Kitabı oku: «The Intriguers», sayfa 5

“How soon do you think, sir?” questioned Nello eagerly.

“Say, in two or three months.” The Baron’s tone was a little hesitating. He knew in his own mind that there was a darker side to the picture, that there might be an altogether different ending to the journey. But he was not going to frighten the young man with that, or he might cry off at the last minute.

Nello persisted; his love for his self-sacrificing little sister was very real, very deep.

“She is young, in many things younger than her years, and utterly ignorant of the world. I cannot leave her alone, Baron, in the charge of a careless landlady. I would rather give up the whole thing and risk my chances here in London.”

The Baron thought to himself that here was a more difficult person to deal with than he expected. But it was not very long before his fertile brain solved the difficulty.

“I understand. I am the last man in the world to suggest such an inhuman thing. I can make the way easy for you. Two dear friends of mine, old maids I suppose we must call them, have a big house in Kensington. They are very lonely, without any young relatives. At a word from me they would be delighted to take charge of her during your brief absence. Keep what money you have saved for yourself. I will charge myself with her maintenance, and she shall have plenty of pocket-money, I can assure you.”

Nello grasped the old man’s hand warmly. “You have relieved me of the last ounce of hesitation. A thousand, nay, ten thousand thanks.”

The Baron returned the pressure; he was delighted he had got his own way. “That is understood. On Friday I will have that cut-and-dried also. Now keep up your little sister’s spirits – what is her name? Eh, Anita. Tell her that you are going to make fame and fortune, that you will soon be back, and that she will be very happy with these two dear old ladies, who will cosset her like a baby.”

When he left the Baron he could not quite decide what his feelings were. In a sense he was jubilant at the brilliant prospects before him, but his heart was heavy for Anita. They had lived together all their lives; they had been through terrible and heart-breaking times.

To-night he was playing at Leicester House, the abode of a musical duchess. He wanted to play his best; he would not dare to tell the unsuspecting Anita of his speedy departure. Her tears, her grief, would unman him.

The first persons he met in the specious saloons overlooking the Green Park were the Princess Zouroff and her daughter.

The girl held out her hand. “Ah, Signor, I am so pleased to see you. You must play that lovely little romance to-night. Shall I tell you the reason?”

“I require no reason, Princess. It is enough for me that you request me to play it. It shall be played.” He blushed a little as he spoke. He was not accustomed to indulge in persiflage with great ladies.

A little colour came into her face also. Perhaps the young musician’s tone had been more fervent than he intended.

“But I will tell you the reason, nevertheless. We have been recalled to St. Petersburg; we leave London next week. That is the reason my brother Boris is not here; he is winding up affairs for his successor.”

A deeper flush spread over Nello’s face. “But that is very strange. I am going there myself. I start next Monday.”

The young Princess looked pleased. She turned to her mother. “Signor Corsini must call upon us, mother.” She looked at him with a little smile. “To-night will not then be the last time I shall hear that lovely romance.”

The elder woman seconded the invitation warmly. “You shall come and play for us, Signor. I think you will find the Slav temperament a little more fervent than the Anglo-Saxon one.”

Nello thought this a good time for explanations. Degraux would spread the news about in his world, the Zouroffs would spread it about in theirs.

“You know, of course, the Baron Salmoros?”

The Princess replied that they had a slight acquaintance with that distinguished financier.

“Lady Glendover introduced me to him. He is a very considerable amateur, he has been kind enough to take a very warm interest in me. He is going to push my fortunes in Russia.”

“His name is one to conjure with in Russia,” said the grey-haired Princess. “He stands very high in the favour of his Imperial Majesty.”

Princess Nada nodded him farewell. “It is not good-bye, then, only au revoir. I suppose artists and ambassadors are the greatest cosmopolitans on earth. We shall meet next in St. Petersburg.”

And, on the Monday of the following week, Corsini set out on his expedition.

He had seen Degraux, who had congratulated him heartily. “Salmoros pulls so many strings; he can do more for you in a week than I could do for you in twelve months,” he had told him. “He has run several theatres for people he believed in. He will do anything in the world for you when he once takes a fancy.”

And little Anita had been very brave; she wept a good deal when she was alone, but in her brother’s presence she kept her tears back. Was she to oppose the feelings of her loving and undisciplined heart to the fiat of this new benefactor who had come so unexpectedly into their lives?

So she went meekly to the big house in Kensington, tenanted by the two dear old maids who were prepared to mother her, as much for her own sweet ways as from their ardent admiration for the compelling Salmoros, who had been a bosom friend of their father.

“Two or three months and I shall be back again!” sighed Corsini as he settled himself in the train. Little could he guess what the future would unfold as he made this confident prediction.

CHAPTER IX

Weary and worn with his long journey, Nello dismounted at the little wayside station about thirty miles from St. Petersburg. All passengers were peremptorily ordered to alight. Presently he learned that there had been a slight railway accident in front, and that he might have to wait two or three hours before he could get on to the capital.

He walked in the direction of the little village. There was evidently a great stir taking place in this ordinarily quiet neighbourhood. Mounted soldiers were drawn up before the old posting-inn.

Nello happened to get hold of a man who could speak a little French, in a halting, but intelligent way.

“Quite a commotion for such a tranquil spot. What is it that is on the tapis?” inquired Corsini.

The man explained in his slow French. “Something out of the usual, Monsieur. Have you ever heard of a terrible fellow, one Ivan, nicknamed ‘The Cuckoo’?”

No, Nello had never heard of him. “Is he a very formidable personage this ‘Ivan the Cuckoo,’ then?”

The man explained elaborately that Ivan was a much-feared outlaw, that he was in the vicinity with a gang of desperadoes and assassins. He was a convict who had escaped from the mines of Siberia, and had gathered round him a band of miscreants as desperate as himself, and as careless of consequences. They had lived by preying on the peasants and stray travellers.

“The police are endeavouring to block the roads, so that, in desperation, he and his associates may be driven into the village and captured,” concluded the man who had volunteered the explanation in his halting French.

Corsini thanked him, and strolled along down the straggling village street. What was he to do till the railway service was restored? The village inn was open, where, if he pleased, he could go and saturate himself with vodka or some other potent spirit; but the young man had the abstemiousness of the Latin races. He did not want to amuse himself in this fashion.

He would take a little stroll. Occupied with his own thoughts of the life and reception awaiting him in St. Petersburg, with those powerful introductions from the influential Salmoros, he did not think of the risk he was running in wandering away from the protected precincts of the quiet village, guarded as it was by those stout mounted soldiers. Ivan and his band were lurking about somewhere, ready to pounce on the unwary traveller.

After a few minutes’ slow walk, he came to a roadside ikon. Mechanically he stopped and crossed himself. He was a man of deeply religious feeling, and he fancied he had been blessed with a good omen on his entrance into this strange country. A few prayers to the Blessed Virgin and he would be sheltered from all harm.

Hardly had his lips ceased moving in reverent supplication, when he was aware of a strange presence. A tall, bearded man emerged from the semi-gloom and held out his hands with an imploring gesture.

“Save me for the sake of her whom we both reverence,” he cried. He spoke, like the last man who had addressed Nello, in lame and halting French. He had evidently appreciated the fact that Corsini was not a fellow-countryman.

Corsini started back and his hand stole to his hip pocket, from which he produced a very serviceable revolver, which he levelled straight at the intruder.

“Who and what are you?” he cried loudly, with a resolution he was far from feeling. This rough, unkempt man looked as if he was possessed of giant strength. If it had come to a hand-to-hand tussle, he could have broken the slim young Italian in two. But Nello would not let it come to that. He kept his pistol well levelled at the stranger’s head. The least movement and he would fire.

“Save me for her sake, for the sake of the Virgin,” pleaded the man in despairing accents. “You are not an outlaw like me; you have not been through what I have. I trust you, for a man who says his prayers with the devotion you do – I watched you behind the trees – would never betray his hunted fellow-creatures.”

And then a light came suddenly to Corsini, standing there, armed with that eloquent pistol.

“You speak of yourself as an outlaw. I have just come from the little village yonder, which is in a state of commotion with mounted soldiers. They are looking for an outlaw, a convict escaped from the mines of Siberia. I am right in saying that you are ‘Ivan the Cuckoo.’ Where is your band of assassins and robbers who prey upon the travellers and peasants?”

The miserable man fell at his feet. Nello, in the dim light, saw that his face had gone livid.

“You have guessed, Monsieur. It is true. I am Ivan the outlaw. You cannot appreciate the misery that drove me to this.”

In a dim sort of way Nello understood. This man was an outlaw. Was it not just a chance that he was not one himself? Many a night, as he had played in the cold streets for a few miserable pence, he had passed the flaring restaurants, the well-lighted shops, their windows full of precious things to be coveted by the poor and hungry. He could not deny that many a time he had railed at the world’s injustice, that criminal thoughts had surged through his half-maddened brain.

He thought of the saying of the old Quaker, whenever he heard of a criminal on the road to death. “There, but for the grace of God, goes myself.”

Yes, but for the sudden intervention in the shape of good old Papa Péron, he might have drifted into evil courses like the wretched creature grovelling at his feet. It was not for him to judge.

He looked at him steadily, still keeping the pistol levelled at the vital part, and repeated his question.

“What has become of your band of robbers and assassins?” he asked sternly.

“Dispersed, Monsieur – dispersed, I give you my word. Yesterday we learned that the soldiers and police were on our track, were preparing to draw a cordon round us. It was a case of sauve qui peut, devil take the hindmost. We agreed to separate. There were not more than half a dozen of us, but our numbers have been exaggerated. We all scattered in different directions. Somehow, I stumbled up here, and you tell me the little village is astir.”

“What is it you want of me?”

“Just a little money, Monsieur; just a little money to help me on my way to St. Petersburg, where I shall find friends.”

Nello looked at him suspiciously. “But why do you want money? It was only yesterday that you heard the police were closing round you. You have been robbing as you go. When you agreed to separate, no doubt you divided the ready money.”

“That is true, Monsieur; you are very clever,” replied the grovelling man in a fawning voice. “You will hardly believe me when I tell you, but I swear it is true. Last night I slept in a little inn a few miles from here. I had drunk heavily, I admit; I slept very soundly. When I awoke in the morning every coin I possessed had been stolen from my pockets. I, an old hand, blush to tell you, Monsieur; but I, who have robbed so many, was robbed myself.”

“Do you suspect anybody?” was Nello’s next question.

The man uttered a fierce imprecation. “Yes, I do; I suspect one of my so-called pals. As captain I took the biggest share when we agreed to separate. I caught his eye fixed upon me with a very sinister look. My theory is that he followed me at a safe distance and saw where I was lodged. He was well aware of my habits; he knew I should be pretty fast asleep. He climbed up through the window, Monsieur, and took every copper. I was too drunk to hear him. If I had been in my sober senses, I would have strangled him, and added one more crime to the many committed by Ivan the outlaw.” He ended with a defiant grin, that showed a row of strong white wolfish teeth.

Nello mused for a little space. The man might be speaking truth; he was half disposed to think so. On the other hand, he might be telling him a tissue of lies.

“Why are you not armed?” he asked suddenly.

“I have a pistol, Monsieur, but it is empty. I could find no place in which to buy cartridges. See for yourself.”

He fumbled in his pocket and threw down the weapon on the ground. Nello picked it up cautiously; it was, as its owner had truly declared, harmless.

A grim smile crossed the young man’s countenance, but he did not for a second relax his vigilance. This ruffian of the highway was, no doubt, as cunning as he was plausible.

“If your pistol had been loaded, I expect you would have extorted money from me instead of begging it.”

Ivan the outlaw shook his big head. “Under ordinary circumstances, yes, Monsieur. Adversity has taught me not to stand upon ceremony. But when I saw your lips moving in prayer before the ikon, I would not have harmed a hair of your head. You would have been sacred.”

Truly a strange being, imbued with the ever-present superstition of the Russian peasant, thought Nello to himself.

“And you want money from me. Of course you know what my duty is, as a peaceable man who has no sympathy with robbers and assassins?”

“Certainly, Monsieur. If you don’t choose to shoot me in a vital spot and so insure my death, you ought to maim me to prevent me from moving, leave me here and go and fetch the police from the village to take me into custody.” The man had spoken so far in a low, imperturbable voice; then at the end he lashed himself into sudden fury and shrieked out.

“It’s a toss of a copper to me what you do. But if you won’t give me any money, kill me outright. I have not made such a success of life that I am anxious to enjoy much more of it. Kill me, Monsieur, and finish it once for all. The police will thank you for having got rid of ‘Ivan the Cuckoo.’ They won’t ask too many questions.”

Nello thought for some little time. His thoughts went back to a very miserable night, some six months ago. He had been playing in the streets and had returned home with nothing. He owed the rent for the miserable hovel in which they sheltered; they had no food.

He had looked his sister squarely in the face and had whispered the question – “Is life worth living, Anita, under such conditions?” She had returned his gaze with a face as white as his own, but she had not faltered, as she replied, “Nello, I leave it in your hands.” And, thank Heaven, he had conquered that terrible fit of despair, to find, later on, a new world opening to him.

He handed the wretched man a sum of money and spoke in very gentle tones.

“God be good to you, my poor friend, and soften your heart. I know not if the world has been too harsh to you, or you have too grievously offended the world. Go in peace. I am not your judge, and I will not be your executioner.”

With a brief blessing, the outlaw took the money and slunk away in the gathering darkness.

“I shall remember your face for ever,” he whispered in farewell. “It is not likely we shall ever meet again. But if we do and I can repay my debt, I will, and with interest.”

A few hours later Nello was in St. Petersburg. He put up at one of the best hotels in the city, acting upon the instructions of Salmoros. That gentleman had urged upon him the necessity of keeping up a good appearance, and spending money lavishly, at any rate for the present.

That night he had confused dreams of his gentle little sister Anita, the beautiful Princess Nada, and the rough outlaw whom he had saved from justice.

Next morning he made his way to the British Embassy and inquired for Lord Ickfold, mentioning that he had come on a special mission from the Baron Salmoros. In a few moments he was shown into His Excellency’s presence.

Lord Ickfold was a handsome, presentable man of about sixty years of age. Contrary to the fashion of the day, he was clean-shaven. Being a widower, an unmarried daughter presided over the establishment. This morning he was at a somewhat late déjeuner, alone.

He rose and shook the young man cordially by the hand. “Anybody who comes from my good old friend Salmoros is especially welcome,” he said with true diplomatic urbanity. “By the way, have you breakfasted? I am very late; I had to send important despatches last night. I did not get to bed till four this morning.”

Nello answered with equal courtesy that he had already made his meal, and handed him the bulgy packet with which the Baron had entrusted him.

The Ambassador perused the contents of the packet slowly as he consumed his breakfast. But the last letter he read seemed to agitate him to an unwonted degree. He jumped up hastily, rang the bell, and commanded the footman to order his carriage immediately. For a moment he almost seemed oblivious of the young man’s presence.

“Pardon me, Signor Corsini. I must drive to the Winter Palace at once; the news in the last letter is of extreme urgency. We will go down together when the carriage comes. Can I drop you anywhere?”

But Nello preferred to walk and take his bearings of the wonderful city. Lord Ickfold shook him warmly by the hand at parting.

“I have your address. It will not be long before I shall want to see you again. If you are writing to the Baron to-day, please give him my warmest regards and a thousand thanks. It may be a little time, for certain reasons, before I communicate with him directly. In fact, I would rather send a letter to you to be forwarded.”

Nello walked the gay streets for some time. Being a very shrewd young man, in spite of his comparative youth, it seemed to him that Lord Ickfold and the Baron were playing some subtle game, in which he was to be used as a pawn.

But what did that matter, so long as his career was advanced between the pair?

And then his thoughts reverted to the charming young Princess Nada. When would he meet her again? She would be in St. Petersburg this week, so she had told him.

CHAPTER X

In the private room of Count Golitzine, the Czar’s private secretary, sat two men – the Count himself and Lord Ickfold, the British Ambassador. The apartment was in a secluded wing of the Winter Palace.

The Ambassador was reading aloud from the Baron’s covering letter, which he held in his hands.

“Remember, the young man, Corsini, whom I am sending you is everything for your purpose. Only you must keep him in entire ignorance of the part he is to play – at any rate for the present – as he is still very young and might be open to the influence of women. This is a most vital point. He is very intelligent without being suspicious; honourable, trustworthy, and innocent, without being a fool. I think I have taken his measure pretty accurately. He is devoted to his art – he is really a most accomplished musician, as the notices I enclose will prove – and you must get him pushed forward to the premier place, through the good offices of your friends. The Zouroffs are returning for a short space to the Court and he will have the entrée to their house. I fancy, from what I have heard, that the Princess Nada is just a little attracted by him. The important thing, however, is to get him an introduction to La Belle Quéro. She is hand in glove with Prince Zouroff, and from that fact alone to be suspected. They have been in correspondence with each other all the short time he has been in England; but although I have tried my best, I have never been able to get hold of any of their letters.”

Lord Ickfold paused a moment and looked at the Count, who nodded his head.

“Yes, I agree. Corsini may be very useful, especially if he manages to captivate La Belle Quéro. That is, no doubt, what Salmoros has in his mind, amongst several other things.”

The Ambassador resumed his reading. “I regret that I have but a slight clue to what I conceive to be a very bold and desperate conspiracy, in which Zouroff is one of the leading figures. The man has a certain amount of brains and a considerable amount of daring, which makes him the more to be feared. But the information which I send your Excellency in other letters is absolutely reliable. For the present, until we can learn more, use all your influence through Golitzine and others to make sure that the Emperor does not appear in public more often than is absolutely necessary. Otherwise, I fear disaster.”

The two men discussed the situation for some time. There were other documents besides the covering letter which they read very carefully.

Golitzine summed up, as it were. “Our hopes lie in the direction of La Belle Quéro through this young Italian, who, you tell me, is handsome and also a talented artist.”

“You have read in one of those other letters what Salmoros has said of him – that he has created a considerable success in London, and only just wants a little influence to push him into the front rank.”

The Count smiled. “That is easy, my dear friend. The Director of the Imperial Opera is getting a trifle old. We will pension him, and put Corsini in his place.”

“A bold stroke,” said Lord Ickfold admiringly. “There is something to be said for an autocratic government after all. We dare not do anything of the kind in our country; all the Press would be up in arms. With you, a stroke of the pen settles everything.”

The Count’s smile deepened. “And after all, my lord, in the long run, it works as well as in your democratic country. In the end, substantial justice is done, rather more swiftly, by our methods.”

“It seems to me that La Belle Quéro is the crux,” commented the Ambassador. “Suppose she refuses to fall in love with this Corsini, what then?”

“She will not refuse,” replied the Count, speaking with his assured man-of-the-world air. “The relations between her and the Prince have been of long standing, I admit, and she is also a woman who might be attracted by a certain amount of brutality which our excellent friend Boris has in perfect abundance. But this young man is a Latin like herself, an artist like herself. Bah! In twenty-four hours Zouroff will be forgotten. Besides, he is verging on middle age, and this Corsini is a youth. Besides, further, he will be the Director of the Imperial Opera. She will be dependent upon him for small kindnesses, little favours, which I shall instruct him to be lavish of. You understand?”

The morning after the interview between these two exalted personages, the Ambassador’s smart carriage stopped at Nello’s hotel. The slim secretary alighted and sought the young musician, with a message from his chief that he desired to see him immediately at the Embassy.

“You see I have not forgotten you, Signor Corsini,” was Lord Ickfold’s cordial greeting as Nello entered the room. “Salmoros has asked me to use all my influence to advance you in your profession, and I intend to do so. It will give me the greatest pleasure.”

He wrote a brief note and handed it to the young man. “This is a letter to Count Golitzine, the Emperor’s secretary, who wields more influence than anybody in St. Petersburg. You will find him at the Winter Palace. My carriage is waiting to drive you there.”

Events were happening very rapidly, Nello thought. When Salmoros took a thing up, the wheels of action appeared to move very easily. Also, he was beginning to get a firm foothold in the great world of diplomacy and politics. Yesterday he had made the acquaintance of the British Ambassador; this morning he was to interview the Emperor’s private secretary, the most powerful man in St. Petersburg, and consequently in Russia.

The Count received him with more than ordinary graciousness, and questioned him kindly about his London experiences. Lounging by the mantelpiece of the room in which the two men were seated, was a tall, quietly-dressed middle-aged man in civilian clothes. Nello took him to be either an official of the Court or a private friend of the secretary.

At a pause in the conversation, this person, whoever he was, suddenly turned to the young man and carelessly asked in French, “Do you know any one of position in St. Petersburg, Signor Corsini?”

Nello frankly answered that with the exception of Lord Ickfold and the Count, he knew nobody except the Princess Zouroff and her daughter. He explained how he had met them, how he had played at their house in London, and been invited to visit them here.

Nello fancied that a slight frown come over the unknown’s face at mention of the name Zouroff. But his comment was quite simple. “Ah, the Ambassador and the Count between them will soon extend your circle of acquaintance. I understand you come with strong letters of introduction from that splendid old fellow, Salmoros.”

Nello bowed. Evidently this personage, to whom he had not been introduced, knew what was going on. He must certainly be an official of some importance, and appeared to be quite at his ease in Golitzine’s presence.

The Count resumed his conversation with Nello, and the other man quitted his lounging position by the fire-place, and walked down the long room to the deep bay window, from which he pretended to look out. But all the while he was listening intently to the other two.

“And now, Signor Corsini, I have a little surprise for you, and one which I hope will be welcome,” were the Count’s parting words. “The present Director of the Imperial Opera has for some time contemplated retirement. He is growing a little deaf, and finds that the infirmity militates against the proper performance of his duties. He will relinquish his post next week, and I have much pleasure in conferring the appointment upon you. I do so with the sanction of my Imperial Master, to whom I have shown the Baron’s strong letters of recommendation.”

Nello felt the room going round. Could he believe his ears? Only a few hours in St. Petersburg, and promoted to one of the most coveted posts in the musical world! Why, he was as great as Degraux. Truly, the white-haired Salmoros was a wizard, masquerading under the guise of a benevolent financier.

With a great effort he pulled himself together and stammered his thanks. “I cannot sufficiently express my gratitude, your Excellency. I shall do my best to justify your kindness. But I feel it will be no easy task to follow in the footsteps of such an illustrious predecessor.”

As soon as Nello had retired, the man who was lounging in the bay window turned round to Golitzine and shot at him the abrupt question, “Well, what do you think of him, eh? Is that shrewd old fellow Salmoros right? Will he be useful to us?”

The Count replied in respectful tones. “It is rather early to form a judgment, your Majesty; but I must own I am very favourably impressed with the young man. I think he would be as true as steel to those who had befriended him.”

Nello had little suspected that the tall middle-aged person, dressed in civilian attire, whom he had taken for an official of the Court or a personal friend of the Count’s, was the Emperor Alexander himself, the autocrat of all the Russias, supposed to be the strongest man in Europe, who could bend a horse-shoe between his fingers.

“The one thing to do now is to bring this young Italian and La Belle Quéro together.” The Emperor spoke in a musing tone. “That is what the Baron intends. And we know besides that she is suspected by our secret police. Half the men who go to her little parties are in their black books; about Zouroff, we have already pretty convincing evidence. My own belief is that she is one of the prime movers in the affair.”

“So far, of course, nothing has been brought home to her. She entertains these men, I know, but she is a foreigner, a Spaniard, and cannot be well acquainted with our domestic politics,” interjected the Count, who was rather favourably impressed with the beautiful contralto. “Still, in this direction, Corsini may be very useful. He may be able to worm something out of her.”

“Well, Golitzine, we will bring matters to a head as soon as possible, so far as these two people are concerned,” commanded his Majesty. “Let your wife give a concert before the week is out and engage La Belle Quéro and this young Corsini for it.”

The Count bowed. “I will execute your orders, Sire. I agree it would be politic to introduce them under social auspices, rather than strictly business ones. Next week he will be installed at the Opera, and must at once come into touch with her in pursuance of his professional duties.”

“Precisely. That is just what I wish to anticipate. You have, as always, most accurately taken my meaning.”

A gleam of anxiety came into Golitzine’s eyes as he ventured to give a word of warning.

“I trust that your Majesty does not propose to do me the honor of attending this function?”

“Why not? I had rather thought of coming, in order to learn from you how the first act of the comedy was going. What are your objections?”