannot be increased. In short, we look forward to see the autocracy humiliated. The moment its prestige is gone, and the moujik feels the pinch of famine, our chance will come.”
I saw that I had come to the wrong quarter for assistance.
“Then you will do nothing against this woman at present?” I remarked, anxious to leave the impression that she was the only object of my concern.
“No. At least not until war is definitely declared. After that I cannot say.”
“And you think the war sure to come?”
“We are certain of it. One of our most trusted members is on the board of the Manchurian Syndicate.”
“The Syndicate which has obtained the concessions in Korea?”
“Against which Japan has protested, yes.”
I felt the full force of this announcement, having watched the proceedings of the Syndicate for some months for reasons of my own.
Every student of modern history has remarked the fact that all recent wars have been promoted by greatcombinations of capitalists. The causes which formerly led to war between nation and nation have ceased to operate. Causes, or at least pretexts, for war continue to occur, but whether they are followed up depends mainly on commercial considerations. A distant Government is oppressing its subjects, it may be in Turkey, it may be in Cuba, it may be in Africa. No matter, some great Power suddenly discovers it is interested; the drums are beaten, the flag is unfurled, and armies are launched on their path. The next year, perhaps, the same Power sees its own subjects massacred wantonly off its own coasts by a foreign fleet. Nothing happens; a few speeches are made, and the whole incident is referred to arbitration, and forgotten.
It is the consideration of money which decides between peace and war.
Perceiving it was useless to ask any assistance of the Nihilists in my forlorn enterprise, I returned sadly to my hotel.
Hardly had I finished the immense lunch on which I was compelled to gorge myself, when a waiter brought me a card, the name on which gave me an electric shock.
“M. Petrovitch.”
Every one has heard of this man, the promoter of the Manchurian Syndicate, and, if report spoke truly, the possessor of an influence over the young Czarwhich could be attributed only to some occult art.
I could not doubt that this powerful personage had been instigated to call on me by the Princess Y——.
What then? Was it likely that she would have sent the most influential man in the imperial circle to wait upon a traveling fanatic, a visionary humanitarian from Exeter Hall?
Impossible! Somehow something must have leaked out to rouse the suspicions of this astute plotter, and make her guess that I was not what I seemed.
It was with the sensations of a man struggling in the meshes of an invisible net that I saw M. Petrovitch enter the room.
The celebrated wire-puller, whose name was familiar to every statesman and stock-broker in Europe, had an appearance very unlike his reputation.
He was the court dandy personified. Every detail of his dress was elaborated to the point of effeminacy. His hands were like a girl’s, his long hair was curled and scented, he walked with a limp and spoke with a lisp, removing a gold-tipped cigarette from his well-displayed teeth.
As the smoke of the cigarette drifted toward me, I was conscious of an acute, but imperfect, twinge of memory. The sense of smell, though the most neglected, is the most reliable sense with which we are furnished. I could not be mistaken in thinking I had smelt tobacco like that before.
“I have come to see you without losing a moment, Mr. Sterling,” he said in very good English. “My good friend Madame Y—— sent me a note from the Palace to beg me to show you every attention. It is too bad that an ambassador of peace—a friend of that great and good man, Place, should be staying in a hotel, while hundreds of Russians would be delighted to welcome him as their guest. My house is a poor one, it is true, and I am hardly of high enough rank, still——”
The intriguer was asking me to transfer myself to his roof, to become his prisoner, in effect.
“I cannot thank you enough,” I responded, “but I am not going to stay. The Princess has convinced me that the war-cloud will blow over, and I think of going on to Constantinople to intercede with the Sultan on behalf of the Armenians.”
“A noble idea,” M. Petrovitch responded warmly. “What would the world do without such men as you? But at all events you will dine with me before you go?”
It was the second invitation to dinner I had received that day. But, after all, I could hardly suspect a trap in everything.
“Do you share the hopes of the Princess?” I asked M. Petrovitch, after thanking him for his hospitality.
The syndicate-monger nodded.
“I have been working night and day for peace,”he declared impudently, “and I think I may claim that I have done some good. The Japanese are seeking for an excuse to attack us, but they will not get it.”
“The Manchurian Syndicate?” I ventured to hint, rising to go to the bell.
“The Syndicate is wholly in favor of peace,” he assured me, watching my movement with evident curiosity. “We require it, in fact, to develop our mines, our timber concessions, our——”
A waiter entered in response to my ring.
“Bring me some cigarettes—your best,” I ordered him.
As the man retreated it was borne in on my guest that he had been guilty of smoking in my room without offering me his case.
“A thousand pardons!” he exclaimed. “Won’t you try one of mine?”
I took a cigarette from the case he held out, turned it between my fingers, and lit it from the end farthest from the maker’s imprint.
“If I am satisfied that all danger is removed I should be inclined to apply for some shares in your undertaking,” I said, giving the promoter a meaning look.
From the expression in his eyes it was evident that this precious scoundrel was ready to sell Czar, Russia and fellow-promoters all together.
While he was struggling between his natural greedand his suspicion the waiter reentered with some boxes of cigarettes.
I smelt the tobacco of each and made my choice, at the same time pitching the half-smoked cigarette given to me by M. Petrovitch into the fireplace, among the ashes.
“Your tobacco is a little too strong for me,” I remarked by way of excuse.
But the Russian was wrapped up in the thought of the bribe at which I had just hinted.
“I shall bear in mind what you say,” he declared, as he rose.
“Depend upon it, if it is possible for me to meet your wishes, I shall be happy to do so.”
I saw him go off, like a fish with the bait in its mouth. Directly the door closed behind him I sprang to the fireplace, rescued the still burning cigarette and quenched it, and then, carefully brushing away the dust, read the maker’s brand once more.
An hour later simultaneous messages were speeding over the wires to my correspondents in London, Amsterdam and Hamburg:
Ascertain what becomes of all cigarettes made by Gregorides; brand, Crown Aa.
Ascertain what becomes of all cigarettes made by Gregorides; brand, Crown Aa.
T
The next morning at breakfast I found the two invitations already promised. That of the head of the Manchurian Syndicate was for the same night.
Resolved not to remain in the dark any longer as to the reason for this apparent breach of etiquette, I decided to do what the Marquis of Bedale had suggested, namely, approach the Dowager Empress in person.
Well accustomed to the obstacles which beset access to royalty, I drove to the Palace in a richly appointed carriage from the best livery stable in Petersburg, and sent in my card to the chamberlain by an equerry.
“I have a message to the Czaritza which I am instructed to give to her majesty in person,” I told him. “Be good enough to let her know that the messenger from the Queen of England has arrived.”
He went out of the room, and at the end of ten minutes the door opened again and admitted—the PrincessY——!
Overpowered by this unlucky accident, as I at firstsupposed it to be, I rose to my feet, muttering some vague phrase of courtesy.
But the Princess soon showed me that the meeting did not take her by surprise.
“So you have a message for my dear mistress?” she cried in an accent of gay reproach. “And you never breathed a word of it to me. Mr. Sterling, I shall begin to think you are a conspirator.Howlong did you say you had known that good Mr. Place? But I am talking while her majesty is waiting. Have you any password by which the Czaritza will know whom you come from?”
“I can tell that only to her majesty, I am afraid,” I answered guardedly.
“I am in her majesty’s confidence.”
And bringing her exquisite face so near to mine that I was oppressed by the scent of the tuberoses in her bosom, she whispered three syllables in my ear.
Dismayed by this proof of the fatal progress the dangerous police agent had already made, I could only admit by a silent bow that the password was correct.
“Then come with me, Mr. Sterling,” the Princess said with what sounded like a malicious accent on the name.
The reception which I met from the Dowager Empress was gracious in the extreme. I need not recount all that passed. Her imperial majesty repeatedwith evident sincerity the assurances which had already been given me in a different spirit by the two arch-intriguers.
“There will be no war. The Czar has personally intervened. He has taken the negotiations out of the hands of Count Lamsdorff, and written an autograph letter to the Mikado which will put an end to the crisis.”
I listened with a distrust which I could not wholly conceal.
“I trust his majesty has not intervened too late,” I said respectfully, my mind bent on framing some excuse to get rid of the listener. “According to the newspapers the patience of the Japanese is nearly exhausted.”
“No more time will be lost,” the Czaritza responded. “The messenger leaves Petersburg to-night with the Czar’s letter.”
I stole a cautious glance in the direction of the Princess Y——. She was breathing deeply, her eyes fixed on the Czaritza’s lips, and her hands tightly clenched.
I put on an air of great relief.
“In that case, your majesty, I have no more to do in Petersburg. I will wire the good news to Lord Bedale, and return to England to-morrow or the next day. I beg your pardon, Princess!” I pretended to exclaim by a sudden afterthought, “afterthe nextday.” And turning once more to the mother of the Czar, I explained:
“The Princess has honored me with an invitation to dinner.”
The Dowager Empress glanced at her attendant in evident surprise.
“I must implore your pardon, Madam,” the Princess stammered, in real confusion. “I am aware I ought to have solicited your leave in the first place, but knowing that this gentleman came from——”
She broke off, fairly unable to meet the questioning gaze of her imperial mistress.
I pretended to come to her relief.
“I have a private message,” I said to the Empress.
“You may leave us, Princess,” the Empress said coldly.
As soon as the door had closed on her, I gave a warning look at the Czaritza.
“That woman, Madam, is the most dangerous agent in the secret service of your Empire.”
I trusted to the little scene I had just contrived to prepare the mind of the Czaritza for this intimation. But she received it as a matter of course.
“Sophia Y—— has been all that you say, Monsieur V——. I am well acquainted with her history. The poor thing has been a victim of the most fiendish cruelty on the part of the Minister of Police, for years. At last, unable to bear her positionany longer, she appealed to me. She told me her harrowing story, and implored me to receive her, and secure her admission to a convent. I investigated the case thoroughly.”
“Your majesty will pardon me, I am sure, if I say that as a man with some experience of intrigue, I thoroughly distrust that woman’s sincerity. She is intimate with M. Petrovitch, to my knowledge.”
“But M. Petrovitch is also on the side of peace, so I am assured.”
I began to despair.
“You will believe me, or disbelieve me as your majesty pleases. But I am accustomed to work for those who honor me with their entire confidence. If the Princess Y—— is to be taken into the secret of my work on your majesty’s behalf, I must respectfully ask to be released.”
As I offered her majesty this alternative in a firm voice, I was inwardly trembling. On the reply hung, perhaps, the fate of two continents.
But the Dowager Empress did not hesitate.
“What you stipulate for shall be done, Monsieur V——. I am too well aware of the value of your services, and the claims you have on the confidence of your employers, to dispute your conditions.”
“The messenger who is starting to-night—does the Princess know who he is?”
“I believe so. It is no secret. The messenger is Colonel Menken.”
“In that case he will never reach Tokio.”
Her majesty could not suppress a look of horror.
“What do you advise?” she demanded tremulously.
“His majesty the Czar must at once write a duplicate of the despatch, unknown to any living soul but your majesty, and that despatch must be placed by you in my hands.”
The Dowager Empress gazed at me for a moment in consternation.
But the soundness of the plan I had proposed quickly made itself manifest to her.
“You are right, Monsieur V——,” her majesty said approvingly. “I will communicate with the Czar without delay. By what time do you want the despatch?”
“In time to catch the Siberian express to-night, if your majesty pleases. I purpose to travel by the same train as Colonel Menken—it is possible I may be able to avert a tragedy.
“And since your majesty has told me that the Princess Y—— is aware of the Colonel’s errand, let me venture to urge you most strongly not to let her out of your sight on any pretense until he is safely on his way.”
I need not go into the details of the further arrangementsmade with a view to my receiving the duplicate despatch in secrecy.
I came away from the Palace fully realizing the serious nature of my undertaking. I understood now all that had worried me in the proceedings of the Princess. It was clear to me that Lord Bedale, or the personage on whose behalf he instructed me, had wired to the Dowager Empress, notifying her majesty of my coming, and that she had shown the message to her lady-in-waiting.
Blaming myself bitterly for not having impressed the necessity for caution on the Marquis, I at once set about providing myself with a more effectual disguise.
It is a proverb on the lips of every moujik in Petersburg that all Russia obeys the Czar, and the Czar obeys the Tchin. Ever since the bureaucracy deliberately allowed Alexander II. to be assassinated by the Nihilists out of anger at his reforming tendencies, the Russian monarchs have felt more real dread of their own police than of the revolutionists. TheTchin, the universally-pervading body of officials, who run the autocracy to fill their pockets, and indulge their vile propensities at the expense of the governed, is as omnipotent as it is corrupt. Everywhere in that vast Empire the word of the Tchinovink is law—and there is no other law except his word.
Taking the bull by the horns, I went straight tothe Central Police Bureau of the capital, and asked to see a certain superintendent named Rostoy.
To this man, with whom I had had some dealings on a previous occasion, and whose character was well understood by me, I explained that I had accepted a mission from a friendly Power to travel along the Siberian Railway and report on its capacity to keep the Army of Manchuria supplied with food and ammunition in the event of war.
He expressed no surprise when I told him it was essential that I should leave Petersburg that night, and accordingly it did not take us long to come to terms.
The service which I required of him was, of course, a fresh passport, with a complete disguise which would enable me to pass anywhere along the railway or in Manchuria without being detected or interfered with by the agents of the Government.
After some discussion we decided that the safest plan would be for me to travel in the character of a Russian police officer charged with the detection of the train thieves and card-sharpers who abound on every great route of travel. I could think of no part which would serve better to enable me to watch over the safety of the Czar’s envoy without exciting suspicion.
I placed in Rostoy’s hands the first instalment of a heavy bribe, and arranged to return an hour beforethe departure of the Moscow express to carry out my transformation.
It was only as I left his office that I remembered my unlucky engagement to dine that very night with the head of the Manchurian Syndicate.
I perceived that these hospitalities were well devised checks on my movements, and it was with something of a shock that I realized that when I went to dinner that evening with the most active promoter of the war I should be carrying the Czar’s peace despatch in my pocket!
If the enemies of peace had foreseen every step that I was to take in the discharge of my mission, their measures could not have been more skilfully arranged.
And as this reflection occurred to me I turned my head nervously, and remarked a man dressed like a hotel porter lounging carelessly in my track.
R
Readers of that prince of romancers, Poe, will recollect a celebrated story in which he describes the device employed by a man of uncommon shrewdness to conceal a stolen letter from the perquisitions of the police, and the elaborate argument by which the writer proves that the highest art of concealment is to thrust the object to be hidden under the very nose of the searcher.
But that argument is one of the many mystifications in which the weird genius of Poe delighted. It is easy to see, in short, that the theory was invented to suit the story, and not the story to suit the theory. I now had before me the practical problem of concealing a document of surpassing importance, from enemies who were already on my scent, and keeping it concealed during a journey of some thousands of miles.
The ordinary hiding-places of valuable papers, such as the lining of clothes, or a false bottom to a trunk,I dismissed without serious consideration. My luggage would probably be stolen, and I might be drugged long before I reached Dalny.
The problem was all the more difficult for me because I have generally made it a rule to avoid charging myself with written instructions. I am sufficiently well known by reputation to most European sovereigns to be able to dispense with ordinary credentials. But in approaching the Mikado of Japan, a ruler to whom I was personally unknown, it was clearly necessary for me to have something in writing from the Russian Emperor.
All at once an idea flashed on my mind, so simple, and yet so incapable of detection (as it seemed to me), that I almost smiled in the face of the man who was dogging my steps along the street, no doubt under instructions from the War Syndicate.
That afternoon I was closeted with the Emperor of All the Russias in his private cabinet for nearly an hour.
It is not my habit to repeat details of private conversations, when they are not required to illustrate the progress of public events, and therefore I will say merely that the Czar was evidently in earnest in his desire to avoid war, but greatly hampered and bewildered by the difficult representations made to him by, or on behalf of, those to whose interests war was essential.
It was melancholy to see the destinies of half Europe and Asia, and the lives of scores of thousands of brave men, hanging on the will of an irresolute young man, depressed by the consciousness of his own infirmity, and desperately seeking for some stronger mind on which to lean. Had I not been placed by my Polish sentiment in a position of antagonism to the Czardom, perhaps—but it is useless to indulge in these reflections.
One thing in the course of the interview struck me as having great significance for the future. I found that his majesty, who had entertained at one time a strong dislike of the German Emperor, a dislike not untinged with jealousy, had now completely altered his opinion. He spoke to me of Wilhelm II. in terms of highest praise, declared that he was under the greatest obligations to him for useful warnings and advice, said that he believed he had no truer or more zealous friend.
When I drove to the house of M. Petrovitch that evening I carried, carefully sewn between the inner and outer folds of my well-starched shirt-front, where no sound of crackling would excite remark, a sheet of thin note-paper covered in a very small handwriting with the text of the Czar’s letter to the ruler of Japan.
M. Petrovitch was not alone. Around his hospitable board he had gathered some of the highest andproudest personages of the Russian Court, including the Grand Duke Staniolanus, generally believed to be the heart and soul of the War Party. His imperial highness was well-known to be a desperate gambler, up to the neck in debts contracted at the card-table, and bent on recouping himself out of the wealth of Korea and Manchuria.
I was duly presented to this royal personage (whom I had met once before under widely different circumstances) in the character of a Peace Crusader, an emissary of the philanthropists of Great Britain.
At the dinner-table, where I found myself placed on my host’s left hand, while the Grand Duke was on his right, the conversation continued to be in the same strain. That Petrovitch believed me to be an English peace fanatic I did not believe any longer, but I could not tell if any, or how many, of the others were in his confidence.
As soon as the solid part of the feast was disposed of, Petrovitch rose to his feet, and after a bow to the Grand Duke, launched out into a formal speech proposing my health.
He commenced with the usual professions in favor of peace, spoke of the desire felt by all Russians to preserve the friendship of England, eulogized the work done by my friend the editor, and by other less disinterested friends of Russia in London, and wound up by asking all the company to give me a cordialwelcome, and to send a message of congratulation and good-will to the British public.
Knowing as I did, that the man was a consummate rogue, who had probably invited me to his house in order to keep me under observation, and possibly to prevent my getting scent of the intrigues pursued by his friend and ally, Princess Y——, I was still at a loss to understand the reason for this performance.
I have learned since that an account of the proceedings, with abstracts from this hypocritical speech, was telegraphed to England, and actually found its way into some of the newspapers under the heading, “Peace Demonstration in St. Petersburg: No Russian Wants War.”
There was one of the guests, however, who made no pretense of listening with pleasure to the smooth speech of M. Petrovitch. This was a dark young man of about thirty, in a naval uniform. He sat scowling while his host spoke, and barely lifted his glass from the table at the conclusion.
A minute or two later I took an opportunity to ask the promoter the name of this ungracious officer.
“That?” my host exclaimed, looking ’round the table, “Oh, that is Captain Vassileffsky, one of our most distinguished sailors. He is a naval aide-de-camp to the Czar.”
I made a note of his name and face, being warnedby a presentiment which I could not resist that I should come across him again.
The champagne now began to flow freely, and as it flowed the tongues of many of the company were unloosed by degrees. From the subject of peace the conversation passed rapidly to the possibilities of war, and the Japanese were spoken of in a way that plainly showed me how little those present understood the resolution and resources of the Island Empire.
“The Japanese dare not fire the first shot and, since we will not, there will be no war,” declared my left-hand neighbor.
“The war will be fought in Japan, not in Manchuria,” affirmed the Grand Duke with a condescending air. “It will be a case of the Boers over again. They may give us some trouble, but we shall annex their country.”
M. Petrovitch gave me a glance of alarm.
“Russia does not wish to add to her territory,” he put in; “but we may find it necessary to leave a few troops in Tokio to maintain order, while we pursue our civilizing mission.”
I need not recount the other remarks, equally arrogant.
Abstemious by habit, I had a particular reason for refraining from taking much wine on this night. It was already past nine o’clock, the train for Moscow, which connected there with the Siberian express,started at midnight, and I had to be at the police bureau by eleven at the latest to make the changes necessary for my disguise.
I therefore allowed my glass to remain full, merely touching it with my lips occasionally when my host pressed me to drink. M. Petrovitch did not openly notice my abstinence, but presently I heard him give an order to the butler who waited behind his chair.
The butler turned to the sideboard for a moment, and then came forward bearing a silver tray on which stood a flagon of cut-glass and silver with a number of exquisite little silver cups like egg-shells.
“You will not refuse to taste our Russian national beverage, Mr. Sterling,” the head of the War Syndicate said persuasively, as the butler began filling the tiny cups.
It was a challenge which I could not refuse without rudeness, though it struck me as rather out of place that the vodka should be offered to me before to the imperial guest on my host’s right.
The butler filled two cups, M. Petrovitch taking the second from the tray as I lifted the first to my lips.
“You know our custom,” the financier exclaimed smilingly. “No heeltaps!”
He lifted his own cup with a brave air, and I tossed off the contents of my own without stopping.
As the fiery liquor ran down my throat I was conscious of something in its taste which was unlike the flavor of any vodka I had ever drunk before. But this circumstance aroused no suspicion in my mind. I confess that it never occurred to me that any one could be daring enough to employ so crude and dangerous a device as a drugged draft at a quasi-public banquet, given to an English peace emissary, with a member of the imperial family sitting at the board.
I was undeceived the next moment. Petrovitch, as soon as he saw that my cup had been emptied, sat down his own untasted, and, with a well-acted movement of surprise and regret, turned to the Grand Duke.
“I implore your pardon, sir. I did not ask if you would not honor me by taking the first cup!”
The Grand Duke, whom I readily acquitted of any share in the other’s design, shrugged his shoulders with an indifferent air.
“If you wish your friends to drink vodka, you should not put champagne like this before us,” he said laughing.
Petrovitch said something in reply; he turned and scolded the butler as well, I fancy. But my brain was becoming confused. I had just sufficient command of my faculties left to feign ignorance of the true situation.
“I am feeling a little faint. Thatpâté”—I contrived to murmur.
And then I heard Captain Vassileffsky cry out in an alarm that was unmistakably genuine—“Look out for the Englishman! He is swooning”—and I knew no more.
M
My first thought, as my senses began to come back to me, was of the train which was due to leave Petersburg for Moscow at midnight.
I clutched at my watch, and drew it forth. The hands marked the time as 9.25. Apparently I had not been unconscious for more than a few seconds.
My second glance assured me that my clothes were not disarranged. My shirt-front, concealing the Czar’s autograph letter, was exactly as when I sat down to the table.
Only after satisfying myself on these two points did I begin to take in the rest of my surroundings.
I was resting on a couch against the wall in the room where we had dined. My host, the head of the Manchuria Syndicate, was standing beside me, watching my recovery with a friendly and relieved expression, as though honestly glad to see me myself again.A servant, holding in his hand a bottle which appeared to contain sal volatile, was looking on from the foot of the bed, in an attitude of sympathetic attention. The other guests had left the room, and the state of the table, covered with half-filled glasses and hastily thrown down napkins, made it evident that they had cleared out of the way to give me a chance to come to.
The cold air blowing over my forehead told me that a window had been opened. A Russian January is not favorable to much ventilation. As a rule the houses of the well-to-do are provided with double windows, which are kept hermetically sealed while the rooms are in use. The fact that the dining-room was still warm was sufficient proof that the window could not have been opened for more than the briefest time.
It was a singular thing that, in spite of these assurances that my swoon had been an affair of moments only, I was seized by an overmastering desire to get away from the house immediately.
I heard M. Petrovitch exclaim—
“Thank Heaven—you are better! I began to be afraid that your seizure was going to last. I must go and reassure my guests. The Grand Duke will be delighted to hear your are recovering. He was most distressed at the attack.”
I sat upright with an effort, and staggered to my feet.
“I am ashamed to have given you so much trouble,” I said. “I can’t remember ever fainting like this before. Please make my excuses to his imperial highness and the rest of the company.”
“But what are you doing?” cried M. Petrovitch in dismay. “You must not attempt to move yet.”
“I shall be better in bed,” I answered in a voice which I purposely strove to render as faint as possible. “If you will excuse me, I will go straight to my hotel.”
The promoter’s brow wrinkled. I saw that he was trying to devise some pretext to detain me, and my anxiety to find myself clear of his house redoubled.
“If you will do me a favor, I should be glad if you would let one of your servants come with me as far as the hotel,” I said. “I am feeling rather giddy and weak.”
The secret chief of the War Party caught eagerly at the suggestion. It was no doubt exactly what he desired.
“Mishka,” he said, turning to the servant, and speaking in Russian, “this gentleman asks you to accompany him to his hotel, as he has not yet recovered. Take great care of him, and do not leave him until he is safe in his own bed.”
The man nodded, giving his master a look which said—I understand what you want me to do.
Thanks to this request on my part, M. Petrovitch raised no further objection to my departure. I stumbled out of the room, pretending to cling to the servant’s arm for support, and let him help me on with my furs, while the porter was summoning a sleigh.
There was a hurried consultation in low tones between my host and the porter. Rather to my surprise the carriage, when it appeared, was a closed one, being a species of brougham on runners instead of wheels. I allowed myself to be carried down the steps like a child, and placed inside; the door was closed, with the windows carefully drawn up, and the jailer—for such he was to all intents and purposes—got on the box.
The sleigh swept out of the courtyard and across the city. Directly it was in the street, I very softly lowered one of the windows and peered out. The streets seemed to me more deserted than usual at such an hour. I was idly wondering whether the imminence of war could account for this when I heard a church clock beginning to strike.
Once—twice—the chimes rang out. And then, as I was preparing to close the window, they went on a third time—a fourth!
I held my breath, and listened with straining ears,as the great notes boomed forth from the distant town across the silent streets and houses.
One—two—three—four—five—six—seven—eight—nine—ten—ELEVEN!
I understood at last. That drugged sleep had lasted an hour and a half, and before I came to myself my watch had been deliberately set back to the minute at which I lost consciousness, in order to prevent me from suspecting that I had been searched, or that there was anything wrong about the affair.
Had I taken time for reflection I should probably have made up my mind to lose the Moscow express. In order to lull the suspicions of the conspirators, by making them believe I was their dupe, I should have let myself be taken to the hotel and put to bed in accordance with the kind instructions of my late host. In that case, no doubt, my watch would have been secretly put right again while I was asleep.
But I could not bear the idea of all my carefully planned arrangements being upset. Above all things, I desired to keep up my prestige with the superintendent of police, Rostoy, who regarded me as an invincible being possessed of almost magical powers. At the moment when the clock was striking I ought to have been walking into his room in the bureau of the Third Section.
Grinding my teeth with vexation, I very gentlyopened the door of the carriage, which was traveling noiselessly over the snow, and slipped out.
I had taken care to ascertain that no onlooker was near. As soon as the sleigh was ’round the corner of the street I hailed a public conveyance and directed the driver to take me to the police office.
I was only five minutes late in keeping my appointment. Detecting a look of slight surprise on the face of the superintendent, I apologized for keeping him waiting.
“It is my habit to be punctual, even in trifling matters like this,” I remarked carelessly. “But the fact is I have been drugged and kidnapped since I saw you, and it took me five minutes to dispose of the rascals.”
Rostoy stared at me with stupid incredulity.
“You are joking, Monsieur V——, I suppose,” he muttered. “But, however, since you have arrived, there is your disguise. You will find everything in the pockets complete, including a handkerchief marked with the initials of the name you have chosen.”
“Monsieur Rostoy, you are an able man, with whom it is pleasure to do business,” I responded heartily.
The Russian swelled with pride at this compliment. I hastily changed clothes, shifting nothing from my discarded costume except a cigarette case which I had filled with the hotel cigarettes. My inquiry asto the Gregorides brand smoked by M. Petrovitch had not yet been answered.
“Surely you are not going to wear that linen shirt of yours right across Siberia!” exclaimed Rostoy, who never took his eyes off me.
I shrugged my shoulders.
“It is a whim of mine always to wear linen,” I responded. “I am not a rheumatic subject. And, besides, I have no time to lose.”
The superintendent threw a regretful look at the flannel shirt he had provided for me.
As soon as I had finished my preparations I handed a thick bundle of ruble notes to the superintendent.
“As much more when I come back safe,” was all I said.
Rostoy snatched at his pay, his eyes sparkling with greed.
“Good-by and a good journey!” he cried as I strode out.
Once in the street, I had no difficulty in finding a sleigh, this time an open one, to convey me to the railway station. I glanced at my watch, which I had set by the church clock, and calculated that I should have a few minutes to spare.
But I had not allowed for Russian ideas as to time. As the sleigh drew up at the great terminus, and I came in view of the station clock, I saw that it was on the stroke of midnight.
Flinging the driver his fare I rushed toward the barrier.
“Moscow!” I shouted to the railway official in charge.
“The train has just left,” was the crushing reply.