The Angel of the Revolution (Dystopian Novel). Griffith George Chetwynd
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we expect it soon after ten to-night.”
“Good! That is sooner than we expected in London. We thought it would not reach here till tomorrow morning.”
“In London! What do you mean? You cannot have come from London, for there has been no train for two days.”
“Nevertheless I have come from London. I left England yesterday evening.”
“Yesterday evening! But, with all submission, that is impossible. If there were a railway the whole distance it could not be done.”
“To the Master there is nothing impossible. Look! I received that the evening I left London.”
As he spoke, Colston held out an envelope. The Russian examined it closely. It bore the Ludgate Hill post-mark, which was dated “March 7.”
Colston’s host bent over it with almost superstitious reverence, and handed it back, saying humbly —
“Forgive my doubts, Nobleness! It is a miracle! I ask no more. The Tsar himself could not have done it. The Master is all powerful, and I am proud to be his servant, even to the death.”
Although the twentieth century had dawned, the Siberian Russians were still inclined to look even upon the railway as a miracle. This man, although he occupied a post of very considerable responsibility and authority under the Russian Government, was only a member of the Outer Circle of the Terrorists, as most of the officials were, and therefore he knew nothing of the existence of the Ariel, and Colston purposely mystified him with the apparent miracle of his presence in Tiumen after so short an absence from London, in order to command his more complete obedience in the momentous work that was on hand.
He allowed the official a few moments to absorb the full wonder of the seeming marvel, and then he replied —
“Yes, we are all his servants to the death. At least I know of none who have even thought of treason to him and lived to put their thoughts into action. But tell me, are all the arrangements complete as far as you can make them? Much depends upon how you carry them out, you know, to say nothing of the two thousand roubles that I shall hand to you as soon as the two ladies are delivered into my charge.”
“All is arranged, Nobleness,” replied the official, bowing involuntarily at the mention of the money. “Such of the prisoners, that is to say the politicals, who can afford to pay for the privilege, may, by the new regulations, be lodged in the houses of approved persons during their sojourn in Tiumen, if it be only for a night, and so escape the common prison.
“We knew at the police bureau of the arrest of the Princess Ornovski some days ago, and I have obtained permission from the chief of police to lodge her Highness and her companion in misfortune — if they are prepared to pay what I shall ask. It has come to be looked upon as a sort of perquisite of diligent officials, and as I have been very diligent here I had no difficulty in getting the permission — which I shall have to pay for in due course.”
“Just so! Nothing for nothing in Russian official circles. Very good. Now listen. If this escape is successfully accomplished you will be degraded and probably punished into the bargain for letting the prisoners slip through your fingers. But that must not happen if it can be prevented.
“Now this has been foreseen, as everything is with the Master; and his orders are that you shall take this passport — which you will find in perfect order, save for the fact that the date has been slightly altered — from me as soon as I have got the ladies safely in the troika out on the Tobolsk road, put off the livery of the Tsar, disguise yourself as effectually as may be, and take the first train back to Perm and Nizhni Novgorod as Stepan Bakuinin, fur merchant.
“The servant you can leave behind on any excuse. From Novgorod you can travel viâ Moscow to Königsberg, and, if you will take my advice, you will get out of Russia as soon as the Fates will let you.”
“It shall be done, Nobleness. But how will the disappearance of Dmitri Soudeikin, sub-commissioner of police, be accounted for?”
“That also has been provided for. Before you go you will pin this with a dagger to your sitting-room table.”
The official took the little piece of paper which Colston held out to him as he spoke. It read thus —
Dmitri Soudeikin, sub-commissioner of police at Tiumen, has been removed for over-zeal in the service of the Tsar.
NATAS.
Soudeikin bowed almost to the ground as the dreaded name of the Master of the Terror met his eyes, and then he said, as he handed the paper back —
“It is so! The Master sees all, and cares for the least of his servants. My life shall be forfeited if the ladies are not released as I have said.”
“It probably will be,” returned Colston drily. “None of us expect to get out of this business alive if it does not succeed. Now that is all I have to say for the present. It is for you to bring the ladies here as your prisoners, to see us out of the town before daybreak, and to have the troika in readiness for us on the Tobolsk road. Then see to yourself and I will be responsible for the rest.”
As it still wanted more than two hours to the expected arrival of the train, Soudeikin had the samovar, or tea-urn, brought in, and Colston and Ivan made a hearty meal after their five-mile walk through the snow. Then they and their host lit their pipes, and smoked and chatted until a distant whistle warned Soudeikin that the train was at last approaching the station, and that it was time for him to be on duty to receive his convict-lodgers.
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