“Róza,” gasped Madame Demidoff, who had overheard the man’s last words, and now felt sick with terror, “look again! you must have been mistaken.… Where is my valise?… You are responsible for my valise.… I shall accuse you of theft, unless you find my valise.… I shall——”
She checked herself just in time, for an amused and interested crowd of spectators began to assemble round her and her maid, eager to watch this elegantly dressed lady so completely losing her self-control, over the loss of some small articles of luggage.
The second bell had already sounded, the passengers were preparing to resume their seats in the express. Madame Demidoff, seeing the piercing eyes of one or two officials fixed searchingly at her, felt the necessity of pulling herself together. Her long knowledge of the world—the official world, told her of the danger of betraying too much emotion over apparent trifles, lest those trifles became thereby an object of suspicion. Regaining hersang-froid, she turned to the porters, who stood gaping round, and said with calmness—
“My valise and dressing-bag contained some very valuable jewellery. I will give a thousand guldens for their recovery, two thousand if I have them back before dawn. In the meanwhile one of you take my luggage to a cab, and I shall be glad to know the name of the best hotel in this town, where I shall stay until my property is recovered. I must interview the police at once, that is, I suppose, as early in the morning as possible.”
“Róza,” she added, turning to her poor discomfited maid, while her orders were being promptly and noiselessly carried out, “here are a month’s wages, and the money to pay your fare back to Vienna; do not ever let me set eyes on you again.”
After that she walked gracefully and steadily across the room, got into a cab, and was driven to the hotel, while poor Róza was left to be consoled by the kind porter, until the next train started back for Vienna.
Inthe meanwhile Iván Volenski had suffered terribly. His was a peculiar position at that moment. Anxious as he had been to serve the great cause, he had imperilled it—unwittingly—almost beyond recall. His comrades had trustingly placed their lives, their freedom in his hands, lured by his promises of immunity, and twenty-four hours later he had placed them all in the hands of an agent of that very police they so justly dreaded.
And yet the Nuncio, in the morning following that eventful night, had succeeded in somewhat reassuring him. Perhaps his Eminence felt a trifle guilty in the matter of those candlesticks, and thought his secretary was blaming him for allowing them to pass out of his hands. He took great care to explain to Iván the accident to one of the Cupid’s arms, which both he and Madame Demidoff had noticed, and which finally decided him to accept her kind offer. Little by little Volenski gleaned from the Cardinal a minute account of all that passed between him and the fair Russian, on the subject of the Emperor’s candlesticks. He heard that madame had, with her own hands, packed the damagedbibelotand placed it on one side, and had herself professed to take the utmost care that not the slightest accident should happen further.
Here was a reason, clearly, for once more thanking Providence that it should have guided his hand towards the damaged candlestick, when secreting the fateful papers.
Madame Demidoff so far knew nothing, that was a reasonable hope, and as soon as his Eminence had left Vienna, which unfortunately would not be till the evening, Iván meant to travel to Petersburg without delay, and on behalf of his absent master ask Madame Demidoff to remit the candlesticks to him, for safe custody within the walls of the Papal Legation.
In the meanwhile not a word to his comrades. He had seen the president the evening before and told him of the alteration in the Cardinal’s plan, which would enable him, Volenski, to deliver the papers in Taranïew’s hands two days before the anticipated time. To tell them all of the dangers they were in, would be unnecessary cruelty. What could they do but wait for the blow, if it was destined to fall? Mirkovitch would wish to kill the Tsarevitch. It would be revolting to murder a defenceless prisoner.
Now his Eminence had quieted his anxieties. There was no fear, no hurry. After the Cardinal left, Volenski’s peace of mind enabled him to sleep quietly, without harassing dreams of prisons and Siberia.
He felt alert and well the next morning, ready to take the express through Oderberg to Petersburg; little more than twenty-four hours after Madame Demidoff, following closely on her footsteps.
He breakfasted cheerfully, as one free from care, and with mechanical hands opened the morning paper to glance at the news. And when he read it, there was that in the paper that crushed all his hopes, and for the first time led him to doubt that it was Providence who watched over the Socialist cause.
“ANOTHER DARING ROBBERY ON THE FRONTIER.“Yesterday, during the examination of passengers’ luggage at Oderberg, at six o’clock in the morning, a daring robbery was committed.“As Madame Demidoff, a lady well known in our aristocratic circles, was alighting from hercoupé, a man, disguised in the uniform of our customs officials, offered to carry her dressing-bag and valise. He appeared to be following her with her belongings, and it was not till nearly a quarter of an hour later that Madame Demidoff realised that the man and all her belongings had disappeared. It is stated by the lady herself, that the valise contained some valuable articles; her extraordinary agitation on hearing of her loss was much commented upon. The matter is in the hands of the police, who already have an important clue.”
“ANOTHER DARING ROBBERY ON THE FRONTIER.
“Yesterday, during the examination of passengers’ luggage at Oderberg, at six o’clock in the morning, a daring robbery was committed.
“As Madame Demidoff, a lady well known in our aristocratic circles, was alighting from hercoupé, a man, disguised in the uniform of our customs officials, offered to carry her dressing-bag and valise. He appeared to be following her with her belongings, and it was not till nearly a quarter of an hour later that Madame Demidoff realised that the man and all her belongings had disappeared. It is stated by the lady herself, that the valise contained some valuable articles; her extraordinary agitation on hearing of her loss was much commented upon. The matter is in the hands of the police, who already have an important clue.”
What this announcement in the paper meant to Volenski the reader will easily imagine. After the comparative peace and security of the last few hours, the blow seemed to fall on him with almost stunning vigour. The paper fell from his hand, and for fully ten minutes he sat there staring into vacancy, unable to think, to plan, his brain almost refusing to take in the fact and all the terrors it conveyed. But a few hours ago those papers, which he had with so light a heart confided to what he felt sure was the safest hiding-place he could devise, had, by some mysterious help of Providence, escaped the eyes of the most astute woman in Russia—unknown to herself she was carrying the secrets of a band of young Nihilists safely across the Russian frontier in the teeth of the police—she, an agent, a spy herself.
The situation was hazardous. Volenski had trembled that some remote chance might at the eleventh hour play him false, but the chance was so slight a one, that he had even the heart to laugh inwardly at the curious coincidence that caused a police agent to be the means of conveying nihilistic papers across the border. Moreover, in two days at most, he would once more have regained the papers, hand them over to his comrades, and, when all was safe again, laugh at his own terrors. But now how terribly was the situation altered. The fateful papers at this moment were at the mercy of thieves or receivers of stolen goods, who were sure to make the most profitable use of their find; for the secret of the candlesticks could not remain one for long, once they fell into the hand ofbric-à-bracdealers, so expert in these matters. And Iván shuddered as he thought how completely in the power of scoundrels he and his comrades would presently be. Would the papers be used for blackmailing, denunciation, or what?
The valet had come in some little while ago, to warn the secretary that it was fully time to start, if he wished to catch the Kassa-Oderberg express, but Iván had impatiently said that his plans were changed; he was not starting that morning.
When the man had left him, and he was once more alone, he again took up theFremdenblatt, and read the fateful article through and through, till his aching temples began to throb and the letters dance before his burning eyes, till he felt dizzy and faint with that most awful terror—the terror of the unknown.
“The police have an important clue,” he muttered. “What clue? and what would happen if they did discover the stolen goods?”
The valise, of course, would be opened, and all the articles identified and handed back to Madame Demidoff, who would after that probably only be too glad to give the candlesticks back to Volenski, and shift all further responsibilities from her shoulders; but in the meanwhile they would be handled by dozens of pairs of hands: the thieves first, then the police, then the officials, any one of whom might chance upon the secret spring; and then——?
Volenski tried to persuade himself that this chance was very remote, the secret receptacles very ingeniously hidden, the springs very stiff, and only liable to yield after a great deal of pressure; but still a restlessness now seized him, he felt unable to sit still, the crowded streets seemed to lure him, and vaguely he had a hope, that from the groups at the cafés he might hear fresh news, new developments of this robbery, that was sure to set all tongues wagging and discussing.
He took his hat and made his way down the Kolowrátring towards the opera house. Instinct—the instinct of self-preservation—whispered to him to control himself, not to let any passing stranger notice his curious agitation, his wild, haggard look. He sauntered into one of the larger cafés, exchanging hand-shakes and greetings here and there. It seemed strange that not one of those he met referred to the robbery at Oderberg. Volenski could not understand that an event of such immense magnitude to himself should seem one of such utter indifference to others. The new opera, the expected cabinet crisis, Gallmeyer’s latest success, were all discussed around and with him, but no one seemed to think the theft of Madame Demidoff’s valise of the slightest importance, and Volenski dared not bring the subject up himself; he feared lest his voice would tremble, his anxious eyes betray his agitation.
Hungrily he listened for news, for comments, and went from one café to another, but only once did he hear an allusion made to the robbery; one young fellow said to another that no doubt Madame Demidoff had already succeeded in putting the police on the track of the thieves: she was so expert in police matters herself. The other young man laughed, and the subject was dropped.
The hours passed slowly on; the enforced inactivity weighed heavily on Volenski’s mind. The strain of weary waiting for some unknown catastrophe that might be close at hand was beginning to tell on him, and he left the busy streets of the city for some more remote, less frequented spots, where he might allow himself a little more freedom, his agitation a little more scope.
Thus his wanderings had led him towards the publishing offices of theFremdenblatt, outside which a great amount of bustle and noise proclaimed the sending out of the first afternoon edition. Inwardly thanking the chance that had led his footsteps in this direction, Volenski purchased a copy of the paper and eagerly scanned its contents.
Ah! there it was! some news evidently!
“THE ROBBERY AT ODERBERG.“Our frontier police have once more displayed the wonderful insight and promptness of action for which they are justly noted. The actual thief who stole the dressing-bag and valise of Madame Demidoff at Oderberg yesterday morning was arrested in a private room of the ‘Heinrich Marshall’ public-house in that same town, where he had taken refuge with his accomplice, in order to divide the booty. As the police forced their way into the room the two thieves were apparently quarrelling loudly over some of the trinkets, which were scattered all over the place. The man, a notorious character, who has long been ‘wanted’ by the police, seemed in too high a passion, or else too scared, to attempt to flee, but his accomplice, who by the way is a woman, succeeded in gathering a few articles together and effecting an escape through the window. She was, however, recognised by one of the police, and no doubt by now is also under arrest.“The police were greatly aided in their discovery by two or three of the porters at the station, who, it is said, were stimulated by the large sum of money offered by Madame Demidoff as a reward. Great, therefore, was the dissatisfaction and indignation amongst them when the lady, under the pretence that one or two valuable articles were missing, refused to give any reward till those articles were found. She appeared much agitated on giving her evidence before the magistrate, and explained this agitation on the grounds that one of the missing articles was a pair of very valuable antique gold and china candlesticks, which were not her property, but which were entrusted to her special care by a friend, whose name she refused to disclose. The lady’s singular excitement throughout the hearing of the case is causing much comment.”
“THE ROBBERY AT ODERBERG.
“Our frontier police have once more displayed the wonderful insight and promptness of action for which they are justly noted. The actual thief who stole the dressing-bag and valise of Madame Demidoff at Oderberg yesterday morning was arrested in a private room of the ‘Heinrich Marshall’ public-house in that same town, where he had taken refuge with his accomplice, in order to divide the booty. As the police forced their way into the room the two thieves were apparently quarrelling loudly over some of the trinkets, which were scattered all over the place. The man, a notorious character, who has long been ‘wanted’ by the police, seemed in too high a passion, or else too scared, to attempt to flee, but his accomplice, who by the way is a woman, succeeded in gathering a few articles together and effecting an escape through the window. She was, however, recognised by one of the police, and no doubt by now is also under arrest.
“The police were greatly aided in their discovery by two or three of the porters at the station, who, it is said, were stimulated by the large sum of money offered by Madame Demidoff as a reward. Great, therefore, was the dissatisfaction and indignation amongst them when the lady, under the pretence that one or two valuable articles were missing, refused to give any reward till those articles were found. She appeared much agitated on giving her evidence before the magistrate, and explained this agitation on the grounds that one of the missing articles was a pair of very valuable antique gold and china candlesticks, which were not her property, but which were entrusted to her special care by a friend, whose name she refused to disclose. The lady’s singular excitement throughout the hearing of the case is causing much comment.”
The paper dropped from Volenski’s hand, and he stood in the street staring into vacancy, almost staggering, as though he were intoxicated. The terrible thing about this whole drama that was being enacted around him, was the fact that, though he was the person most concerned in its developments, it was absolutely futile, nay, dangerous, for him to take the slightest part in it; and not the least of his sufferings was this feeling of utter powerlessness to do aught that could tend to save his comrades and himself from the terrible, crushing blow that might at any moment annihilate them all. But the time for serious deliberation had now arrived; it became absolutely imperative—Iván felt this—that he should trace himself a line of conduct, adopt some plan, decide how far he would warn his comrades, and perhaps seek their help and advice. But for this, quiet was needed, and Volenski now retraced his steps towards his hotel, feeling, moreover, that he had no right to neglect his Eminence’s business and correspondence, as, alas! he had but too long done. On his way home many a conflicting thought chased another, many a surmise, a problem, the solution of which might mean life or death to his friends and himself.
Having locked the door of his study, Iván set himself resolutely to the task of chasing away all thoughts of his worries, and devoting himself to his master’s work. He wrote what letters were necessary, sorted those that would require to be forwarded to his Eminence, arranged the papers that related to work done, and it was not till late in the afternoon, when the valet brought him a light, that he allowed himself the leisure of once more reverting to the all-engrossing subject of the missing papers, and gave himself the time for thinking over his plans.
The strict adherence to his duties had done him good, both mentally and physically; his brain seemed more clear, his nerves less on the quiver, than during those hours he had spent wandering idly and restlessly in the streets.
Clearly, the situation at this moment was no worse than it had been in the morning, and there was, as yet, no occasion to alarm his fellow-conspirators by telling them the facts of the case, and turning their wrath upon himself, who already had so much to bear.
No, it was better they should remain in ignorance a little longer, for Iván had not abandoned the hope that the papers were still undiscovered, and that he could, after the terrible fright she had had, induce Madame Demidoff to give the candlesticks back to him, as soon as she had recovered them from the police. The danger, the sole danger throughout, lay in the fact that papers so terribly compromising should be, if only for a short time, so hopelessly out of his reach, that so deadly a secret should lie at the mercy of so mere a chance.
As for his Eminence, Volenski well knew that, as soon as he was free from diplomatic duties, he never even glanced at a newspaper; his name, so far, had not been mentioned, and—— But here a fresh, a curious train of thought arose in Iván’s mind, and the darker side of the picture—he had vainly tried to look upon as bright—presented itself before his mind. Why had the Cardinal’s name been so studiously kept back by Madame Demidoff? Was it merely that, very naturally, she did not wish him to know how badly she had failed in her trust, or was there—and Iván paled at the thought—some reason for her wishing that his Eminence should not hear of her loss, some reason for the curious excitement into which, woman of the world as she was, she had betrayed herself, to the extent of arousing the comments of the magistrate and the reporters?
Had she, perchance, already discovered the dreaded secret, and, wishing to claim the honour and glory of her find, was she anxious to recover the papers, and, with them in her hands, denounce the conspirators and claim her reward? Was her agitation the outcome of her terror lest she should lose the precious proofs, without which, perhaps, her memory might be at fault in naming the perpetrators of the daring plot? Aye, all that was possible. Iván knew it all the time, strive though he might to lure himself into the false belief that all was sure to be quite safe so far. Madame Demidoff was evidently staying at Oderberg, ready to claim her property at once. Iván pondered if he should communicate with her; a sensible proceeding enough, if she had not discovered the papers, but worse than useless if she already had done so. One more chance now lay open to Iván, and that was to approach the police himself—now that the candlesticks had actually been mentioned as part of the missing property—and find out if they would allow him to claim them, on behalf of his Eminence the Papal Nuncio.
With that object in view, late as it was, he ordered afiaker, and drove off to the headquarters of the Detective Department. The chief of the police, Baron de Hermansthal, he knew well, having frequently met him in society, while in attendance on Cardinal d’Orsay. The baron was a busy man, very busy, and he kept Volenski waiting three-quarters of an hour in his ante-room; Iván had plenty of leisure, therefore, to decide what line of diplomacy it were best to adopt.
He would tell Baron de Hermansthal, under an official seal of secrecy, that the candlesticks alluded to by Madame Demidoff, in her account of her missing property, were none other than those entrusted to her by his master, Cardinal d’Orsay; that these antique candlesticks were to be unofficially presented to a lady resident in Petersburg, by the Papal Nuncio, on behalf of an exalted personage whom Volenski would not name, but would leave Baron de Hermansthal to guess. Finally, he would add that his Eminence completely relied on Baron de Hermansthal’s well-known tact and discretion, and that both the Cardinal and the exalted personage would desire that the matter be kept as far as possible from further publicity, the candlesticks not pass through any hands that were not absolutely necessary, and that it was to further this object that Volenski, on behalf of his Eminence, now claimed Baron de Hermansthal’s powerful assistance.
This plan and speech well formed in his head, Iván, feeling more calm, was able to enter the private room of the chief of the Austrian police, even without a tremor.
Baron de Hermansthal, a quiet, aristocratic-looking old man, with a charming eighteenth-century manner, listened attentively to all Volenski had to say, asked him to take a seat, while he would look over his notes relating to the case, and after a few moments—
“My dear Volenski,” he said, “I should be very happy under the circumstances to help his Eminence in any way that is within my power. If you will tell me what you would wish me to do, I might see in what way I can be of most assistance to you.”
“I merely want your permission to claim the candlesticks on behalf of his Eminence, without their passing through any hands, save yours and mine, and without all the formalities that usually attend the claiming of property found by the police.”
“But Madame Demidoff is for the time being the person from whom these candlesticks have been robbed, she might object to their being handed over to anyone save herself.”
“Madame Demidoff has declared before the magistrate that they are not her property,” replied Volenski. “I will communicate with her, as soon as I have your authorisation to do so, and you will find that she will be only too glad to hand over to me all responsibility in the matter.”
“That will be for her to decide,” rejoined the chief of the police drily, “we can discuss the matter later on; anyhow, I can promise you that I will communicate with you the moment the police have seized the missing articles.”
“They have not yet been found then?” asked Iván, breathlessly.
“They are not actually in our possession,” corrected the chief of the police.
“May I ask what that implies?” asked Volenski, whose parched lips and quivering nerves hardly enabled him to frame an intelligible query.
“It implies that we know where they are, and that we can lay our hands on them at any moment.”
“And——”
“Stay! let me explain,” added the polite baron kindly, as he noted Volenski’s eagerness. “The police are, as you know, well acquainted with the woman who was in the room with the thief at the time of the arrest, and who ran away through the window with a part of the booty. She is one of that class whom it isbon tonto designate as the ‘unfortunate.’ ”
“Yes! I knew that the female thief had escaped, but I should have thought——”
“That our police, usually so active, when there is a little rough-and-tumble work to do, would not fail in overtaking and capturing her. That would have been done, no doubt, but for a very important reason, which is this: the officer in command, once having recognised the woman, knew that he could lay hands on her at any moment. She lives in Vienna, and haunts everycabaretand third-rate hotel, her favourite resort being the ‘Kaiser Franz.’ He therefore intends to lull her into false security, with a view—by keeping a constant watch on her movements—of discovering and bringing to justice a gang of receivers of stolen goods, who, so far, have completely baffled our vigilance, and whose tool we believe her to be.”
“You think, then, that the woman brought those candlesticks to Vienna with her?”
“We know she did, for she was seen in Vienna this very morning, and is being closely watched.”
“Surely your Excellency will give immediate orders to have her rooms searched this very evening?” said Iván imploringly.
“I have no objection to doing that,” said Baron de Hermansthal urbanely, “as I am anxious to prove to his Eminence how willing I am to serve him.”
“Your Excellency will allow me to accompany the police?” asked Volenski eagerly.
“To identify the candlesticks,” he added, seeing that Baron de Hermansthal shook his head in emphatic refusal; “there may be others there.”
“On one condition then, that you do not interfere with our men in the discharge of their duty, merely pointing out the articles you claim as your property, and that you allow the officer on duty to bring them here, to my office, without opposition.”
“To your office?” said Iván.
“Yes! I shall have to insist that the candlesticks remain in my charge until I hear definitely from you or Madame Demidoff herself, that she wishes them handed over to you.”
“And in the meanwhile?”
“I promise you faithfully that no one shall even touch them; you shall yourself see the parcel locked in my desk, and I shall be delighted to give them up to you, as soon as I am satisfied that Madame Demidoff has no objection to my doing so.”
Iván reflected a moment. In his mind there at once arose the idea that chance would certainly favour him, once he actually had the candlesticks in his hands; he had but to press the spring while the police were searching another part of the room, and he could, he felt sure, extract the papers unperceived. There were so many eventualities that might happen, between the time when the candlesticks were found and the moment when Baron de Hermansthal would finally turn the key of his desk on them; so many opportunities, any one of which would find him on the alert. His hesitation, therefore, lasted but a moment; the next, he had assured the amiable baron that he would strictly adhere to his instructions, and was quite willing to wait for Madame Demidoff’s decision, once his fears, that the candlesticks might be too much tampered with, had been allayed.
“In the name of his Eminence,” he added diplomatically, “I thank your Excellency for your courtesy in the matter.”
“Pray say no more,” replied Baron de Hermansthal, as he touched the bell in order to give the necessary instructions.
“Tell Sergeant Meyer I wish to speak to him,” he said to his valet.
“It is very late,” he added, looking at his watch; “nearly eight o’clock, but that is no matter, as no doubt you will find the woman has gone out on her nightly errands and left you the coast clear.”
A discreet rap at the door and the sergeant appeared, saluting his chief.
“Meyer,” said his Excellency, “do I understand that the woman Grete Ottlinger has, so far, not been caught trying to sell the stolen property?”
“No, your Excellency, she has not left her rooms since this morning, when she arrived from Oderberg. Two of my men have been stationed outside her doors all day, and she has not gone out. Herconciergethinks she has been in bed all day. She drove this morning direct from the station to her room, and had then a large-sized box with her.”
“Very good! I wish you now to take one other man with you and go to the woman’s room, with this warrant to search all her premises. You will seize all the suspicious property you can find. If the woman is there you may arrest her, if not, your men will be having an eye on her, and she can be arrested when she comes home. Monsieur here has my permission to accompany you and to identify certain articles that belong to him, and which you must then bring back here to my office. Do you understand?”
“Yes, your Excellency!”
“Au revoirthen, my dear Volenski,” said Baron de Hermansthal, turning to Iván; “I shall expect you here with the candlesticks according to your promise, on which I rely.”
And his Excellency, rising from his seat and dismissing the sergeant with a nod, thereby intimated to Volenski that he had done all his duty allowed him to do, and that the audience was at an end.
Iván once more was profuse in his thanks. Fate indeed favoured him; it was now for him to seize the splendid opportunity with skill and promptitude. He felt in his pocket-book that he was well provided with money; a “douceur” to the sergeant, should he chance to see what Volenski did not intend, might be necessary.
Five minutes afterwards he was in afiakerwith Sergeant Meyer and another member of the corps, and in his heart of hearts he hoped that the next half-hour would see his precious papers transferred once more to the inner pocket of his coat.
Itwas in a narrow street, in one of the most squalid quarters of Vienna, that thefiakerstopped, after some ten minutes’ rattle over the cobbled streets of the city.
Sergeant Meyer jumped out, followed by Iván and the other police officer, and casting a quick, searching glance along the apparently deserted street, he walked unhesitatingly under one of the wide porticoes in front of him. The house was one of a row of tall buildings, ugly, square, and straight, with a balcony running along outside the first-floor fronts, the whole length of the street, and a wide, openporte cochère, leading, through a square courtyard, to the lodgings at the back of the buildings. There was a lodge for theconciergeon the right, at the foot of the wide stone staircase that leads up to the front of the house, but no one guarded the apartments that overlooked the courtyard: there was nothing there worth guarding, the inhabitants belonging mostly to the very poorest classes of Vienna, who had nothing worth stealing.
A group of women, with untidy hair and dirty aprons, stopped their chatter and nudged each other significantly with great, coarse, bare elbows, as they caught sight of the police uniform; and one or two heads appeared at some of the windows, as the heavy steps of Sergeant Meyer and his followers echoed on the stone pavement of the courtyard.
Having reached the dark and narrow staircase leading to the floors above, Sergeant Meyer turned to Iván.
“I do not see either of our fellows anywhere about, so I conclude the woman has gone out.”
“So much the better,” said Volenski, “we need have no disturbance then; I suppose the people of the house are used to this sort of thing, for they took very little heed of your uniform or our presence.”
The sergeant shrugged his shoulders, intimating that he cared little for any disturbance that might arise, and he added—
“This house is one of the worst-famed in this part of Vienna; it is almost entirely tenanted by women of Grete Ottlinger’s class. A police inspection of their premises is a very frequent occurrence, and the inhabitants have, I think, one and all, spent some time in prison or hospital.”
The three men now began cautiously ascending the dark stone stairs, guiding themselves by the narrow, iron hand-rail, and feeling their way with utmost care. Sergeant Meyer, who was in front, seemed to be very sure of where he was going, for it was without any hesitation that he stopped somewhere about the fifth floor, and crossing a dark passage, tried the handle of one of the doors that opened thereon.
The door, however, seemed to be locked, and after one or two repeated loud knocks, the sergeant applied his broad shoulders to the feebly resisting timber, and broke it open without any difficulty.
The room, in which the three men now found themselves, was but dimly illumined by a glimmer of light, that came in through the window from the courtyard below. The sergeant struck a match and lighted his lantern; the aspect of that room then presented itself in all its squalor and hideousness: an iron bedstead, covered with a ragged, coloured counterpane, stood out from the centre of the wall opposite; to the right as they entered, an earthenware stove with the tiles mostly cracked and loose; then a coarsely-painted chest, the drawers of which were mostly open, displaying a medley of dirty laces and faded ribbons; two or three chairs in a rickety condition propped against the walls, and a table with a broken ewer and cracked basin, completed the furniture of this abode of misery and degradation; the floor was bare, the boards unwashed and rough, on the window-sill stood a mirror and two or three pots of powder and cosmetics, while on the chest of drawers lay a litter of papers and two or three faded photographs.
Iván stood gazing round in horror. It had never been his misfortune to witness the type of misery, sordid and abject, that was depicted by this bare room, by the tawdry scraps of ribbon, the half-empty, evil-smelling pots of cosmetics, and his mind reverted to the exalted notion he and his comrades had of the “people,” of the poor, who were in the future to frame laws and rule empires, the “people” about whom they talked so much, and knew so little, the “people” whose men and women lived likethis.
Then pulling himself together he gazed blankly round him. Save for that chest of drawers, which appeared half empty, he could see nothing wherein the Emperor’s candlesticks could have been hidden, and a cold perspiration stood on his forehead as he turned to Meyer and asked him what course he intended to pursue.
The sergeant once more shrugged his shoulders, then pointing to the bed he ordered his man to turn the paillasse over.
“Would you like to search that chest of drawers?” he smiled, sarcastically addressing Volenski. “My impression is that the bird has flown and taken her treasures with her.”
Iván waited not for a second offer, he was already emptying the drawers, throwing ribbons and rags in a confused heap on the floor. Hope was fast dwindling away; this golden opportunity, from which he had expected so much, was proving futile. The splendid chance he would have had in this dark room, if only the candlesticks were to fall in his hands, was not to be his after all. Half fainting with the closeness of the atmosphere, and the nerve-strain consequent on the bitter disappointment he was experiencing, Iván dared not let the sergeant see his face, frightened lest the astute detective should notice his strange agitation, and jump at conclusions, which he might afterwards communicate to his chief.
“It seems to me,” said Meyer at last, “that we are wasting our time here; the woman has evidently taken with her what valuables she had stolen, either because she is always prepared for a police raid during her absence, or she may actually have gone to dispose of them. Anyhow, monsieur,” he added, “with your permission, we will leave the matter for the present, and report proceedings to the chief.”
Iván had completely emptied the drawers, and was now impatiently turning over the letters and papers that were lying in a confused heap on the top of the chest. A half-torn, almost wholly faded photograph had riveted his attention. A somewhat coarse, large-featured woman’s face, with dark, provoking eyes, and a wide, laughing mouth. He wondered, as he looked at it, whether this was the woman who held his fate and that of his comrades in one of those clumsy, low-bred hands, and whether he would ask Sergeant Meyer if this was Grete Ottlinger.
“Is this the woman?” he asked at last with sudden determination, turning towards the police officer and holding out the photograph.
“Yes! it is,” replied Meyer, after a hasty glance. “No beauty, is she?” he added with a laugh.
Then the other man having opened the door, the sergeant stood evidently impatient to be gone, his lantern in his hand dimly lighting the dark passage beyond. Volenski with a sudden impulse slipped the photograph into his pocket, and throwing a last hopeless look at the squalid abode he had entered so full of hope, followed Meyer down the narrow stairs.
He was loth to give up all hope, his was a sanguine and buoyant disposition, that refused to give way to despair. A plan had already formed in his brain, a confused idea that would require the quietness of the deserted streets to order and to organise.
“As we have not found anything belonging to me up there,” he said to Sergeant Meyer, as the latter prepared to step into the cab that was waiting for them outside, “I don’t think there is any necessity for me to follow you to his Excellency’s office. What do you think?”
“You know best, monsieur, of course,” replied Meyer. “I have a very short report to make about the woman’s absence, together with every article of stolen property; also the fact that our two fellows are no doubt on her track, as I do not see them anywhere about. His Excellency must then decide, if it is worth while going to the ‘Kaiser Franz’ to-night on the chance of finding her there, or leave the matter alone till her return.”
“I should think the latter is by far the wisest course,” said Iván hastily; “however, that is none of my business. Will you tell his Excellency, that as my property has not been found, I will call on him again to-morrow morning, and in the meanwhile will communicate with Madame Demidoff?”
Sergeant Meyer and his assistant bowed to Iván as they stepped into thefiaker. Volenski waited a few moments till the sound of the wheels died out in the distance, then taking a cigarette from his case he lighted it with great deliberation and sauntered off towards the Ringstrasse with an anxious but determined look on his young face.
PoorVolenski had begun to look very haggard and careworn; the mental strain of the past few days was beginning to tell upon him. He was paying less attention to his dress, there was an absence of elasticity in his step, and an almost furtive look in his usually so frank, if dreamy eyes. He realised this, as, having reached the brilliantly lighted cafés that enliven both sides of the Opern and Kolowrátring, he caught sight of his own figure in one of the tall pier-glasses beyond the windows of the shops, and noticed the untidy look of his cravat, the dusty appearance of his clothes. He looked at his watch; it was barely nine o’clock—time enough to pay a flying visit to his hotel and remedy the obvious defects of his toilet, before he sallied forth to accomplish the task he had in a moment’s resolution set himself to do.
It was with the greatest care that he proceeded to change his clothes for the conventional black and white of evening attire, not forgetting the bouquet in his buttonhole, nor the fine handkerchief peeping from the pocket of the coat. He wished to look the perfect type of the young man about town—idle, elegant, and gay—arôlehe had played so much during the greater part of his life that it had become second nature; and especially he wished to leave absolutely behind him all traces of the harassed conspirator, who feels himself tracked, and dreads at every turn to meet his doom.
There was no doubt that since the fatal moment when the candlesticks were stolen on the Austrian frontier, fate loomed dark against him and his friends, and he had been alone to face the dangers and difficulties, to battle against relentless chance. The most adverse coincidences had surrounded him from the first, and when luck appeared to be on the turn, some untoward, wholly unforeseen event occurred, to dash any hope he may have had to the ground. First the Cardinal’s unfortunate idea of entrusting Madame Demidoff with the candlesticks, then the robbery at Oderberg, next the escape of one of the thieves with the very articles that were of such paramount importance; finally the one grand opportunity he would have had to-night, but for Grete Ottlinger’s wonderful luck, or foresight, in taking the booty along with her.
But from all this chaos of mischance the unfortunate young man had gleaned one fresh ray of hope. He hardly dared to trust to it, but it gave him the inestimable boon of being able to act for himself, to be actually employed in trying to rescue himself and his friends from the terrible position into which his well-meant blunder had led them. It meant that with tact and diplomacy all was not lost yet, and that in the meanwhile he would at least be free from the intolerable torture of inactivity, waiting, wearily waiting, for that crushing blow that might descend at any moment.
As it was getting late, and Vienna was in the full swing of its usual evening entertainments, Volenski found his way to the “Kaiser Franz,” a brilliantly lighted but tumble-down looking hotel in the Muzeumgasse, which had been named to him by the police as the usual nightly haunt of Grete Ottlinger. Everyone who has been to Vienna, probably, has noticed this hotel, with its flashy front, decorated with masses of gilded plaster, broken and tarnished, and its showy-looking porters in threadbare knee-breeches that show signs of once having been of crimson plush, and gold-laced coats that but too plainly proclaim the second-hand wardrobe dealer’s shop. It is mostly very noisy from within, especially in the small hours of the morning.
Under the portico, which is always very brilliantly lighted, usually stand half a dozen or so very young dandies about town, with their opera hats, worn at the backs of their heads, and a full-flavoured cigar between their teeth, more with a view to giving them an air of maturity than for actual enjoyment. They scan the over-dressed, over-painted, mostly somewhat faded beauties that pass up and down the street in front of them, waiting for an invitation for supper and champagne, and do so with an air of nonchalance that would fain betray the habits of aroué.
It was with this crowd of young men that Volenski mixed, though he had the greatest horror, usually, both for the scanners and the scanned; but to-night he stood under the gaudy portico, watching the very unattractive bevy of yellow-haired beauties that passed in front of him, as if he expected to find the idol of his heart among that crew.
He had taken the precaution to inquire of one of the porters if Grete Ottlinger had gone within, and being answered in the negative, he also cocked his hat at the back of his head and proceeded to light a cigar, trying to look as unconcerned as he could, while he waited forher, the original of the photograph he had so providentially found in that uninviting garret—her, whose confidence at that moment he would have purchased with her weight in gold. Would champagne or unlimited cognac loosen her tongue, he wondered.
Still they passed; some of them were accosted and taken into supper, others tried by a smile to encourage the diffident. They all looked very much alike, Volenski thought; they might all be sisters, in fact, as they were sisters in shame and misery.
Butherhe would recognise. He knew it—he would know her among a thousand. He had only looked at her photograph one minute, but her face danced before his eyes; ugly, commonplace as it was, was it not the face of his destiny?
Ah! there she comes at last. Iván seemed to feel her presence even before he actually heard her harsh, ill-bred voice, and recognised her coarse, low-cast features under the shadow of a cheap, gaudy hat.
Even before he had time to speak to her she was close up to him; no doubt she had noticed how intently he had been watching her. He threw away his cigar, and trying to look amiably at the poor wretch, he beckoned to her to follow him.
She surveyed him up and down, took in at a glance that the cloth of his coat was of the finest, his linen irreproachable, and his cigar fragrant; this evidently leading her to the conclusion that there would be plenty of money spent on the supper, she nodded a careless adieu at her less fortunate companions and followed Volenski into the hall.
Iván was at the bureau, ordering a private room, and the mostrecherchésupper, and choicest champagne the “Kaiser Franz” could boast of. The waiters, obsequious and attentive, were addressing congratulatory nods to Grete at the gold-mine she had evidently come across, and very soon Volenski and his companion were ushered into a gaudy showy apartment on the first floor.
The windows opened on to the Muzeumgasse, and Volenski leaned out into the cold night air, trying to cool his throbbing temples and calm his quivering nerves.
The presence of that common, showily dressed woman made him feel uncomfortable. He could not chase from his mind the vision of that garret, up a squalid stair, with its bare floor, rickety bed, and drawers full of dirty, tawdry knick-knacks. He tried to think of her only as the one being who could, if she would, if he set the right way to work, save him from his perilous position.
She had evidently hidden the candlesticks in some secure spot, away from the eyes of the police, or, maybe, had already sold them to an accomplice. To find this out was his self-imposed task, and the few moments that elapsed before the waiter returned with the supper, Iván spent in steeling himself to the ordeal.
For a trying ordeal it would surely be to a young and refined man, unaccustomed to the coarser pleasures of a gay city. Iván in turning round caught the woman’s eyes fixed with an amused, half-pitying expression upon him. Clearly she thought him a young, shy fool, anxious to taste the cup of dissipation, but with a lingering awkwardness when brought face to face with it. The part suited Iván; he determined to play it, and hide his nervous irritability under the cloak of intense shyness. He did not even know what type of conversation was expected of him, but he trusted that the champagne, which he had ordered dry and plentiful, would loosen his own tongue as well as hers.
Grete had employed the last few moments in divesting herself of her cloak and hat, and she now appeared in a gaudy evening dress, displaying charms that, like the Emperor’s candlesticks, had the value of antiquity.
“Leave everything on the sideboard,” she said to the waiter, “we will wait on ourselves, and you need not come till we ring for you.”
The waiter, well trained, arranged the supper-table as directed, then, taking a last look round to see that everything was in order, he discreetly withdrew.
“I hope you will like what I have ordered,” said Iván awkwardly; “if not, please ask for anything you want, anything that will make you lively, you know,” he added with a forced laugh; “we must enjoy ourselves, Grete, mustn’t we?”
The ice was broken, Grete burst into a merry peal of laughter.
“Well, you are the funniest creature I have ever come across,” she said, shaking with merriment. “Are you afraid of me? You have not opened your mouth since you brought me here. No, not there,” she said, as Iván solemnly sat down opposite her at the table; “I call that most unsociable, and I give you my word I won’t eat you up.Ach! Herr Je!” she added with a sigh, “the things on the table are much more appetising than you, and you are not the first young gentleman I have supped with. Come and sit here, little booby,” and she placed a chair close to her own.
Iván, glad that she started a conversation—which she was evidently well able to conduct by herself—changed his seat as she wished, and poured himself and her a full glass of champagne.
Poor soul! she was enjoying therecherchésupper thoroughly, and, after the first glass of Perrier Jouët, began telling him anecdotes of her checkered career; a quarter of an hour later she sidled up to him, looking somewhat amused the while.
“You funny booby,” she laughed, “you may, you know,” and she stretched out a very red cheek towards him.
“Look out! the waiter is coming,” said Iván, pushing back his chair and hastily jumping up from the table.
The bare idea of having to kiss that ugly, elderly woman sent a cold shiver down his spine.
“What if he is, booby mine?” she replied, giving way to an uncontrollable fit of laughter—the idea seemed so amusing. “Do you think he has never seen me kissed before? Come, cheer up, sit down again; your mammy shan’t know. There now, this is much more comfortable,” she added, for Volenski, on whom the importance of the present situation flashed again in an instant, had offered his feelings as holocaust on the altar of the great cause, and resumed his seat beside the donna—with an arm round her antiquated waist. She placed her yellow head languishingly on his shoulder.
“Do you know, little booby, that, as a rule, I don’t much care for young gentlemen like yourself?”
“No?” he asked indifferently.
“Well, you see,” she said with a pout, “it is difficult to get any fun out of them, they are so mortally afraid of being seen in our company that they won’t take us anywhere.”
Iván could not help smiling to himself at the idea of taking this beauty—say to the opera—and meeting his Eminence on the way, and did not wonder that Grete was not very often taken to the theatre by “young gentlemen” like himself.
“Who are the people you like best then, Grete?” he asked, in order to keep up the conversation.
“Oh! I have many friends—real friends,” she said. “But that’s a fine ring you are wearing, booby!”
Volenski felt at this moment that it was of the most vital importance that he should hear something of Grete’s real friends; he must get her to tell him about them; surely the accomplice, the one who was arrested at Oderberg, was one, and, who knows, another might at this moment be actually in possession of the fateful candlesticks!
Taking the ring off his finger he slipped it into Grete’s hand, and said with an effort at cordiality—
“Pray accept it; it will adorn your pretty hand. But do tell me some more about your friends—the real friends that were not young gentlemen?”
“One of them was an actor, and earned quite a lot of money—he used to play all kinds of parts—and, Lord! sometimes now, he makes me laugh with the clever way in which he can disguise his handsome features. Never mind, my pretty one,” she added coaxingly, “you have got a nice little face of your own too, and——”
“Never mind about my face; tell me about his.”
“Now you are angry,” she said with a pout. “I shan’t talk any more about him, though heisa clever chap! I could tell you one or two of his tricks. But there, that’s nothing to do with you.”
Volenski felt the conversation was becoming interesting. He swallowed the last vestige of repulsion he felt for this coarse, now decidedly intoxicated, woman, and pouring her out a large tumblerful of champagne, “Drink this, my girl,” he said, “and tell me some of your friend’s tricks. I should like to hear something that will make me laugh.”
She drank the champagne and said nothing for a few moments, then burst into a loud laugh.
“Ah! but I did the best trick of all to-day; I tricked them all, every one of them; they thought themselves mighty clever they did, but Grete Ottlinger was one too many for them. Booby, don’t look so scared; give me another glass of champagne, and I’ll tell you all about it. Another glass, booby; fill it to the top. I don’t often get champagne; men mostly only give me beer or spirits. You see, I am not so young as I was. But champagne—I love champagne——”
She was getting very tipsy and very noisy. Volenski, no less excited than herself, tossed down a couple of glasses. He felt nothing, he was conscious of nothing, except that in five minutes he would know his fate, and that this woman held it in her hands.
“Oh! it was funny,” she laughed again; “I knew they were after me. I am no fool. They let me come back to Vienna; they meant to search my rooms while I was out; they thought I wouldn’t know.”
“Booby,” she whispered, “old Moses Grünebaum was waiting at the station for me. He had the things already in his shop, while the crew were following me round the town and turning out my rooms; and they will find nothing. Ha! ha! ha! what a lark, booby! Eh, booby? What’s the matter with you? Here! I say, booby, what on earth are you after?”
For Volenski was fumbling for his hat, his gloves, his coat, and tossing a hundred guldens to the woman he had fled from the hotel, past the astonished waiters into the streets, leaving Grete to pay for the supper, and still muttering to herself: “Booby—well I never!Gott in Himmel! Ach, Herr Je!”
HowIván ever reached home that night, without being arrested by the police on suspicion of being drunk, he never afterwards could say. He remembered nothing after the time when, out of Grete Ottlinger’s confused babble, he had gleaned the name of Grünebaum—the name that to him at last meant absolute salvation. He knew the shop well on the Opernring, kept by old Moses Grünebaum, and containing a wonderful collection of antique jewellery, furniture, and curios of all kinds—a shop much frequented by connoisseurs, the most thought of in Vienna, in fact, for that class of things, certainly not one that would ever fall under suspicion of harbouring stolen goods.
It was obviously too late to interview old Moses at that hour of the night. Iván, though hardly alive to any outward facts, save the all-absorbing one, was nevertheless conscious of that, and instinct guided his reeling footsteps to the hotel on the Kolowrátring.
A mass of letters awaited him; correspondence he was sadly neglecting in these days of anxiety. One of them was from his Eminence. Iván tore it open in eager excitement. It ran as follows:—
“Klinger’s Hotel, Marienbad,“February 28th.“My dear Son,—You will see by the above address that I have altered my plans and am staying here for the present. The fresh mountain air is having a most beneficial effect upon my health, and I shall probably stay (D.V.) the full length of my intended holiday. I hope you are getting on satisfactorily with the work, fast enough to enable you to take some days’ rest before we once more meet at St. Petersburg for diplomatic business. By the way, if you should happen to get there before I do, I think it would be as well if you would call on Madame Demidoff, and ask her to hand you over the Emperor’s candlesticks, which then could remain in your charge. I hope she accomplished her journey in safety, and that not the slightest harm has come to those tiresome things, which very nearly succeeded in depriving me of my holiday. I assure you, my dear son, when I think of all the enjoyment I should have missed on their account, I am doubly grateful to madame for the kind favour she has done me.“My apostolic blessing on you, my son, and sincere respect to Madame Demidoff when you see her.“Antonius d’Orsay,“Cardinal-Archbishop.”
“Klinger’s Hotel, Marienbad,
“February 28th.
“My dear Son,—You will see by the above address that I have altered my plans and am staying here for the present. The fresh mountain air is having a most beneficial effect upon my health, and I shall probably stay (D.V.) the full length of my intended holiday. I hope you are getting on satisfactorily with the work, fast enough to enable you to take some days’ rest before we once more meet at St. Petersburg for diplomatic business. By the way, if you should happen to get there before I do, I think it would be as well if you would call on Madame Demidoff, and ask her to hand you over the Emperor’s candlesticks, which then could remain in your charge. I hope she accomplished her journey in safety, and that not the slightest harm has come to those tiresome things, which very nearly succeeded in depriving me of my holiday. I assure you, my dear son, when I think of all the enjoyment I should have missed on their account, I am doubly grateful to madame for the kind favour she has done me.
“My apostolic blessing on you, my son, and sincere respect to Madame Demidoff when you see her.
“Antonius d’Orsay,
“Cardinal-Archbishop.”
Volenski put down the letter; a sigh of complete relief came from his heart. Thank heaven! his Eminence knew nothing. It was not to be wondered at; the robbery at Oderberg had not created much comment in the press owing to the speedy capture of the thief, and it would have been nothing but the most adverse coincidence if his Eminence, who, to Iván’s knowledge, never glanced at a newspaper, should that one day of all days have seen the two numbers that contained an account of the theft.
He knew from his own experience that the facts were not sufficiently mysterious to excite public interest, and as his Eminence’s name had not once been mentioned by Madame Demidoff, it was not very likely that the Cardinal would hear of the matter from any outside source. Madame evidently did not mean that his Eminence should hear about her loss; that was only natural, no one likes to own to gross carelessness, least of all a lady. Oh! that he might only get rid of the fear that already she knew all, and was on the same quest as himself, backed by Russian money and Russian influence! But even then, at present, he was ahead of her. She had not interviewed Grete Ottlinger, she could not know where the candlesticks were, and before Grünebaum’s shop was open the following morning he meant to be on the spot, ready to pay away all he possessed for the priceless receptacles of the secret papers.
That night, as he well knew that sleep would never come to him, he spent in getting through all arrears of work for his Eminence. He meant, as soon as he had seen Grünebaum and purchased the candlesticks, to start at once for Petersburg, and deliver the papers to Taranïew. Three days had now elapsed since the abduction of Nicholas Alexandrovitch; three days, during which Iván, absorbed in the harrowing search for the missing messages, had not seen his comrades. Every day added one to the many dangers of discovery, and Dunajewski and his comrades were still pining in the Moscow prisons.
Oh! this burden of responsibility seemed too hard to bear; the terrors of carrying the secret papers seemed as nothing compared with what he had to undergo. But, thank God! all these anxieties would be over by to-morrow at the latest, and then in his heart of hearts there first occurred to Iván the wild longing to give up all these intrigues and plots; be content to live the life of a quiet citizen, and leave Russian politics steadily alone.
The busy night he spent acted soothingly on Iván’s nerves. He worked until the tardy winter’s dawn peeped in through the curtains, then, having refreshed himself with a bath and a good breakfast, he once more sallied forth on his quest, and nine o’clock found him on the Opernring, outside Grünebaum’s shop, waiting to see the shutters taken down.
The moment that was done he stepped in and asked to see the proprietor.
A snuffy old Jew, with flat nose and broad lips, with eyes like a toad’s—so nearly dropping out of his head, that he appeared to be wearing spectacles for the sole purpose of keeping them in their sockets—came forward, rubbing his hands benignly one against the other, evidently wondering who his very early customer could be. He was accustomed to mistrust everybody.
“A very good-morning, sir; and what may I have the pleasure to show your Excellency to-day?—jewellery?—antiques?——”
“I have come on a matter of private business,” said Volenski briefly. “You had better show me into your office, for your own sake.”
The Jew looked at him keenly for a moment from behind his spectacles, then said suavely—
“I have no business that I should wish to conceal; but if your Excellency will take the trouble to walk this way——” And he led the way to a well-lighted, luxurious little office at the back of the shop, where a quantity of voluminous ledger and cash books testified to the extent and prosperity of his business.
“Will your Excellency be pleased to be seated?” he said.
“No, I prefer to stand; what I have to say won’t take long. You received yesterday, at the station of the Nordbahn, a parcel of goods from a woman named Grete Ottlinger. These goods were stolen. You knew it. What have you to say?”
“That I am as innocent of this as a new-born babe, your Excellency; that I was never out of my shop all day yesterday, it being, as your Excellency no doubt will deign to remember, a very rainy day; that I never even heard of any woman named Grete Ottlinger; that I never set eyes on stolen goods—this I swear by our fathers Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and by the grave of my forefathers.”
“Enough of this drivel,” said Volenski impatiently, “you lie, and you know it. Now I will be brief with you. Among that stolen property—— Don’t interrupt me,” he said sternly, as the Jew made another attempt at protest, and raised his hands upwards as if calling Abraham to witness of his innocence; “I said that, among that stolen property there was a pair of antique china and chased gold candlesticks. I wish to know where those candlesticks are. I will pay you the full amount you will have to give to Grete Ottlinger, and two thousand guldens besides, if you will hand them over to me at this moment. If you refuse, I will lodge information against you at the police, and within half an hour you will be arrested, your house, books, and belongings searched, and even if nothing definite can be proved against you—you might be a cunning rascal—your business will practically be at an end. You will be marked as a suspicious person, and none of your customers will dare return to you for fear of buying stolen property.”
The Jew, who at the beginning of the interview had turned pale to the lips, had now regained some composure. Rubbing his two hands together again—
“Now I see that your Excellency is a generous gentleman,” he said benignly, “with no desire to harm a poor old man, who has wife and family to support—but with a wish to deal fairly with him. I swear to your Excellency, that my greatest desire is to serve you in every way I can, and I will tell your Excellency the whole truth. I have never done such a thing before, but the woman tempted me, and the things were very beautiful. I did not like to keep them in my shop, it wasn’t safe, and as soon as I received them from Grete Ottlinger I packed them off, and sent them through a trustworthy messenger to my partner in London. I received a telegram from him this morning to say he had crossed the frontier quite safely last night, and is now out of reach of the police, who are still busy hunting for the things in this city. And if your Excellency will keep to your word, and give me ten thousand guldens, which will only be one thousand over and above what the candlesticks have cost me, I will tell you where my partner is to be found, and then it will be your Excellency’s own fault if you cannot succeed in inducing him to part with the articles in question.”
“I will pay you nothing till I have the candlesticks in my possession, then I pledge you my word that you shall be paid in full. Now choose quickly, you have no time to lose; the express starts from Vienna at one o’clock; if you give me your accomplice’s address, together with a few lines on a card, telling him that I am a friend, I will leave for London at that hour; if you refuse, I go this instant to the police and lay information against you.”
“How do I know that you will not lay information against me when once you have secured the goods?” the Jew muttered suspiciously.
“Look at me,” said Volenski; “do I look like a vile traitor who would use a man first, and betray him after?”
The Jew shot a piercing glance from his bleary eyes at the young Pole, whose manly face looked fierce, agitated, passionate, but certainly not false; and, without another word, he took from his pocket-book a business-card, bearing the words—“Moses Grünebaum, Dealer in Antiquities,” wrote on the back—“Isaac Davies, 14, Great Portland Street, London,” and below, “To introduce a friend,” and handed it to Volenski.
“I shall be back in Vienna on Saturday,” said the latter, “and if I bring the candlesticks with me, I will bring you the money I promised on that very day.”
And pulling his hat over his eyes Volenski walked out of the shop, taking no further notice of the Jew, who followed him to the door, bowing obsequiously, and still irrelevantly calling to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob to witness to his complete innocence.
Onarriving at his hotel Volenski found a telegram from Baron de Hermansthal, asking for his immediate presence at the detective office. Wishing to avoid anything that might in any way seem suspicious, he went at once, although he had ceased to care now what the police were doing in the matter; whatever they did, could not affect the candlesticks, as he would be in London long before the promptest investigations could possibly lead to the discovery of Grünebaum’s agent abroad. Baron de Hermansthal had, however, quite a great deal of news for him; the night before, the woman Grete Ottlinger had been arrested outside the “Kaiser Franz” for being drunk and disorderly, and had been induced this morning, by the examining magistrate, to reveal the name of Moses Grünebaum, a well-known dealer on the Kolowrátring, as the receiver of all the stolen property she and her accomplices brought into the city. The man would probably be arrested that afternoon.
“I thought you would be relieved to hear this,” the amiable baron added; “if you like to call at my office later in the day, I might give you a special permission to view the suspected articles in Grünebaum’s shop, and if his Eminence’s candlesticks are among them, and the police satisfied as to your claim to them, they might be handed over to you in the course of a few days.”
Oh! all this bureaucracy and red-tapeism, how thankful Volenski was that he was independent of it! A few days indeed! time to allow Madame Demidoff, who naturally would be communicated with at the same time as himself, to claim the candlesticks as part ofherstolen property. In a few days Volenski hoped to be in Petersburg, back from London, the fatal papers handed over to Taranïew, and then his own connection severed from the brotherhood. To that he was fully resolved. The last few days had taught him a lesson that would take a lifetime to forget.
“I am exceedingly obliged to your Excellency,” he remarked somewhat drily, “for the trouble you have taken in this business; as I am obliged to quit town for a few days I will leave the matter now entirely in your hands.”
“I don’t think you can do better,” said Baron de Hermansthal. “It is now merely a question of time, for your property is in the charge of the police, no doubt, along with the other goods in Grünebaum’s shop, and I will give strict orders that no candlestick is to be tampered with, till you or Madame Demidoff have identified those belonging to his Eminence.”
“I suppose,” said Iván tentatively, “that Madame Demidoff has been communicated with?”
He was anxious to hear what her movements had been so far, how near she had been on his track.
“I am expecting Madame Demidoff this morning, as I sent her an official communication, asking her to favour me with a call. She came back to Vienna yesterday, having exhausted all inquiries round about Oderberg, and resolved to let us do what we could on her behalf.”
“No doubt, then, she will identify his Eminence’s candlesticks,” said Iván, much relieved to find that Madame Demidoff could not possibly have seen Grünebaum privately in the short interval that elapsed between his own interview with the Jew and the subsequent police raid.
He took his hat and bowed politely to the amiable baron, as he once more thanked him for his kindness, then took a hasty leave, eager as he was to get away.
The quest after the fateful papers had become an all-absorbing one. Iván Volenski seemed unable to think of anything while he was on this mad chase after the compromising documents. He seemed almost to have forgotten the very existence of the prisoner in the Heumarkt, the comrades at Petersburg, who had not yet heard the news, and those at home, who would be wondering when and how he had started on his important mission, and how soon their manifesto would be placed in the Tsar’s hands, and Dunajewski and the other brethren safely across the frontier; little knowing that the entire fabric, on which the Socialist brotherhood rested, was in danger of crumbling at any moment.
And delay… delay was so dangerous! What had Count Lavrovski done? Were the Russian detectives on the track of the conspiracy? Would they succeed in discovering the captive before any important good had resulted from the daring abduction? In any case nothing but disaster to the cause and its followers could ensue, while the papers that held all their secrets were in strange hands. To get those back was life and death to one and all, and with that all-absorbing, fixed idea in his mind Volenski, having packed up a few necessaries, was ready to start for London by the afternoon express.
He had plenty of time during the forty hours’ journey to England, to meditate on the folly of all this plotting and planning, that inevitably led all those who indulged in it, into perils of their lives and liberty. He himself, with ample means and a brilliant career before him, what a fool he had been to risk all his prospects for the sake of Utopian ideas, that would take perhaps centuries to develop, but surely could not be advanced by hot-headedcoupssuch as Dunajewski, Taranïew, and he himself planned. Would a handful of young enthusiasts revolutionise Russia, when themoujiks, for whose benefit they were supposed to plot and plan, were the very last to lend them a helping hand?
Aye! the reform of that great country would come some day; soon, perhaps, as it came in France, violently—sweeping like a tornado a throne, a dynasty before it—but that would be when the people’s hour had come, when the nation themselves knew what they were craving for, when liberty had ceased to be a word in the mouth of a few, and had become a desire in the hearts of all. Time then for all Russians that had pride in manhood to join in the cause of freedom and attack the throne if it stood in the way, sweep away the powers that be, if they do not tend to the desire of the people. But let it be the people that have that desire; let it be a spark in their heart, placed there by a divine hand, and not kindled slowly and forcibly by the breath of a few fanatics.
Amidst these conflicting thoughts Volenski had reached the English capital. He left his bag at Charing Cross Terminus Hotel, meaning to start back for Vienna that same evening, and, as soon as he had swallowed a light breakfast, he took a hansom and drove to No. 14, Great Portland Street.
This time he was sure of his ground; there was no occasion to exercise any diplomatic skill. He walked straight into the shop, asked to see Mr. Davies, and said in quiet, business-like tones, in fairly good English—
“I noticed in your shop, a day or two ago, a pair of antique china and gold candlesticks that took my fancy at the moment. I hadn’t the time to look at them then, but would be very glad if you will show them to me. They were of gold, with very prettyvieux VienneCupids with bows and arrows. Do you recollect the ones I mean?”
“Perfectly, sir, perfectly. I regret, however, that I cannot oblige you, as I sold those same candlesticks to one of my customers late yesterday afternoon. He is a great collector of curios of all kinds, and, like yourself, sir, was greatly taken with the beauty of thevieux VienneCupids. But I have some very beautiful candlesticks, both antique and modern, that you might care to look at——”
“No,” said Volenski, whose excited brain refused to take in the Jew’s assertion, “I want those particular ones—I must have them—no matter what I pay for them. Here,” he added, as he noticed that Davies was beginning to eye him suspiciously, “is my introduction from your Viennese partner,” and he handed him Grünebaum’s card; “you will see by that, that I am a friend, and if you will deal fairly with me, no harm shall come to you, but if you refuse to help me to regain my property—for those candlesticks are mine—I will find means of setting the police on your track as a receiver of stolen goods. Now bring me those candlesticks at once, and name your price for them. I am in a hurry, as I want to catch a train.”
Isaac Davies took his accomplice’s card, and turning it about between his fingers, still eyed Volenski with a remnant of suspicion.
“I tell you no harm shall come to you,” said Iván impatiently. “I am even willing to pay you a very handsome price for those candlesticks; you see, therefore, that you can but gain by being frank with me. Grünebaum gave me this card, that you should have no fear.”
“Sir, I have told you the truth,” said Isaac Davies at last drily, adding with an indifferent shrug, “as for your threats, they have no weight with me; I am free from blame. Grünebaum’s is a good and well-known firm in Vienna. I have a perfect right to buy goods from him without falling under the suspicion of receiving stolen property; I deny that the articles Grünebaum sends mearestolen, and I defy you to prove it. Whatever information, therefore, I choose to give you, I do so because my Viennese correspondent has recommended you to me, and not from any fear of your threats or the police.”