British Mysteries Omnibus - The Emma Orczy Edition (65+ Titles in One Edition). Emma Orczy
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is mere supposition on my part," he said.
"The right one, I feel sure, and my liberty was to be the price of that of these ruffians."
"That is why, no doubt, your Imperial Highness, the eyes and hands of the Russian police remained tied –– " Then he added between his teeth, "For the present."
"And Lavrovski?"
The old Russian shrugged his shoulders.
"I will not have a hair of old Lavrovski's head touched," said the Tsarevitch impetuously; "he did enough to prevent my running after this mad adventure. He could do no more."
"He should have communicated with us at once," said the chief of the police resentfully; "we might have caught the villains."
"And probably found me a dead man; no, no, my good Krapotkine, he acted for the best; he believed I had gone on a young man's escapade, and wished to save my reputation. Lavrovski is not to blame."
"No doubt your Imperial Highness has every influence to avert the disgrace from Count Lavrovski's head. In the meanwhile I and my men are ready to escort your Imperial Highness back to Petersburg."
"Like a schoolboy who has been playing truant. Well! I shall be glad to leave this city, with its unpleasant associations. We will start homewards to-night." And Nicholas Alexandrovitch, tired and enervated, dismissed the chief of the police with a smile and a bow.
It had been a curious adventure, and he wondered if he would ever hear the true version of it, or if those who had so daringly planned it would ever come under the far-reaching clutches of the police.
That this was extremely unlikely both he himself and the astute Krapotkine were fully aware when, during the rapid journey back to Petersburg, they discussed the possibility of bringing the miscreants to justice.
The Tsarevitch himself had never as much as set eyes yet on any of his abductors; the only one he had ever seen throughout his captivity had been Maria Stefanowna, of whose face he caught but a mere glimpse in thefiaker that eventful night, when she was disguised as the odalisque, and the two or three moujiks, purported to be deaf-mute, who had been his servants and guardians in his imprisonment. That, through a description of them made by the Tsarevitch, some faint clue might be obtained was just possible; but Krapotkine well knew that the chances of tracing a man by mere verbal description are excessively remote. As for the house, or even the locality where so exalted a prisoner had lived and breathed for over two weeks, there was no hope of ever arriving at a conclusion as to its whereabouts. The Tsarevitch was a complete stranger in the city, and could not even have told in which direction it lay. The outside of the house he had never seen, nor anything in it, save the two rooms he had inhabited.
The chief of the police bit his moustache in impotent fury, when he realised how magnificently the whole plot had been carried through, and how, in all probability, the daring conspirators would also escape after the great victory they had gained, in the liberation of Dunajewski and his brother Nihilists.
The same night on which their prisoner was once more restored to liberty, at about the same hour, the members of the brotherhood sat once more together in committee, smoking and chatting gaily. The president, who seemed quite restored to his former urbane self, was talking of Maria Stefanowna, whom he regarded as the saviour of them all. All the older men looked up to her as one who had prevented lifelong remorse from haunting the rest of their lives; and the younger ones as the prophetess of their Utopia, who would lead them to victory through her wise counsels and daring deeds.
There was eager expectancy on all the faces round, and many were the glances that stole towards the clock that seemed to be ticking in a provokingly slow way.
Ah! at last! there was the sound of footsteps outside, and soon the door was opened, and four of the comrades, including Mirkovitch, came in. They were greeted with a unanimous cry of inquiry, "Well?"
"Well!" said Mirkovitch, "the last chapter of our sensational novel is closed. Dunajewski and our comrades are by now on their way to England, and Nicholas Alexandrovitch is discussing with Krapotkine the possibility of bringing us all into the clutches of the Third Section."
Derisive laughter, full of gaiety, triumph, and enthusiasm, greeted this suggestion.
"That is an impossibility," they all asserted; "they have not the faintest clue."
They refused to listen to Mirkovitch's threatening speeches, his regrets at the happy escape of one of the tyrant's brood. They were discussing Dunajewski's surprise when he found himself a free man, with a passport, allowing him and his comrades to go whither they chose. One or two of the older members had gone to meet them at Hamburg with money and clothes to enable them to embark for England.
Maria Stefanowna had gone with them. It had been thought wiser that she should be out of the country for a little while, both for her own safety and for that of all her comrades. Let them, out there at Petersburg, do their worst to discover the originators of this great plot so complete in its victory. What could they do when there was no clue?
"None!" said Mirkovitch quietly, "except our papers, which we have entrusted to Volenski, and of which and of our messenger we have not the slightest news."
If his wish was to damp an enthusiasm which he had not kindled, he certainly fully succeeded. It certainly did seem strange that no news of any sort or kind had been heard of the young Pole, since the night when he had announced his departure, under the protection of his Eminence the Cardinal, for the following morning; and nearly a fortnight had elapsed since then.
Though every confidence was still felt in the messenger, there was a curious restlessness–a vague, undefined fear appreciable when his name was mentioned. The president's uneasiness at the topic was also decidedly ominous; but he evidently, though unable to account for Volenski's protracted silence, would not allow the slightest doubt to be cast on his absent young friend's good name.
The ugly word "traitor" had been whispered once or twice, but not in his hearing. The older men believed in some untoward accident to the messenger, but still hoped that the papers were safe.
It would be such a crushing blow, after the great victory, to have to face defeat so complete, so humiliating, with no hope of vengeance, now that their hostage was out of their hands; those papers were so hopelessly compromising, both to them and to those at Petersburg to whom they were addressed, that not one of them could possibly hope to escape.
The president, as usual, tried to reassure them, and to calm the tide of feelings that began to rise high against Volenski.
"Remember," he said, "we must not condemn him unheard. After all, our papers cannot at this moment be in wrong hands, or we should not be sitting here unmolested, and what occurred an hour ago would not have taken place."
That was obviously the case, and all felt perhaps a trifle reassured. Anyhow, it was but waste of time to sit and discuss Volenski's possible movements at this moment. News, good and bad, was bound to reach them sooner or later, that would clear up this mystery.
Some future meeting in a day or two was arranged, and all prepared to leave. As Mirkovitch was about to turn to the door, something in the eyes of the old president made him pause and wait, till they two were left, the sole occupants of the room.
"You know something, Lobkowitz–what is it?"
"Look at this letter I received this morning."
"From Volenski?"
"Read it."
Mirkovitch began reading half aloud:
"Charing Cross Hotel, London.
"My dear Lobkowitz,–You will wonder at the place I am writing from, and still more so at what I can possibly be doing there. I have been at death's door, my good friend, owing to a series of the most terrible misfortunes that could befall any man. Do not be alarmed, though the news I am at last able to send you is of a most terrible kind. The papers are out of my possession –– "
Here a half-suppressed oath escaped Mirkovitch's lips, and his