Corsini left the Count’s house. He certainly would not forget that appointment to-morrow morning at the Winter Palace.
But although he had many things to remember, his most vital recollection was the answering kiss of Nada.
CHAPTER XXIV
Zouroff, at this particular moment, was not in a very enviable frame of mind. Optimist as he was, and a believer in his own star, he could not disguise from himself the fact that his two efforts at kidnapping had not been attended with any remarkable success.
Corsini, through treachery on the part of his associates, had been rescued at Pavlovsk. And last night, the deaf and inarticulate Stepan, suffering, no doubt, from momentary aberration, had driven off in the darkness with the young Princess and her maid – whither, he knew not.
He sat up till the small hours of the morning, awaiting the return of that carriage. Stepan would come back to his senses and drive back for further instructions. But the carriage did not return. At length Zouroff dismissed his two confederates.
“Let Stepan return when he will, or never return, it does not matter,” he said impatiently. What did small things like this matter? A carriage stranded, two helpless and drugged women inside, recognised later on. By the time this could be brought home to him, he would be in such a position that he could hush-up all inquiries.
He strolled round to the Villa Quéro. The servant who opened the door knew him well, of course.
“I am grieved to tell you, Excellency, that our dear mistress died in the early hours of the morning.”
“I am very grieved to hear it,” said the hypocritical Zouroff. “I heard that she was taken ill at the Opera yesterday evening. It was sudden, was it not?”
“Very sudden, your Excellency. The doctor seems to think that she was poisoned.”
“Poisoned! Good Heavens!” cried Zouroff. “But who could want to poison such a charming woman, so generally beloved?”
The servant shrugged his shoulders. “Ah, who can tell? Perhaps some envious rival. The post-mortem may possibly tell us something.”
The Prince walked away quite easy in his mind. Yes, no doubt, the post-mortem would tell them something – that la Quéro had been done to death by a very subtle poison. But he had reasoned it all well out.
It would be proved that he had shared a light repast with La Belle Quéro that same evening. It might be proved that he had brought her a box of chocolates, out of which two were missing.
They could analyse that box of chocolates. They would find no poison in them. There was only poison in one, the one that he had picked out as a fine fat fellow and which she had crunched greedily between her strong white teeth.
That same morning Stepan woke up from his deep stupor in the mean lodging of Ivan the Cuckoo.
“Where am I?” was his first question, as he opened his heavy eyelids.
Ivan bent over him, till his bearded face was close to that of the dazed man.
“You are with your old friend and comrade. Last night I took the liberty of playing a little trick upon you. You will forgive me when I tell you the object of that trick was to ensnare our old enemy, Zouroff.”
Stepan’s rather expressionless countenance showed considerable animation. He tried to speak, but the sounds would not issue from the paralysed organs. He had recourse to his usual signs, which read as follows:
“What has happened at the Villa Quéro? I was not there at the meeting last night. You drugged me to keep me away. Who took my place?”
“A friend of mine who resembles you very closely,” replied the late outlaw, who was not greatly given to imparting confidences. “I expect he got some important information, my good Stepan. He can hear perfectly, and he understands both French and Russian.”
Stepan rubbed his hands gleefully before he replied. “Ah, I would be glad to hear that Zouroff was trapped; but I should be very grieved if they caught poor Madame Quéro, she was always so kind and considerate. Many a night at those meetings I was kept up very late. She would always come to me the next morning with her bright smile, and give me a handsome pour-boire.”
Ivan, who had spies all over the city, imparted the latest news. “Madame Quéro died last night, or rather in the early hours of this morning. Zouroff was at the villa during the evening, a short time before she left for the Opera. There are rumours that she died of poison. You can put two and two together, Stepan.”
Yes, knowing Zouroff as well as he did, the deaf, and almost dumb, man could guess what was suggested by Ivan. He raised his hands to Heaven in horror, and then made rapid signs. “This infamous scoundrel will stop at nothing.”
Presently he grew drowsy again, and in a few moments relapsed into a second deep sleep which lasted over a couple of hours. When he woke, the outlaw, who was growing rather alarmed about the prolonged effects of the narcotic, was bending over him.
Stepan repeated the question he had asked on his first waking, “Where am I?”
Ivan explained to him again that in consequence of the infirmities which so handicapped him, he was of little use against Zouroff and his friends, that a man who closely resembled him had taken his place at the villa.
Stepan, who now seemed thoroughly awake, intimated that he remembered.
Ivan proceeded, in his strong, resolute tones, “I am not a man who takes any chances, as you well know. However well you lay your plans, your ultimate success depends, more or less, on the support of your confederates. That is why I took the liberty of giving you a little harmless sleeping draught that effectually kept you from interfering with my designs. You are none the worse for it, and very shortly you shall have some vodka to pull yourself together.”
Stepan, half-foolish as he was, understood this sort of language well. The mention of the word had an almost instantaneous effect in completing his recovery.
He rubbed his hands together and smiled his silly and vacant smile. “And how goes it with the ruffian, Zouroff, who so wronged you, my poor friend?”
“Make your mind easy, my dear Stepan,” was Ivan’s answer. “In a very few hours we shall both be avenged. I had a note a short time ago from the man who took your place at the Villa Quéro.” Ivan was the soul of discretion and reticence. Even to so intimate a comrade as Stepan he was not going to reveal the name of Corsini. “He suggested that this very night, Zouroff and his rascally band will be taken into the toils. I, your old friend, am no longer an outlaw, my pardon is secured. Further, I shall have a handsome reward, and my old playmate, Stepan, will receive his share. For us, comfort in our old age; for that double-dyed villain, Siberia and the mines. It is good to think of, Stepan, is it not?”
The half-witted creature emitted low, gurgling sounds of satisfaction. Then he spoke rapidly on his fingers.
“It is worth living for, this day, Ivan. Will he ever know it was through us his doom was brought about? That would be the greatest satisfaction of all.”
The pardoned outlaw smiled grimly. “Trust to me for that. I have friends everywhere. I will get that information conveyed to him somehow by somebody. Yes, that will make him writhe.”
After his visit to the Villa Quéro, Zouroff went back to the Palace. He was met by his valet, Peter, whose looks expressed consternation. The news he had to impart to his master was very grave. Also he was uneasy with regard to his own skin. He had obtained a free pardon for his share in the abduction of Corsini; could he rely upon a further dispensation in the case of the young Princess?
“Excellency, I have to report disaster. One of our spies has ferreted out the following facts. Stepan drove the carriage by a roundabout route to the house of Golitzine. The Princess and her maid, my sweetheart, Katerina, are now under the protection of the Count. I fear this will very much interfere with your Excellency’s plans.”
Zouroff swore roundly. “Then this Stepan is another traitor.”
“It would appear so,” replied Peter, with a look of disgust well simulated. Fresh from his confession to Beilski, it was necessary that he should reprobate all fellow traitors. “You can never trust these half-witted chaps,” he added.
Zouroff thought rapidly. “Run round to the villa, Peter, and demand to see Stepan. You can talk to him by signs. Learn what has become of the carriage. Get what you can out of him. By Heaven, when I have done with him he will wish he had never been born.” His expression was ferocious as he uttered those last words.
Peter hastened to obey his commands. To-morrow, the Prince might not be his master, but he would obey him as long as he was in his service. He returned with the news that Stepan was not at the villa. They could draw their own conclusions from his absence.
Zouroff ground his teeth savagely. “Golitzine and Beilski have got him safe between them. Well, never mind, the tables will be turned to-morrow.”
He was thinking of the great coup which was to take place at the Winter Palace that night, the great coup which had been so carefully rehearsed by himself and his fellow conspirators, the details of which had been overheard by Corsini, in the character of Stepan.
Safe in the custody of the kind and amiable Countess, Nada felt strangely happy. True, she was very anxious about her mother, and some natural compunction assailed her as to the fate of her brother, in spite of his infamous conduct towards herself. As to that fate, Corsini’s words had left her in no doubt. In a few hours the arch-plotter and assassin would be on his way to Siberia. The House of Zouroff, so far as its titular head was concerned, would have ceased to exist.
But she was very happy in her knowledge of her love for Corsini, of Corsini’s love for her. The name of Zouroff might be a tainted one, but the Italian stood high in the estimation of the Emperor and his powerful Secretary. Princess as she was, she would not stoop so greatly in becoming the wife of this favourite of fortune.
Zouroff spent the greater part of his day in calling at the houses of his various adherents. The knowledge that Golitzine was now acquainted with the dastardly part he had played against his innocent sister, spurred him to extra effort. Optimist as he was, he had an uneasy conviction that he was playing a desperate game. Could he strike before Golitzine would strike? That was the question, and it was one which would be determined in the coarse of a few hours.
He brought all the resources of his mind to bear upon this important problem. He employed all his eloquence, he exercised all the influence of his strong personality. He heartened the wavering amongst his fellow-conspirators, he urged to more determined resolution those who were staunch and confident.
But he felt it was touch and go. He kept away from the Palace all that day, sending round a note to Peter to bring his evening clothes to a secret meeting-place. At any moment, Golitzine might determine to strike, and he might find Beilski’s emissaries waiting for him at his ancestral home.
He was so terribly in the dark as to what Stepan had revealed or been forced to reveal. Of course, he did not learn till much later that it was not Stepan who had driven away on the box, but his hated rival, Corsini.
And why had Stepan feigned this sudden fit of insanity, a man who had always appeared so devoted to his person and his fortunes? Stepan, with his incurable deafness, could have learned nothing at these secret conclaves, he would have no information to sell that was worth any price. And yet he had driven straight to Golitzine’s house. What could have been his motive? There was something here he could not fathom.
Wandering in this maze of tangled speculation, Zouroff believed he had hit upon the right solution of these, apparently, inexplicable proceedings.
Stepan was devotedly attached to all the members of his house – himself, his sister, and his mother. When he had seen the two drugged and helpless women carried out of the Palace, he had recognised the young Princess and her maid as they were put into the waiting carriage.
In his slow, feeble brain he had realised that some danger was menacing them. His loyalty to his master had experienced a sudden revulsion. Some chivalrous instinct in him had urged him to espouse the cause of the weak and defenceless. A sudden inspiration had come to him by which he could secure his object. Before they could stop him, he had sprung on the box and whipped up his horses, with a view of placing the two women under safe protection. This seemed a reasonable explanation of that sudden and unexpected action. But there was always the disturbing thought – how would Golitzine, having once got Stepan into his clutches, deal with him? He would force him to write some account of the events of that night, even if he could not make him speak.
And then a comforting thought came to the Prince. It was possible that Stepan had been loyal to both, to his master and the young Princess. He had halted the carriage at the Secretary’s door, rung the bell, and run away before the door was opened, leaving the astute Count to unravel for himself the mystery of the two drugged women, one of whom he would recognise at once.
Still there was not much comfort in that thought, after all. Even if Stepan had not betrayed him, was there any reasonable hope that Nada and Katerina would keep silence for a moment, after they had been brought back to consciousness?
No, it was touch and go. He must strike swiftly, before Golitzine could get in his blow. And the puzzling thing was, why had Golitzine not already struck?
CHAPTER XXV
Five men were seated in the private cabinet of the Czar – the Emperor himself, his diligent and faithful Secretary, Golitzine, General Beilski, the Head of the Police, General Burovkin, a man with a heavy mustache and cast-iron countenance, one of the great military chiefs of Russia, devoted like the others to the services of the autocrat, and Nello Corsini.
Golitzine explained in his smooth, passionless accents. He was a man who was never excited, never perturbed. Except that he was of lean build, he might have suggested the idea of a relentless spider, moving amongst a web of his own weaving to catch the unsuspecting flies.
He had been the first to speak. “Our very capable young friend, Corsini, has done great work. He was hidden at the Villa Quéro last night and gathered information of the greatest importance.”
The Emperor, who always liked to tell his subordinates that he knew all that was going on, interrupted his faithful and more astute Secretary.
“Ah, poor Madame Quéro! I hear that she died in the early hours of the morning and that there are certain suspicious circumstances connected with her death – an idea that she has been poisoned, eh?”
Golitzine nodded. “Your Majesty has been correctly informed.” He might have added that he had given this information himself, but he was too experienced a courtier to venture on such an experiment. Autocratic monarchs like to think they discover things for themselves. And perhaps the autocrat had not been quite awake when he received Golitzine’s letter long before breakfast.
Golitzine waved his hand towards Corsini. He possessed a very generous nature, and he was quite ready to give honour where it was due.
“This is the man to whom we are indebted for the information which shall be fully detailed to your Majesty. Salmoros never did us a better service than when he sent Signor Corsini to us.”
The Emperor inclined his head in his most gracious manner. “Salmoros never makes a mistake, and Corsini has more than justified his selection.”
Golitzine leaned towards the young Italian. “Tell his Imperial Majesty all that you told me last night, the full details of what happened at the Villa Quéro. I have given him a brief résumé, but you can make it more convincing than I can. Speak out, Corsini; omit nothing; you need not fear to trespass on his Majesty’s attention.”
The Emperor inclined his head. He always blindly followed the lead of his Secretary. He knew that he could trust him, above all; also some half a dozen others, the two Generals amongst them.
Corsini, feeling very nervous, although by now he was becoming accustomed to his new environment, began his recital, giving full details of the strange things that had happened in the course of a few hours. Of course, he was intending to keep strict silence as to that little love scene between himself and the beautiful Nada. One must keep back certain things even from an autocrat of Alexander’s type.
Being very nervous in the presence of the Emperor and these high officials of the Russian Empire, he told his story very haltingly. Several times Golitzine helped him through when he faltered.
And then, when he was not a quarter through his narrative, there came a hesitating knock at the door. It was that of a timid aide-de-camp, who had taken upon himself to disturb his Emperor’s privacy.
At the first sound of that timid knock, the Emperor frowned. His orders had been precise: he was not to be disturbed, except on a matter of greatest urgency. Perhaps this was one.
“Come in,” cried the autocrat, in a far from conciliatory voice.
The young man, dressed in immaculate uniform, advanced, bowing very low. He tendered a letter.
“A thousand pardons for disturbing your Majesty after your particular instructions. The Baron Salmoros, whom I know well, has just arrived. I told him you were engaged in important discussions with the biggest personages in the Empire. He persisted that I should bring his note to you. I disobeyed your instructions, but, under the circumstances, I trust you will think that I have not done wrong, that I have exercised my discretion wisely. The Baron said it was urgent, that, whoever you were engaged with, you must be disturbed. I know how highly the Baron stands in your Majesty’s favour.”
Alexander opened the letter with a frowning brow. True autocrat, he was incensed that his slightest instructions should have been disobeyed. But, as he read the letter of the Baron, his brow cleared.
He turned a mild look upon the disturbed young officer. “You have acted very wisely indeed. I shall hold you in my remembrance. Bring the Baron to us at once.”
He turned to the four other men. “Gentlemen, our good friend, Salmoros, has taken a journey to us because he has certain information to impart. I recognise very gratefully that I am well served, but I think we may well admit the Baron’s brains to our important conclave.” He looked towards Golitzine as he spoke.
The adroit Secretary inclined his head. “I think your Majesty can well admit the Baron to our counsels. We can always learn something from him.”
A few moments later the venerable figure of Salmoros appeared in the doorway of the private cabinet of the Emperor, ushered in by the no longer fearful young officer.
He advanced and kissed the Emperor’s hand. Alexander, as a mark of his esteem for the great financier, had risen to greet him. The Baron shook hands with Golitzine and the two Generals. Then he laid his hand lightly on Corsini’s shoulder.
“Ah, my young friend and protégé, I see you have done well. If you had failed, you would not be in the private cabinet of the Emperor to-day.”
The autocrat interposed. “My dear Baron, your young friend has been of the most inestimable service to us. You were always a great judge of men.”
The next to speak was Golitzine. “My dear Salmoros, I know full well that it is your zeal for the Emperor and the great Empire over which he rules that has led you to take this long and tedious journey. You have something of importance to communicate.”
Salmoros spoke in his slow, grave accents. He looked at the Emperor as he spoke, but he was really addressing Golitzine. He knew that in that remarkable man, apart from mere figureheads, lay the destinies of the great Russian Empire.
He was not oblivious to the fact that the two Generals were persons to be reckoned with; as a matter of fact, he was counting on their practical assistance; but Golitzine, the man of brains, the man of initiative, the true statesman, was his sheet-anchor.
Alexander was, of course, the mere titular head of the state, served by his subordinates, more or less well.
If Golitzine went, and some inferior person took on his office, then Alexander would be very badly served. He was not a monarch who could reign by himself.
The Baron bent his deep, penetrating gaze upon the assembly of notable persons – the Emperor, the two Generals, the Secretary, the modest and rather shrinking young Italian, somewhat embarrassed by his recent projection into matters of high statecraft.
Certain things at once struck his observant eyes. All except the Emperor were dressed in immaculate costume. The autocrat himself was attired in a loose dressing-gown. He had had no time to array himself in conventional garments.
As a matter of fact, Golitzine’s letter had reached him shortly before dawn, requesting his presence at the private counsel which was now taking place. Alexander, no doubt relying on the efforts of his faithful servants, had indulged in a little extra slumber, confident that he would be well looked after.
Salmoros reflected, with a certain contempt, upon the obvious inferences which were to be drawn from these very apparent facts.
He looked at Golitzine, that astute Secretary, who kept his master in order, spurred him when he was too sluggish, restrained him when he was too impetuous.
Cynical thoughts shaped themselves in his active brain, and if translated into speech, they might have expressed themselves thus: “Why do we men of intelligence and initiative give our best, the keenest of our brains, to these mere figureheads whom we flatter, but at heart despise for their feebleness? It is because we find the figurehead binds us more closely together, makes our own position more secure, while we are propping up his.”
He answered Golitzine’s question, with his slow, grave smile.
“A man of my age, Count, would not travel so many miles, at great personal inconvenience, without some very strong motive. I warned you some time ago of a slowly maturing conspiracy against the person of his Majesty.” He inclined his leonine head in the direction of the autocrat, the figurehead, who smiled back graciously in intimation that he fully appreciated the Baron’s services.
“I have, as you know, considerable resources at my command, but these people are very cunning. It is only quite lately that I have secured definite information as to day and date. As soon as I received that information, I cast all other considerations to the winds. I came to St. Petersburg as fast as special trains would bring me. Of course, I had no knowledge of what you were doing here, and one cannot express oneself very fully in telegrams.”
Golitzine gave him a glance which said as plainly as the language of the eyes could speak, “We are both men of the highest intelligence. Let us disregard the figureheads and the instruments and address ourselves to each other. The others can follow us at their leisure.”
Aloud he said, “Well, Baron, you have been well served, but we, in St. Petersburg, have not been idle. When do you say that Zouroff and his fellow conspirators will strike?”
“Within the next three days. That is my information, derived, of course, from a traitor, who has received a substantial reward,” was the answer of Salmoros. He thought, rather regretfully, that there were few secrets of this unhappy country, which could not be purchased for a liberal payment of gold. He was not even sure to what extent the most trusted adherents of the Emperor might not be bribed, always excepting Golitzine.
The Emperor broke in, in his rather awkward way, to prove that he was always master in his own house.
“You have done more than well, Baron, and you have now, as before and ever, our undying gratitude. But” – he pointed a finger towards the young Director of the Imperial Opera – “this gentleman is just a little bit in front of you. You say within three days. Signor Corsini will tell you that the great coup of Zouroff and his friends is planned for to-night at the Winter Palace. Speak, Signor, and tell the Baron something of what you have already told us.”
Golitzine’s heavy brows expressed displeasure. After his long journey, doubly trying to a man of his age, Salmoros need not have his own protégé flung in his face as it were. The situation could have been dealt with in a more diplomatic manner.
But Salmoros, man of the world and philosopher as he was, did not indicate by a flickering of the eyelid that he took the slightest notice of these small pinpricks, delivered by a maladroit, but not hostile hand.
He looked kindly at the young man. “Please repeat what you have already told to this illustrious assembly. If the pupil has beaten his master, it will be proof to me that my judgment of men seldom fails.”
He paused and bowed profoundly to the Emperor, who was just beginning to entertain an uneasy idea that he might have employed more diplomatic language.
“I am an old man, Sire, and perhaps my brain does not work quite so rapidly as it used. But you will kindly remember that I have several important interests at stake, besides watching over the destinies of Empires in a state of disturbance, such as seems afflicting your kingdom at the present moment. For many years, as you know, I have lived in free and prosperous England. We don’t have any of those troubles in that well-governed and tranquil country.”
The Emperor reddened under the mild rebuke, delivered in the most passionless tones. Golitzine hastened to pour oil on the troubled waters. The two Generals, men of action, of no subtlety of thought, had not noticed that the waters were troubled at all.
The Count addressed himself directly to Corsini.
“You were only embarking upon your narrative which the fortunate advent of the Baron cut short for a few moments. Will you kindly proceed? Our good friend will then realise how you have been aided by a most fortunate conjunction of circumstances.”
Nello proceeded with his narrative, but of course, he had to repeat portions of it, to bring Salmoros into line with the others.
He finished up with the pregnant words: “The attempt is to be made to-night at the Winter Palace at the big reception, the bal-masqué.” He turned to the Emperor. “Your Majesty is to be assassinated by one of the eight chief conspirators.”
Corsini had now come to a part of his narrative which he had not yet disclosed before the arrival of Salmoros.
“His name?” demanded the Emperor, with flashing eyes.
“I grieve very much that I cannot give that information. It was not settled last night at the meeting. I understood they would draw lots for it to-day.”
The Emperor subsided. For the moment he could not vent his vengeance on any particular person.
Corsini proceeded. “At the bal-masqué, your Majesty is to wear a pale-blue domino.”
“Quite true,” answered the autocrat. “That is the costume I have chosen.”
“These men are acquainted with every detail of the reception, and they have a hundred spies and adherents.”
“I see,” said the Emperor. “It is well known we are giving a big reception to-night, to which even this traitor Zouroff himself is invited. Truly, the conspirators have chosen a very convenient occasion.”
After these words the Czar of all the Russias leant his head upon his hand, apparently engrossed in deep thought.
Golitzine looked at Salmoros, the Baron flashed back an answering glance. The same thought had occurred to both. Had the Emperor’s brain, never of a very dominating quality, suddenly given way under the tragic possibilities of to-night?
The two Generals, admirable machines, but who were pretty well incapable of moving on their own volition, kept imperturbable faces.
Golitzine at last ventured to touch the shoulder of his Imperial Master. Even a favourite Secretary paused before taking liberties with an autocrat, so long as he was in his right mind. But Golitzine was beginning to doubt if he was, and Salmoros entertained the same suspicion.
“There is no time to be lost, Sire. They are going to strike to-night. We must be prepared to counter their blow. What does your Majesty suggest?”
The Emperor smiled calmly. It was evident that he had not gone out of his mind, as they had at first feared.
He spoke in measured accents. “I have been thinking very deeply, my good old friend Golitzine. One of the band is going to assassinate me to-night. Well, you leave that part of the problem to me.”
Golitzine recoiled in consternation. “It is my duty and that of my colleagues” – he pointed to the two inarticulate Generals – “to guard the sacred person of your Majesty. With all respect, Sire, I cannot leave that task to yourself.”
He turned to the Baron. “I think, Salmoros, you will agree with me?” he asked.
Salmoros spoke in very decided tones. “In a question of this importance, your Majesty must consent to take the advice of your faithful friends and legal supporters.” He had no very great opinion of the Emperor’s ability or capacity to deal with difficult circumstances.
The Emperor’s smile was more pronounced than before, as he tapped Golitzine on the shoulder and extended a hand to the venerable Salmoros.
He drew them aside, and spoke in a confidential whisper.
“My dear friends, I appreciate to the full your anxiety about me, and I shall want your wholehearted assistance, which, I know, will be given ungrudgingly to me. With regard to this little matter of assassination, some ideas have come to me. Let me work them out my own way, if you please.”
Both men bowed in assent. There was no more to be said. When an autocrat has delivered his fiat, argument on the part of even his most trusted servants is useless.
“May your Majesty never live to regret your decision,” murmured the faithful Golitzine, in a low whisper.
The Emperor again gave him a reassuring pressure on the shoulder.
“My excellent Golitzine, and you, my good Salmoros, you can safely leave this part of it to me. I have in my mind a little tragedy that shall later turn into comedy. To-night, at the Winter Palace, you will appreciate an Emperor’s stratagem. You shall also witness, later on, an Emperor’s vengeance.”