British Mysteries Omnibus - The Emma Orczy Edition (65+ Titles in One Edition). Emma Orczy
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would prove his ruin?
While Volenski, stricken down by his persistent ill-luck, had at last found in physical prostration merciful oblivion from the harrowing anxieties of the past few days, Count Lavrovski, in no less pitiable a plight than the young Pole himself, sat meditating as to whether he would once more seek out the old detective, this time armed with the determination to tell him all, or whether he would send a wire at once to Petersburg asking for immediate help. The latter was undoubtedly the wiser course. Prudence and duty both dictated it, but human nature, ever prone to put off an evil moment to some more distant time, begged inwardly for more delay.
It was, therefore, with a mixture of buoyant hope and surprise that Count Lavrovski heard that a lady desired to speak with him on a matter of urgent business. She had refused to give her name, the waiter said, but had asked him to tell the Count that she was the bearer of a message from M. Furet.
"Show her up at once," said Lavrovski eagerly.
What could it be but good news? Something of importance the detective had heard and wished to communicate with him at once. Count Lavrovski rose as M. Furet's purported messenger entered the room, and bowed instinctively as he beheld a lady of refined bearing–so different from the usual female detective's aid he had expected to see. Her face was closely veiled, but her figure and general appearance bespoke youth as well as refinement.
She took the chair which the old Count was offering her, and dexterously placed it so that her back was against the window, while Lavrovski's face remained in full light.
"Monsieur le Comte," she began courteously, "I must first tender you my humble apologies for the slight deception I have been forced to practise upon you. I wished to make sure of being allowed to see you without delay, and used M. Furet's name as an introduction to your presence. I am not his messenger."
"But, madame–mademoiselle –– " stammered Lavrovski, bewildered at this strange preamble, "I –– "
"You are at a loss to understand," rejoined the stranger, "how I knew that M. Furet's name would be a passport to you. I will tell you that presently, when I have delivered you the message with which I am entrusted, and for which I will venture to ask your kind attention."
Count Lavrovski was too bewildered to reply. There was a slight pause whilst the mysterious stranger was evidently collecting her thoughts, and Lavrovski instinctively felt some dread he could not account for, some undefinable fear that he would hear a message of life and death.
"I think I am right in stating, monsieur," she resumed, "that you are at this moment in grave anxiety concerning the disappearance of an august personage whom I need not name. That is so, is it not?"
Lavrovski had half expected this, and yet he turned pale with emotion when he heard this stranger so calmly talking of this dreaded subject. He did not reply; the lady seemed not to expect it, for she proceeded at once.
"Let me assure you first of all, monsieur, that that august personage is well in health, and for the present in no personal danger."
She emphasised the words "for the present," watching the effect on Lavrovski's face.
"True," she continued, "he is a prisoner at this moment, in a prison at once luxurious and comfortable. But he is in the power of persons–those whose emissary you see before you–who will be only too glad to give him back his freedom."
A look of relief crossed the old Russian's face. He thought he understood it all now. In spite of her sex, her well-cut clothes, and refined appearance this woman was one of a gang of desperadoes, who lived by abducting persons, instead of stealing goods, demanding high ransoms, like wayside brigands. Well! thank God! there was no great harm done, and money in Russia is always plentiful when needed. Count Lavrovski without another word took out his pocket-book, and, laying it down on the table, said simply:
"Name the price."
"It is my object, in coming here to-day, to do so," said the stranger imperturbably; "but I will ask you, Count Lavrovski, to put back that pocket-book–the price of the Tsarevitch's liberty is not contained therein."
Lavrovski stared in mute surprise; every minute of this strange interview plunged him into ever-growing mazes of astonishment.
Then, rapidly and to the point, Maria Stefanowna plunged into her subject. She hardly paused to take breath, she had arranged the whole interview so thoroughly in her mind during those long, harrowing hours she had spent pacing up and down her room last night. She explained to the now almost bewildered old courtier the daring plot that had placed the heir to the Russian throne a helpless prisoner in the hands of a few young enthusiasts. She explained to him her own share in the matter, recalled to his mind the mysterious odalisque, and assured him that the august prisoner's comforts were attended to by herself with the utmost care.
She spoke in clear, well-defined tones, with a briskness that fairly took Count Lavrovski's breath away. The old Russian listened, horror-struck, to the open allusions or covert threats of his Imperial Highness' dangerous position. He heard with amazement how so monstrous a thing had been planned and executed on so sacred and august a personage by a gang of young men whose very existence he had been ignorant of, and he realised at once how futile would have been any effort on his part, or M. Furet's, to fight so many enemies in the dark.
"I think, monsieur, I have now made it clear to you that the Tsarevitch's life is entirely in the hands of those who hold him prisoner, and my purpose in coming here to-day is to tell you on what conditions Nicholas Alexandrovitch shall be restored to life and liberty."
"Conditions, madame? I will hear no conditions," exclaimed Count Lavrovski, who at last recovered his speech at this outrageous audacity. "Death, swift and sudden, shall overtake you, one and all, and those who have sent you. Thank God, the Russian police are far-seeing, far-reaching enough to reach the son of its beloved Emperor, without having to listen to conditions dictated by such as you."
He had jumped up full of wrath, and his hand was already on the bell-pull, in order to summon Stepán to guard this villainous emissary of evil tidings, while he himself sent forthwith to Petersburg for the wherewithal to punish this daring crew.
Maria Stefanowna had sat there unmoved; her foot tapping rapidly on the ground was the only sign of impatience she gave.
"Monsieur, remember," she said quietly, "that if you pull that bell your young master will be dead before another night has passed over his head."
The old Russian understood. What a fool he was! The woman spoke truly. What could he do but wait patiently, meekly, to hear the manifesto of these wretches who held the dagger against a Tsarevitch's heart?
Later, perhaps, revenge might come, but now they must negotiate, treat with them, however galling it might be.
"You are right, madame! No doubt you and your companions know how completely we are in your power, or they would never have dared to send you to me."
Then with a violent effort at self-control he added:
"I will listen to what you have to say."
Maria Stefanowna gave a sigh of satisfaction. She had gained his undivided attention, as well as his confession of the power she held in her hand. The plan she had formed in her mind needed now but propounding; she was sure at least of undivided hearing.
"Monsieur," she said, "although I own that the prisoner we hold in our power is one whose safety and liberty are of vast importance to–shall we say?–one section of the Russian Empire, at the same time, perhaps, it has never struck you that he, in the person of his adherents and officials, holds captive many a one whose life and liberty are also of infinite value. Have you ever heard the name of Dunajewski mentioned before now?"
The old courtier knew it well, the ardent, unforgiving Nihilist, whose capture, together with a score of his comrades, a month ago, had been the triumph of the Third Section. He guessed now what this woman's object was in coming to him. An interchange of prisoners it was to be. Great heavens! What mattered it if the world was populated with thousands of liberated convicts, as long as that one precious life was safe?
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