Kitabı oku: «The Price of Power», sayfa 8
Chapter Fifteen.
A Statement by the Informer
Quick as lightning, Hartwig drew a big Browning revolver and thrust it into the informer’s face, exclaiming firmly:
“Another word and it will be your last!”
The fellow started back, unprepared for such defiance. He made a movement to cross the room, where no doubt he had his own weapon concealed, but the police officer was too quick for him and barred his passage.
“Look here!” he said firmly. “This is a matter to be settled between us, without any interference by your friends here. At word from me they would instantly turn upon you as an enemy. Think! Reflect well – before it is too late!” And he held the revolver steadily a foot from the man’s hard, pale face.
Danilovitch hesitated. He controlled the so-called Terrorist movement with amazing ingenuity, playing three rôles simultaneously. He was “The One,” the mysterious but all-powerful head of the organisation; the ardent worker in the cause known as “the shoemaker of Kazan”; and the base, unscrupulous informer, who manufactured plots, and afterwards consigned to prison all those men and women who became implicated in them.
“If I withdraw my cry of alarm will you promise secrecy?” he asked in a low, cringing tone.
From the landing outside came sounds of footsteps and fierce demands in Russian from those he had summoned to his assistance. Two of us against twenty desperate characters as they were, would, I well knew, stand but a poor chance. If he made any allegation against us, we should be caught like rats in a trap, and killed, as all police-spies are killed when denounced. The arm of the Russian revolution is indeed a long one – longer than that of the Secret Police itself.
“What has happened, Danilo?” demanded a man’s rough voice. “Who are those strangers? Let us in!”
“Speak!” commanded Hartwig. “Reassure them, and let them go away. I have still much to say to you in private.”
His arm with the revolver was upraised, his eyes unwavering. The informer saw determination in his gaze. A further word of alarm, and a bullet would pass through his brain.
For a few seconds he stood in sullen silence.
“All right!” he shouted to them at last. “It is nothing, comrades. I was mistaken. Leave us in peace.”
We heard a murmuring of discontent outside, and then the footsteps commenced to descend the steep uncarpeted stairs. As they did so, Hartwig dropped his weapon, saying:
“Now let us sit down and talk. I have several questions I wish to put to you. If you answer frankly, then I promise that I will not betray you to your comrades.”
“What do you mean by ‘frankly’?”
“I mean that you must tell me the exact truth.”
The man’s face grew dark; his brows contracted; he bit his finger-nails.
“What was the motive of the attempt you made upon the Grand Duke Nicholas and his daughter, and the gentleman here, Mr Trewinnard?”
“I don’t know,” he replied.
“But you yourself committed the outrage?”
“At the orders of others.”
“Whose orders?”
He did not reply. He was standing against the small, cheap chest of drawers, his drawn face full in the light of the hissing gas-jet.
“Come,” said Hartwig firmly. “I wish to know this.”
“I cannot tell you.”
“Then I will tell you,” the detective said in a hard voice. “It was at the orders of your master, General Markoff – the man who, finding that you were a revolutionist, is using you as his tool for the manufacture of bogus plots against the Emperor.”
Danilovitch shrugged his shoulders, but uttered no word.
“And you went again to Brighton last night at his orders. You – ”
“I went to Brighton, I admit. But not at the General’s orders,” he interrupted quickly.
“Why did you go? Why did you follow Her Imperial Highness and Mr Trewinnard?”
“I followed them because I had an object in so doing.”
“A sinister object?”
“No. There you are mistaken. My object was not a sinister one. It was to watch and endeavour to make clear a certain point which is a mystery to me.”
“A point concerning what?”
“Concerning Her Imperial Highness,” was his reply.
“How does Her Highness concern you?” I asked. “You tried to kill her once. Therefore your intentions must be evil.”
“I deny that,” he protested quickly. “I tell you that I went to Brighton without thought of any evil intent, and without the orders, or even knowledge, of General Markoff.”
“But he is Her Highness’s enemy.”
“Yes, Excellency – and yours also.”
“Tell me all that you know,” I urged, adopting a more conciliatory tone. “It is outrageous that this oppressor of Russia should conspire to kill an innocent member of the Imperial Family.”
“I know nothing of the circumstances. Excellency,” he said, feigning entire ignorance.
“But he gave you orders to throw that bomb,” I said. “What were your exact orders?”
“I am not likely to betray my employer,” he laughed. “If you do not answer these questions, then I shall carry out my threat of exposure,” Hartwig said in a hard, determined voice.
“Well,” said the informer hesitatingly, “my orders were not to throw the bomb unless the Grand Duchess Natalia was in the carriage.”
“Then the plot was to kill her – but unfortunately her father fell the victim of the dastardly outrage!” I cried.
“Yes,” the man replied. “It was to kill her – and you, Excellency.”
“But why?”
He shrugged his shoulders, and exhibited his palms in a gesture of complete ignorance.
“And your present intention is to effect in Brighton what you failed to do in Petersburg – eh?”
“I have no orders, and it certainly is not my intention,” responded the man, whom I remembered at that moment had deliberately killed the girl Garine in order to preserve his secret.
I turned from him in loathing and disgust.
“But you tell me that General Markoff intends that we both shall come to an untimely end,” I said a few moments later.
“He does, Excellency, and the ingenuity of the plot against you both is certainly one which betrays his devilish cunning,” was the fellow’s reply. “I have, I assure you, no love for a man who holds my life in the hollow of his hand, and whose word I am compelled to obey on pain of exposure and death.”
“You mean Markoff,” I exclaimed. “Tell me something of this plot against me – so that I may be on my guard,” I urged.
“I know nothing concerning it. For that very reason I went to Brighton yesterday, to try and discover something,” he said.
“And what did you discover?”
“A very remarkable fact. At present it is only suspicion. I have yet to substantiate it.”
“Cannot you tell me your suspicion?”
“Not until I have had an opportunity of proving it,” was his quiet reply. “But I assure you that the observation I kept upon Her Imperial Highness and yourself was with no evil intent.”
I smiled incredulously. It was hard indeed to believe a man of his subtle and unscrupulous character. All that Tack had told me crowded through my brain. As the catspaw of Markoff, it was not likely that he would tell me the truth.
Hartwig was leaning easily against the wooden mantelshelf, watching us keenly. Of a sudden an idea occurred to me, and addressing the informer, I said:
“I believe you are acquainted with my friend Madame de Rosen and her daughter. Tell me what you know concerning them.”
“They were arrested and exiled to Siberia for the attempt in the Nevski on the return of the Emperor from the south,” he said promptly.
Hartwig interrupted, saying gravely:
“And that attempt, Danilo Danilovitch, was conceived by you – conceived in order to strike terror into the Emperor’s heart. You formed the plot and handed over the list of the conspirators to your employer, Markoff – you, the person known to the Party of the People’s Will as ‘The One.’”
“I knew of the plot,” he admitted. “And though I gave certain names to the police, I certainly did not include the names of Madame de Rosen or of Mademoiselle.”
“Why was she arrested?”
He was silent for a few moments.
“Because her presence in Petersburg was dangerous to the General,” he said at last sullenly.
“You know this – eh? You are certain of it – you have evidence, I mean?” asked Hartwig.
“You ask me for the truth,” the informer said, “and I tell you. I was extremely sorry for Madame and the young lady, for I knew them when I carried on my trade as bootmaker. An hour after their arrest, at about four o’clock in the morning, the General ordered me to go and search their house for certain letters which he described to me – letters which he was extremely anxious to obtain. I went alone, as he did not wish to alarm the neighbourhood by a domiciliary visit of the police. I searched the house for nearly nine hours, but failed to discover them. While still engaged in the investigation I was recalled to the house where it is my habit to meet the General in secret, when he told me that by a false promise of release he had extracted from Madame a statement that the letters were no longer in her possession, and that Her Imperial Highness the Grand Duchess Natalia held them in safe-keeping. Madame, perfectly innocent as she was of any connection with the conspirators, expected to be released after telling the truth; but the General said that he had only laughed in her face and ordered her and her daughter to be sent off with the next convoy of prisoners – who were leaving for Siberia that same night. By this time the ladies are, I expect, already in the great forwarding-prison at Tomsk.”
“And the letters?” I demanded, my blood boiling at hearing his story.
“I was ordered to search for them.” Danilovitch replied. “The General gave me instructions how to enter the palace of the Grand Duke Nicholas and there to investigate the apartments of the Grand Duchess Natalia. I refused at first, knowing that if I were detected as an intruder I should be shot at sight by the sentries. But he insisted,” the man added. “He told me that if I persisted in my refusal he would expose me as a spy. So I was compelled to make the attempt, well knowing that discovery meant certain death. The sentries have orders to shoot any intruder in the Grand Ducal palace. On four occasions I went there at imminent risk, and on the fourth I was successful. I found the letters concealed in a room which had once been used as Her Highness’s nursery.”
“And what did you do with them?”
“I met the General at our usual meeting-place and handed them to him. He was at first delighted. But a moment later, finding that the seal of the envelope in which were the letters had been broken, he charged me with reading them. I denied it, and – ”
“Then you did not read them? You do not know what they contained, or who they were from?”
“They were from General Markoff himself. I looked at the signatures, but, alas! I had no time to read them. I drove straight to the meeting-place, where the General was awaiting me.”
“They were from the General!” I echoed. “To whom?”
“They bore his signature – one a long letter, closely written,” was the informer’s reply. “Seeing that the seal had been broken, the General flew into a sudden rage and declared that the Grand Duchess Natalia had learned what they contained. The words he used to me were: ‘The girl must be silenced – silenced at once, Danilovitch. And you must silence her. She knows the truth!’”
“Well?” I asked.
“Well,” he said, his mouth drawn and hard, “under compulsion and more threats of exposure, I launched the bomb, which, alas! killed her father, while the young lady escaped unhurt.”
“Then he still intends that Her Highness shall die? His warning the other day was no idle attempt to terrorise me?”
“No, Excellency. Take every precaution. The General means mischief, for he is in hourly fear lest Her Highness should expose certain facts contained in those fateful letters which have already cost two ladies their liberty and a Grand Duke and several Cossacks their lives.”
“Is this the actual truth?” asked Hartwig in a changed voice, looking the informer full in the face.
“Yes,” he answered solemnly. “I have told you the truth; therefore I believe your solemn word that you will make no exposure to the Party.”
“If you will disassociate yourself from these dastardly actions,” he said.
“Ah!” sighed the other in despair, “that is impossible. The General holds me always to the compact I made with him. But I beg of you to be warned,” he added. “Her Highness is daily in gravest peril!”
Chapter Sixteen.
Incognita!
Shortly after eleven o’clock that same evening I was strolling with Hartwig up and down the deserted platform at Victoria Station, my intention being to take the eleven-fifty p.m. train back to Brighton.
For a full hour we had pressed the informer to explain the real reason of his visit to Brighton on the previous day. But beyond assuring us that it was not with any evil intent – which I confess we could scarcely believe – he declined to reveal anything.
He only repeated his warning that Natalia was in grave personal danger, and entreated me to be careful. The refugees in that house, all of them Russians, seemed filled with intense curiosity regarding us, and especially so, perhaps, because of Hartwig’s declaration that he was bearer of a message from that mysterious leader who was believed to live somewhere in Moscow, and was known throughout the Russian Empire as “The One.”
No doubt after our departure Danilovitch had told them of some secret message he had received from the mysterious head of the organisation, who was none other than himself.
But his confession had held both of us practically silent ever since we had left that dingy house in Lower Clapton.
“Markoff believes that Her Highness is aware of the contents of those letters,” Hartwig said as we strolled together in the great, well-lit station. Few people were about just at that hour, for the suburban theatre-goers had not yet arrived. “For that reason it is intended that her mouth shall be closed.”
“But this is murder!” I cried in hot indignation. “I will go straight to the Emperor, and tell him.”
“And what benefit would that be? His Majesty would declare it to be an effort by some of the General’s enemies to disgrace him,” my companion said. “Such damning statements have been made before, but, alas! no heed has been taken of them!”
“But His Majesty shall hear – and he shall take notice! I will demand in inquiry into the arrest and exile of Madame de Rosen.”
“I thought you told me that you had already mentioned her name to His Majesty,” Hartwig said quietly.
I had forgotten. Yes. His words recalled to me my effort on her behalf, and the futility of my appeal. I sighed, and bit my lip. The two innocent ladies were on their way to that far-off dreaded penal settlement of Yakutsk. From the time which had elapsed since their arrest I calculated that they were already in Siberia, trudging that long, never-ending post road – that wide, deeply-rutted track which runs across those boundless plains between Tobolsk and Tomsk – on the first stage of their terrible journey of over six thousand miles on foot.
A sudden suggestion flashed across my mind. Should I follow, overtake them and hear the truth from Marya de Rosen’s lips?
Yet before doing so I should be compelled to apply for a passport and permits at the Ministry of the Interior at Petersburg. If I did this, Markoff would at once suspect my intention, for travellers do not go to Siberia for pleasure. And if he suspected my intention a way would quickly be found by which, when I arrived at my destination, neither of the ladies would be alive. In Siberia, where there is neither law nor inquiry, it was, I knew, very easy to close the lips of any person whose existence might be prejudicial to the authorities. A word from General Markoff, and an accident would certainly occur.
No. I realised that to relax my vigilance over the safety of Natalia at that moment would be most injudicious. Besides, was not Natalia herself aware of the contents of the letters? If not, why had her enemies made the firm determination that she should meet with a sudden and mysterious end?
I mentioned to my companion my inclination to travel across Siberia in search of the exiles; but he only shook his head gravely, saying:
“You are, no doubt, under very close observation. Even if you went, you might, by so doing, place yourself in grave personal peril. Remember, Markoff is desperate. The contents of those letters, whatever they may be, are evidently so damning that he cannot afford exposure. The pains he took to secure them, and to send Madame de Rosen into exile, plainly show this. No,” he added, “the most judicious plan is to remain here, near Her Highness, and watch Markoff’s operations.”
“If Her Highness would only reveal to me the secret of those letters, then we should be in a position to defy Markoff and reveal him before the Emperor in his true light,” I said.
“She has refused – eh?”
“Yes. I have questioned her a dozen times, but always with the same result,” was my answer.
“But will she refuse, if she knows that her father’s tragic end was due to the wild desire of Markoff to close her lips?”
“Yes. I have already pointed that out to her. Her reply is that what she learnt was in confidence. It is her friend’s secret, and she cannot betray it. She is the very soul of honour. Her word is her bond.”
“You will tell her now of Danilovitch’s confession; how the letters were stolen and handed back to the General by the man whom he holds so completely in his power?” Hartwig said.
“I shall. But I fear it will make no difference. She is, of course, eager to expose the General to the Emperor and effect his downfall. She is fully aware of his corrupt and brutal maladministration of the department of Political Police, of the bogus plots, and the wholesale deportment of thousands of innocent persons. But it seems that she gave a pledge of secrecy to poor madame, and that pledge she refuses to break at any cost. ‘It is Marya’s secret,’ she told me, ‘not mine.’”
As we were speaking, a tall, straight, good-looking young man in crush-hat and black overcoat over his dinner-clothes had strolled along the platform awaiting the train.
My eyes caught his features as he went, when suddenly I recognised in the young man Richard Drury, whom Her Highness had told me she had known in her school-days at Eastbourne. I glanced after him and watched his figure retreating leisurely as he smoked a cigarette until he came beneath a lamp where he halted. Then, producing an evening paper, he commenced to while away the time by reading. He was evidently returning to Brighton by my train.
Apparently the young fellow had not recognised me as Miss Gottorp’s companion of the previous night, therefore standing near, I had an opportunity of examining him well. He was certainly a typical specimen of the keen, clean-shaven young Englishman, a man who showed good-breeding, and whose easy air was that of the gentleman.
Yet I confess that what Her Highness had revealed to me both alarmed and annoyed me. Madcap that she was, I knew not what folly she might commit. Nevertheless, after all, so long as she preserved her incognito no great harm would be done. It was hard upon her to deny her the least suspicion of flirtation, especially with one whom she had known in the days before she had put up her hair and put on her ankle-frocks.
Hartwig and I were undecided what our next move should be, and we were discussing it. One fact was plain, that in view of the assertion of Danilovitch, I would now be compelled to keep constant watch over the skittish young lady whom the Emperor had given into my charge. My idea of following and overtaking Madame de Rosen in Siberia was out of all question.
“Are you remaining long in London?” I asked the police official, just as I was about to step into the train.
“Who knows?” he laughed. “I am at the ‘Savoy.’ The Embassy is unaware I am in England. But I move quickly, as you know. Perhaps to-morrow I may have to return to Petersburg. Au revoir.”
And I wished him adieu, and got into an empty first-class compartment just as the train was moving from the platform.
I sat in the corner of the carriage full of grave and apprehensive thoughts.
That strange suspicion which the Emperor had revealed to me on the afternoon before the last Court ball recurred to me. I held my breath as a sudden idea flashed across my brain. Had it any connection with this foul but cunningly-conceived plot to kill an innocent girl whose only offence was that she was in possession of certain information which, if revealed, would, I presumed, cause the downfall of that camarilla surrounding the Emperor?
The thought held me in wonder.
Ah! if only the Emperor would listen to the truth – if only he would view Markoff and his friends in their true character! But I knew, alas! that such development of the situation was impossible. Russia, and with her the Imperial Court, was being terrorised by these desperate attempts to assassinate the Emperor. Hence His Majesty relied upon Markoff for the safety of the dynasty. He looked upon him as a marvel of astuteness and cunning, as indeed he was. But, alas! the burly, grave-eyed man who led a life haunted by the hourly fear of death – an existence in armoured rooms and armoured trains, and surrounded by guards whom he even grew to suspect – was in ignorance that the greater part of the evidence of conspiracies, incriminating correspondence and secret proclamations put before him had been actually manufactured by Markoff himself!
At last, after an hour, the express ran slowly into the Brighton terminus, and as it did so, I caught sight of a figure waiting upon the platform, which caused me to quickly draw back. The figure was that of a young girl neatly dressed in black with a small black hat, and though she wore a veil of spotted net I recognised her at once as Natalia! She was smiling and waving her tiny black-gloved hand to someone. In an instant I knew the truth. She was there, even though it were past one o’clock in the morning, to meet her lover, Richard Drury.
I saw him spring out, raise his hat and shake her hand warmly, and then, taking care not to be seen, I followed them out as they walked side by side down the hill in the direction of King’s Road.
This action of hers showed her recklessness and lack of discretion. Apparently she had walked all the way from Hove in order to meet him, and as they strolled together along the dark, deserted road he was evidently explaining something to her, while she listened very attentively.
Surely it was unsafe for her to go forth like that! I was surprised that Miss West allowed it. But, in all probability that worthy lady was in bed, and asleep, all unconscious of her charge’s escapade.
I had not followed very far before I became aware of a footstep behind me, and, turning, I saw a small, insignificant-looking man in dark clothes, who came quickly up to me. It was one of the police-agents employed at the house in Brunswick Square.
“Well, Dmitri!” I exclaimed in a low voice in French. “So you are looking after your young mistress – eh?” I asked, with a laugh, pausing to speak with him in order to allow the lovers to get further off.
“Yes, m’sieur,” replied the man in a tone of distinct annoyance.
“This is hardly wise of Her Highness,” I said. “This is not the hour to go out for a stroll.”
“No, m’sieur,” replied the shrewd agent of police, who had been for years employed at the palace of the late Grand Duke Nicholas in Petersburg. “I tell you I do not think it either safe or proper. These constant meetings must result in scandal.”
“Who is that young man?” I asked quickly. “You have made inquiry, no doubt?”
“Yes, m’sieur, I have. But I can learn very little. He seems to be a complete mystery – an adventurer, perhaps,” declared the suspicious police-agent in a low, hard voice; adding: “The fact is, that man who calls himself Richard Drury is, I feel sure, no fit companion for Her Imperial Highness.”
“Why not?” I demanded in eager surprise.
“Because he is not,” was the man’s enigmatical reply. “I do hope m’sieur will warn Her Imperial Highness of the danger,” he said reflectively, looking in the direction of the retreating figures.
“Danger!” I echoed. “What danger?”
“There is a grave danger,” he asserted firmly. “I have watched, as is my duty, and I know. Her Highness endeavours all she can to evade my vigilance, for naturally it is not pleasant to be watched while carrying on a flirtation. But she does not know what I have discovered concerning this stranger with whom she appears to have fallen so deeply in love. They must be parted, m’sieur – parted at once, before it is too late.”
“But what have you discovered?” I asked.
“One astounding and most startling fact,” was his slow, deliberate reply; “a fact which demands their immediate separation.”
