CHAPTER XVI
After having delivered her letter in the way recorded in a previous chapter, Katerina had sped away with the swiftness of the proverbial arrow. She was well on her way home before it reached the hands of General Beilski, who was closeted with an official of high importance and could not be disturbed till the interview was finished.
The Chief of Police was, above all things, a man of action. There was nothing in the letter itself to give the least clue as to the writer, but it was evidently genuine. He came to the conclusion that the woman who had sent it was unwillingly mixed up in some plot against which her conscience revolted.
He immediately called in one of his subordinates to make arrangements for the immediate despatch of a body of mounted police to Pavlovsk, where they would lie in wait for the arriving carriage.
The man who had taken the letter from the somewhat frightened maid was called in and questioned, but his evidence was of no value. His recollections of the appearance of the young woman were very hazy. She was young, slim, and rather good-looking, but he had taken so little notice of her that he admitted that he would not be sure of recognising her if he met her again. There were other callers at the time and his attention had been distracted.
The man was dismissed, and the General and his lieutenant closely scrutinised the letter for the second time. All that they could do was to agree upon two points. The handwriting was evidently a feigned one, and also that of a person of education.
“There is one peculiar thing about it; our informant wishes to save the person threatened,” remarked the Chief; “but she evidently wishes to involve as little as possible the perpetrators. Otherwise she would have told us where the carriage was going to start from for Pavlovsk, so as to save us the trouble of going all that way. Still, when we stop the carriage, we shall be able to get something out of the scoundrels who are in charge of it.”
“Unless they are too staunch or too well paid to give away their employer,” observed the subordinate, with a shrug of his shoulders. “Many of these criminals, and none but criminals would engage in such a job, are very loyal.”
“In the good old days we would soon have made them find their tongues,” said the General with a grim smile.
That night Beilski dined alone with Golitzine and his wife. After dinner was over, the two men adjourned to the Count’s study and sat late into the night, discussing various important matters.
When they were about to separate, the General drew from his pocket the anonymous letter, and handed it to his host.
“Read that, Count, although I don’t suppose you will be able to make more out of it than I. It was left to-day by a mysterious young woman who bolted as soon as she had given it into the hands of the porter. He took very little notice of her and doubts if he would recognise her again.”
The Count read the letter slowly, and meditated for a few seconds. “Strange, very strange,” he said at length. “A person of some importance in the artistic world!”
“Does that give you any clue?” inquired Beilski. “Of course you know a good many things that I don’t, and you also mix in more worlds than I do. Is there anybody you can think of, or are acquainted with, whose removal might be useful to some person or persons?”
It was some time before a sudden flash of inspiration came to Golitzine. When it did, he spoke slowly.
“At present, mind, it is only a conjecture. But I can think of a man who would answer to the description – Corsini, the Director of the Imperial Opera.”
The General elevated his eyebrows. “From all I have heard of him – I have never met him – a most quiet, unassuming fellow. How could he give offence to anybody?”
“I must let you into one of my secrets, Beilski. This young man is acting for me in a certain matter. I have given him some information which, according to my instructions, he has divulged to somebody else, a woman.”
“Is there any objection to telling me the name of the woman?”
“As I have gone so far, I may as well go a little bit farther,” was the Count’s answer. “But, at the moment, you must remember it is only a conjecture. The woman whom I suspect of having sent that note is La Belle Quéro.”
“The woman who gives supper parties to men whom we strongly suspect, but regarding whom we have, up to the present, no actual proof,” commented Beilski.
“Precisely.” The Count looked at his watch. “That carriage has started with its freight some time ago. I think we can soon solve the problem of whether Corsini is the occupant or not.”
“Your theory is, then, either that this Madame Quéro has more conscience than her associates, or is in love with the young man and has made up her mind to save him?”
Golitzine nodded his head. “If my suspicions are wrong, Corsini is at one of two places, either at his hotel or at the Zouroff concert. He told me yesterday he was going there to-night to play. We will send round a guarded note to each, only to be delivered into his own hands.”
This was done, and the two men waited for the result. The man despatched to the Palace returned first. He had inquired for Signor Corsini and was told that he had left a long time ago.
The other messenger arrived a few seconds later. He had seen the manager of the hotel. Corsini had not come back, a most unusual thing, since for a man in his profession he kept early hours.
“The inference seems pretty clear,” observed the General. “If he had intended to stay at the house of some friends he would have told the manager. Still, he may have gone on to some other party, although I doubt it. Well, if Corsini is in that carriage, and it seems most probable, we shall soon have him back in St. Petersburg.”
“And when we get him back we must have him closely guarded,” said Golitzine; “at any rate until we have discovered the perpetrators of this outrage.”
“That may prove an easy matter, or one of great difficulty,” was Beilski’s comment. “Madame Quéro herself is, of course, no use to us. She would never admit that she wrote that letter. Do you happen to know her handwriting?”
“Yes; I have had half a dozen letters from her on professional matters. The handwriting bears not the slightest resemblance to this. But, of course, she would be too shrewd to write it herself, even in a feigned hand. She dictated it to some female accomplice.”
“By the way,” added the Count as they separated for the night, “they will bring back the occupant of the carriage, who I think we may safely presume to be Corsini, to your own quarters, of course?”
“Of course,” assented the General.
“Well, bring him on to me while his impressions are red-hot, you understand? We want to bring it home to the real instigators.”
While these two high functionaries were discussing matters, the travelling carriage, with the senseless young man inside, was proceeding on the Moscow road at a fast pace.
One of the two ruffians produced a stout piece of cord and proceeded to twist it round the arms and legs of the helpless man.
“He doesn’t seem capable of showing much fight,” he said to his companion with an evil grin, “but one never knows. A liver-hearted chicken would fight for life and liberty. Best to make sure.”
He bound him securely. The other man handled the violin-case which had dropped from Corsini’s hand when so suddenly assailed. His eyes betrayed a covetous gleam.
“This is worth something, I expect, but we dare not handle it.”
“More than our lives are worth,” replied the other ruffian, in an equally regretful tone. “There will be a hue and cry in St. Petersburg to-morrow when it is known that the Director of the Imperial Opera has disappeared. We must all lie low. Any attempt to realise on that violin would give us away at once. Besides, we are being very handsomely paid.”
“That is true,” grunted his companion in villainy, as he sank back on his seat beside the unconscious man. “We don’t ask too many questions, but we can pretty shrewdly guess who is working this job. Peter is a wary bird and doesn’t let out much, but we know who is his master.”
The carriage sped on through the gathering night till it reached Pavlovsk. Here there had been ordered a relay of horses, which was awaiting them at a small posting-house.
Corsini was still wrapt in a profound slumber. Once he had shown signs of consciousness, and one of the two miscreants had given him another dose of the powerful narcotic. It saved trouble, to keep him in that condition till they reached their destination.
It had been a cold drive. The two men who had guarded the prisoner stepped outside and stamped their feet. The other two, who were more chilled, dismounted from the box.
The leader of the party peered at the unconscious figure. “He is still in the land of dreams, my dear friends,” he said. “Well, while he is sleeping and we are changing horses, we will get a warm drink.”
The four men tramped into the bar of the small inn, where they comforted themselves with the refreshment they desired. They had no wish to delay their departure, but it would take a few minutes to change the tired horses, they might as well enjoy themselves in the interval. They were members of the criminal class whom Peter, the valet, had employed in his master’s interests, but they were very game fellows. They would never round on their old friend Peter.
Suddenly in the midst of their revels, for the one original drink had extended itself to three or four, a decrepit old ostler shambled in with a white and scared face. He was an aged man, toothless, and with a voice that scarcely rose above a hoarse whisper.
“Every man who wants to save himself had better run as fast as he can,” he croaked, with a meaning glance at the four men assembled in the small parlour. “The place is full of police. They have surrounded the carriage. They will be inside in a moment.”
The two younger men of the party took the hint at once, escaped through a side door and bolted somewhere away in the darkness of the night. The other two, staggered by the unexpected course of events, had not wit or agility enough to save themselves. In a second they were seized and handcuffed by the agents of the law.
Corsini’s inanimate form was carried in. General Beilski had taken the precaution to send a doctor along with the police. He had accurately guessed that those who wanted to “deport a certain person,” would take the precaution of drugging him first and keeping him under narcotics during the journey.
So heavily had the unfortunate young man been drugged, that it was some time before the doctor could bring him to a waking state. At last he opened his dazed eyes and gazed wonderingly round at the narrow little room in which he had been laid.
“Where am I?” he ejaculated slowly. His senses were not yet well ordered. He had hazy recollections of the Zouroff Palace, of a conversation with the Princess Nada, a confession to her of his ambition to be a great composer as well as a great executant, of a walk through the silent streets, the sudden appearance of some men. Then a blank.
The doctor bent over him and spoke in a soothing voice. In spite of the ashen and livid face, he recognised him at once. The doctor came from St. Petersburg in the company of the police, and he had seen the portrait of the new Director of the Imperial Opera in several newspapers. Here was some subtle mystery to which he had not the key.
“You are amongst friends, Signor Corsini. I am going to give you another injection, and after that you will have a little light food before we take you back to St. Petersburg.”
Corsini’s tired eyes wandered round the room. He saw the kind, compassionate face of the doctor bending over the sofa on which he had been laid. He saw also three men in police uniform and a tall, bearded man who was evidently the leader of the party. Then his eyes closed again and he relapsed into insensibility.
The doctor swore under his breath and turned to the tall, bearded man.
“They have nearly done for him with their infernal doping, but in an hour from now I shall have him in trim to take back to the General. Have you got all those scoundrels?”
The tall, bearded man shook his head with a melancholy air. “Alas! only two of them, doctor. The other two escaped, warned, no doubt, by some ruffian in this inn. Still, I have got two and I will do my best to make them speak before I have done with them.”
CHAPTER XVII
Corsini, pale and exhausted from his terrible experiences, sat in Golitzine’s study. General Beilski was there also.
“Now, Signor, we want to get at the bottom of this.” It was the Count who was speaking. Beilski was a devoted adherent of the Czar, and had been promoted to his high post through the Imperial favour, but he was not a man of very considerable mentality, and the astute secretary had, privately, a very poor opinion of him.
Corsini struggled to collect his wandering thoughts.
“It seems all like a very bad and confused dream, your Excellency. I remember playing at the Zouroff Palace. I had a short conversation with the Princess Nada. I left early; the Prince accompanied me to the door. I remember distinctly the hall-porter and an obscure sort of person lounging in the doorway. I left and walked along in the direction of my hotel. Suddenly I was surrounded by four men – footpads, as I surmised. They seized me and drugged me. The rest is a blank. I woke up in a little bedroom in an obscure inn, with a kind doctor bending over me. Then, there are sleeping and waking intervals, and I find myself here in your Excellency’s house.”
“Can you carry your mind a little farther back, Signor Corsini? You recognise that you were kidnapped by some persons who desired your disappearance.”
“I understand that perfectly, Count. Let me go back a little. There are certain suspicious circumstances that recur to me.”
Beilski and the Count exchanged significant glances. Golitzine motioned the young man to proceed.
“I was engaged to play at the Zouroff Palace last night. I had already acquainted your Excellency with that fact.”
The Count nodded a little impatiently. He was anxious to get at the facts.
“A very singular thought has occurred to me, gentlemen. Madame Quéro was very insistent that I should not play at the Zouroff Palace. On two occasions she endeavoured strongly to dissuade me, to make me break my appointment.”
The other two men exchanged an even more significant glance. They were getting close to the truth.
Nello had paused. He seemed desirous to say more, but something kept him back. Golitzine noticed his hesitation.
“Come, Signor Corsini, out with it. You have not yet told us all you surmise or suspect. We know about La Belle Quéro. There is something else you can tell us if you choose.”
Corsini was never a very good dissembler. He was as wax in the hands of these experienced men of the world.
“A singular thing, gentlemen, after thinking over all those things, is this. Perhaps you know that it is a peculiarity of mine to always walk to and from my engagements.”
“It is a peculiarity of yours that has been already commented on,” said Golitzine, who knew everything about everybody. “Proceed, Signor.”
“It is just a thing that has struck me as a little peculiar, taken in conjunction with the whole circumstances. Madame Quéro, whom I know you suspect, was very insistent that I should not go to the Zouroff Palace, without assigning any definite or plausible reason.”
“We have already understood that,” interrupted Beilski, rubbing his hands. “Perhaps we may now come to something that throws more light on the affair.”
Corsini proceeded. “I had a brief conversation with the Princess Nada.” He blushed slightly as he continued. “She was pleased to express some solicitude for my welfare, my health. She thought I was not looking well, that I had been working too hard. She asked if I had a carriage waiting for me. I answered in the negative, telling her that I always preferred to walk home. She offered to procure a conveyance for me, and added that it could be drawn up at a private entrance to the Palace, as there was a great crush in the main entrance. Gentlemen, I have told you all the facts, it is for you to draw your inferences. It is pretty evident that both Madame Quéro and the Princess had an inkling, perhaps actual knowledge, of the danger that was threatening me, and dared not say more than they did.”
Golitzine rose and drew the General into a corner.
“The thing is clear enough. The two women have been in league to save this young man. La Quéro has split upon Zouroff, because she is in love with Corsini, and has enlisted the sympathies of the Princess, probably in love with Corsini herself. You see it, General?”
Beilski had not the agile intelligence of the Count, but when it was so clearly put before him, he saw it.
“The young woman who brought the note is the maid of one of them,” he said tersely. “Well, my men shall bring both the maids before me to-morrow and I will wring the truth out of one of them. In the meantime, how shall we proceed with Corsini?”
“Take him back to his hotel. Fudge any story you like to the manager – been taken ill in my house, or yours, it does not matter which. Let him go about his usual duties and let him be safely guarded till we bring this home to the proper quarters. How about those men accompanying the carriage?”
“Alas! I have only bagged a couple,” answered the General regretfully. “The others escaped through the want of vigilance on the part of my men.”
“And what have the two you captured got to say for themselves?”
“Just nothing. Their lips are sealed. They will take their own punishment, but they will not give away their employer. If we had lived in the old days we could have made them speak.”
Golitzine crossed over to the young Italian.
“Signor Corsini, I cannot say how deeply I am grieved that you should have been subjected to this outrage. Rest assured it shall be tracked home to the proper quarters, and you shall be amply avenged. I have asked General Beilski to put a secure guard around you whenever you venture abroad. You need fear no repetition. Salmoros would never forgive me if you came to harm.”
Corsini was taken back to his hotel, wondering over all the things that had happened to him. A tale was fudged up to the manager that he had been attacked with sudden indisposition at the house of Count Golitzine, and compelled to remain there. Beilski took good care that he was unobtrusively guarded by members of the secret police.
The next thing was to get hold of the two maids. The General’s satellites secured the one in the service of Madame Quéro, and brought her along.
Beilski interrogated her himself, but the cross-examination of five minutes convinced him that she was not the woman who had brought the note. And the porter was equally certain on this point. She was a person of different build.
He dismissed her with a caution, as he handed her some coins.
“I would prefer that you kept your mouth shut about this visit. Still, it is very probable you will blab about it to your mistress.”
“Not after your generosity, your Excellency,” answered the maid gratefully, with a smirk.
The General grunted. “That is as it may be. I don’t know that I trust you farther than that door. But if you should feel disposed to take your mistress into your confidence, you can tell her this – that we have our eye upon her and know more than she thinks.”
Half an hour later the terrified Katerina was brought into his presence. She had been taken in charge a few yards outside the Zouroff Palace, whence she was proceeding on a shopping errand for her young mistress.
The General, with his experienced eye, read at once in her demeanour the signs of great perturbation. She was no hardened criminal, only a weak, trembling girl. He had rough and ready methods for such as these.
“Speak the truth, girl, and fear not; the strong arm of the law shall protect you,” he thundered in his loud, vigorous accents. “You are the young woman who brought me a note the other day from the Princess Nada. My hall-porter has recognised you.”
This, of course, was a flight of the gallant General’s imagination. The hall-porter had distinctly said that he would not be certain of recognising her; but it was enough to scare the shrinking Katerina.
She sank upon her knees, trembling in every limb. “It is true, your Excellency. Are you going to kill me, or send me to Siberia?”
The General smiled grimly. “Neither, my excellent young woman, as you have confessed without any unnecessary trouble. Give my compliments to your young mistress, and tell her I will give myself the pleasure of waiting upon her this afternoon on a little private matter. You can tell her that I have interrogated you, and you have confessed. You can also mention that the police, presided over by General Beilski, has a long arm, and a very wide espionage; also that we find out things pretty quickly, however carefully they are concealed.”
Poor Katerina hurried away, her brain in a whirl. As she scurried home, she reproached herself that, under the awe-inspiring presence of the formidable General, she had given her young mistress away. But, after all, she was not to blame. The Princess ought not to have sent her on such an errand.
Nada had been wondering at her absence. The shopping errand on which she had been despatched should not have occupied her very long.
Poor Katerina had to confess to her interview with the General. Nada spoke no word of blame; it was her own fault that she had chosen so weak an instrument. And she further admitted to herself that if Beilski’s emissaries had seized her instead of her maid and conveyed her to his headquarters, she would have lost her head as her maid had done.
And the General was coming to-day to worm out of her all he could. Of course, she knew she would be as wax in his hands. But even above her own immediate troubles rose the one anxious thought – was Corsini safe? had he escaped the vengeance of her ruthless brother?
She could not make use of the already too terrified Katerina any more. She sent around a brief note to Corsini at his hotel, in which she asked him to procure for her a certain piece of music of which he had spoken to her in a brief conversation a little time ago.
The messenger came back with the information that Signor Corsini was engaged in his duties at the Opera, and that the note would be given him on his return.
This relieved her very much. Corsini, at any rate, was safe. Her strategies had succeeded. She braced her nerves for the forthcoming interview with the General. She knew it would be a strenuous one. How, in the name of all that was marvellous, had he discovered that she was the sender of that letter?
Beilski had chosen a most fortunate day from her point of view. Her mother was in bed with a feverish cold. She would have to receive the General alone. He would go to the point at once. If she had her mother’s protecting presence, decency, respect for his old friend of many years, would have tied his tongue to some extent. He might hint his suspicions of Zouroff to a sister; he would conceal them from a mother, ruffian as he knew the son to be.
But though her heart was fluttering, she received him very prettily and graciously. Had she not known him from a child?
“An unexpected pleasure, my dear General. It is not often that you come to the Zouroff Palace.”
“Not so often as I would wish, my dear child, but my time is very fully occupied. As you can guess, these are troublous times. How is your dear mother?”
Nada explained that the Princess was in bed with the first symptoms of a feverish cold.
The General took a few sips of the cup of tea that the charming young Princess offered him. His bushy eyebrows worked from time to time. He was a perfect gentleman at heart; he was also very chivalrous to women. He did not at all relish the mission he was engaged on. It was the breaking of a butterfly upon a wheel, and the butterfly was the little girl to whom he used to bring chocolates and bon-bons a few years ago.
“Sorry to hear it, my dear child. Keep her warm and she will soon be all right.” Of course he was not really sorry at all that the Princess Zouroff was well out of the way; it was now all plain sailing.
After a long pause, he spoke in gruff accents. “There is no need to fence, Nada. You got the message from your maid. You know why I have come and what I have come for.”
“Yes, I know,” answered the young Princess in a faltering voice.
The General drew his chair closer. “Now, out with it all. From whom did you get the information that prompted you to write that letter?”