cakes before Ilya, giving him a suspicious eye, and glancing
disapprovingly at Wassili for permitting what she regarded as a
dangerous intrusion. But she did not linger at the table longer than was
necessary to throw down the plate and the tea-glass.
Ilya picked up a spice-cake and inspected it carefully by the light of
the candle, the maneuver being nothing but a way of delaying his speech
till the old woman had disappeared.
“I have come with news about an American who is in the city,” he began,
and bit into the cake.
Wassili turned upon him quickly.
“You are a liar!” he exclaimed with ferocity. “There are no Americans in
the city here—they are only in Vladivostok, and you are blowing a
trumpet in this house while you eat our cakes.” Wassili’s attitude was
almost ferocious.
“Then you know better than I,” said Ilya, blinking at him across the
table and munching the dry cake.
“You are drunk, and you dare come here in these times and put a fool’s
cap on me—and the master!”
“True, I am drunk,” replied Ilya through a mouthful of dry cake. “And I
hope I’ll die drunk and go to heaven. But do you think I’m fool enough
to run my legs off and come here, risking bullets in my back when I
might be sitting by the fire with my bottle? Do you think I come here
just to look at your old mud-head? I cared nothing for your master
before the revolution, but now that I’m as good as he, why should I not
do him a good turn if I can—and he has a few spare rubles to make it
worth my time?” Ilya blew crumbs of dry biscuit at Wassili with the
words.
“Don’t come here and preach at me like a pope!” cautioned Wassili, who
was puzzled by Ilya’s newly acquired attitude of independence. Ilya was
evidently sure of his ground—or gone mad entirely.
“What!” cried Ilya. “You talk to me like that! And I have come to tell
the master news! Very good. I know the way home again, and may your
bones never know what it means to be buried.”
“Where are these Americans you talk about?” demanded Wassili, as he saw
that it would be wiser to let Ilya have his say.
Ilya snorted, but showed his teeth in a grin of triumph. “I shall go and
tell the American officer that Kirsakoff and his daughter have gone, eh?
That is what you say. Very good. That will be all right, I suppose—till
it happens that way, and then Excellence will kick you till you squeal.
Then you will wish that you had listened to Ilya Andreitch and had not
tried to make yourself into an Excellence with big manners.”
“Come, come,” protested Wassili amiably. “Let us not argue. Tell me what
you know and——”
“I shall tell Excellence myself,” broke in Ilya. “I am a free man. What
good is a revolution if one man cannot speak to another? Go and tell
Excellence that Ilya Andreitch, who cut wood for him in the year of the
pestilence, has come with news.”
Wassili laughed, and taking advantage of a fit of sneezing suffered by
Ilya from having breathed particles of dry cake, helped himself to
another draft from the bottle of vodka.
“Perhaps I had better tell Excellence that a Grand Duke has come to see
him, eh?” and Wassili reached across the table and poked Ilya in the
ribs.
“Am I not as good as a Grand Duke?” demanded Ilya. “I am alive to enjoy
my vodka and many a Grand Duke would like to be able to say that, you
old fish-gut! Go and tell the Excellence that I have come.”
Wassili got up. “See that you don’t finish the bottle while I’m gone,”
he warned Ilya, and disappeared through a door into a hall, and Ilya
heard him climbing a creaky stairs.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
X
“AN AMERICAN HAS COME!”
MICHAEL KIRSAKOFF was seated at a table writing a letter by the light of
a candle when Wassili knocked at the door of his room. The old general’s
eyes lifted to the door and made a pair of gleaming points against the
gloom behind him. The broad gold straps on the shoulders of his uniform
jacket set off his white old head so that it appeared to be resting on a
golden tray which threw out a quivering sheen of yellow light with the
trembling of his shoulders. His thin white hand dropped the pen. He
motioned to Katerin to move behind him so that she stood in the shadow
of his body, and recognizing Wassili’s cautious knock, he ordered the
_moujik_ to enter.
“Master, Ilya Andreitch has come with news of the government.”
“Who is Ilya Andreitch?” demanded the old general.
“Ilya, he who once cut wood for the Excellence. I know the man well. He
has often bought food for us in the bazaar since we came here. He helped
me to bring many things to this house from the other, but he is drunk
to-night. Yet he vows he has news of the government.”
The old general was puzzled. Katerin stepped into the light and looked
at Wassili eagerly.
“What is the news Ilya brings?” she asked gently, afraid that her father
might say something which would discourage Wassili from permitting Ilya
to tell his story.
“There is an American officer come to Chita to find the Excellence,”
said Wassili, with a bow. “I do not know—it is Ilya Andreitch who says
it and he——”
Katerin struck her hands together and gave a cry of joy. “An American!”
she cried. “Can it be, my father, that our friends have at last sent
help to us?”
“You say an officer?” exclaimed Michael, his eyes on Wassili, and
burning with an eager light.
“So it is said, master.”
“By the Holy Saints!” exclaimed Michael. “We shall escape Zorogoff if
this is true! Who else can have sent him but our friends?”
Katerin was crying with joy. She threw her arms about her father’s neck
and kissed him. Till now she had restrained her emotions, hidden her
fears, and faced death calmly, but the news that aid was at hand
released all her terrors and flooded them with a burst of happiness.
“True, our friends have got our letters and have sent an American to
save us!” she exclaimed through her tears. “God of the heavens is good
to us, and has answered our prayers at last, so that we shall have peace
and safety. This is the end of your tortures, my father!”
“It is of you I think, Katerin Stephanovna,” said Michael, and he
grasped her hands and pulled them to his mouth to kiss them. “What I
have suffered I have suffered for you, for death means nothing to me if
you can be safe.”
“Tell us, Wassili,” urged Katerin. “Did the American officer bring word
from friends? Is he to come here for us and take us away? And did he say
who sent him?”
The gray old head of Michael snapped forward, the wisps of white hair
waving gently. His eyes bored into Wassili while waiting for the
_moujik_ to answer.
“Ilya Andreitch told me but little, master. At first I thought he was
drunk and did not trust him. And when I told him that he must tell me,
he said he would talk with no one but Excellence, and that it was
secret. Thus I would not bring him up till you had given the order for
his coming.”
“Then he is below now? Bring him up, and hasten, for we have no time to
lose. Zorogoff may be here again with the light of morning and I am but
now writing what shall be done when he has killed me. We must see this
American officer with all speed before the Ataman is able to balk him.
By the Holy Saints! This will save my daughter from death—for she will
die before she submits to the will of this Mongol brigand! Go! Bring
Ilya Andreitch before me and we shall hear his say!”
Wassili ran out into the hall and down the stairs, well pleased with the
results of his report to his master, for he had feared that he had made
a mistake in admitting Ilya at all.
Michael and Katerin could scarcely wait for Ilya to come up. The news of
deliverance from their dangers—safety so close at hand after long weary
months of hiding and worry—came like a pardon to two who were condemned
to death. It had been five days since the Ataman had left them. He was
still torturing them, for his threat against Katerin would undoubtedly
be carried out unless she killed herself. They knew that Zorogoff would
attempt to take them to his “palace” in revenge for their insults. And
they had planned to die together rather than to permit the Mongol to
carry out his evil purpose. That was the only way in which they could
defeat him.
“Our letter to the Baranoffs got through,” said Michael. “It is they who
have sent this American.”
“And do you think he will come here—to-night?” asked Katerin, her pale,
drawn face alight with the joy of escape. “I cannot believe yet that we
are to be safe again! God has answered my prayers! My father, I had
given up hope!”
“Perhaps Ilya brings a letter from the American officer,” said Michael.
“If he has sent word to us by Ilya, he must have also given Ilya
something so that we shall know the American comes from friends. We
cannot delay. If the Ataman should hear of this American——”
“They are coming up,” said Katerin, and they heard Wassili and Ilya
mounting the stairs. Soon the light of a shaking candle appeared down
the hall, and Katerin threw open the door of the room.
Wassili blew out the candle when he entered, and thrust Ilya in ahead of
him.
“Here is Ilya Andreitch, master,” said Wassili, and Ilya blinked at the
candle on Michael’s table, bowed, and stood nervously fingering his cap.
“You bring us news, Ilya Andreitch,” began Michael when Katerin had
closed the door. Michael’s thin, weak voice took on some of the relief
he felt at knowing that help was at hand after months of danger in a
world which had apparently gone mad, and he spoke somewhat in his old
manner of authority.
“I?” asked Ilya. “Yes, Excellence. I bring good news to your house—and
to the mistress.” He bowed again, this time to Katerin, who had gone to
her father.
“Wassili says an American officer has sent you,” prompted Katerin,
seeing that Ilya was perturbed and might be stricken dumb by fear of
being before the former Governor.
“He is at the Dauria, mistress,” said Ilya faintly, and turned to
Wassili as if he expected the _moujik_ to take up the story now, and go
on with it.
“At the Dauria Hotel,” agreed Katerin. “And you have brought a message
from him to us?”
Ilya looked round the room wildly, seeking some escape from the eyes of
Michael which bore upon him steadily.
“Have you a message from the American?” asked Katerin gently.
“I?” Ilya looked at her in amazement, and turned toward the door. Then
he bowed again to Michael and Katerin to cover his confusion.
“What did the American say?” urged Katerin, and Wassili gave utterance
to a faint snort of disgust and prodded Ilya in the back.
“What did the American say? Who knows?” asked Ilya.
“The fool is drunk!” growled Michael. “Come! Speak up! Or have you
drowned your tongue in vodka and come here to make fools of us?”
Ilya’s face began to perspire, and he twisted his cap into a rope.
“Have no fear, Ilya,” said Katerin soothingly.
“May God smite me!” cried Ilya. “It was Rimsky who told me about it and
I ran here to tell the Excellence!”
“And who is Rimsky?” demanded Michael. “Where did he learn of the man
who has come to see me?”
Ilya brushed his brow with the back of his hand. “Rimsky is an old
friend of mine—a good man, Excellence, who means harm to no one and is a
loyal man to his Czar.”
“And what did this Rimsky tell you?”
“That the Excellence would pay me well to bring the news.”
Michael laughed and his irritation disappeared.
“So you have a friend named Rimsky who gives away my money, eh? And so I
will pay you—if we can dig the news out of your skull. Now tell us what
it is that the American said.”
Ilya began to twist his cap into a rope with both hands, and swallowed
spittle.
“Excellence, I have done no harm,” he began. “I am a poor man. I once
cut wood for the Excellence. I am very secret. Rimsky tried to fish it
from me where the Excellence was living, but I did not tell him. I left
him drunk, and he does not know that I know where the Excellence lives,
and he does not know I have come to the house of Excellence.”
Ilya looked triumphantly at Katerin after this speech, and bowed again,
feeling that he had handled the matter well, though he sought a sign of
approval from the daughter of the Governor.
“What has all this to do with the American officer?” asked Michael.
“That is what we are talking about, Ilya. You are very smart to have
done what you did—now tell us more of it.”
“Rimsky sells cigarettes in an old _isba_ in the Sofistkaya,” resumed
Ilya. “He told me it was a pity he did not know where the Excellence
lived, and he fished me for it. That is all. And I have come to tell
Excellence.”
Michael expressed his dismay by a look at Katerin. He believed now that
Ilya’s visit was only some drunken foolishness, or probably a trick.
“They have told this to Ilya so that they might follow him here. This is
the work of enemies,” said Michael.
“Master!” began Wassili, holding up his hand, and then turning to Ilya,
said, “You told me it was a matter of government. You said there was an
American. Tell the master, as you told me, fool!”
“May God smite me, it is as I say!” retorted Ilya to Wassili with a show
of anger. “There is an American come for Michael Alexandrovitch
Kirsakoff, the master general and Governor. It is truth!”
“You say it, but how do you know it?” asked Katerin. She was beginning
to feel that her father was right—that there were no grounds for their
hopes other than a desire of this crafty _moujik_ and some of his
fellows to squeeze money from her father. But she concealed her
disappointment.
“Rimsky told me, mistress, that is how I know,” said Ilya with a bow.
“And it was Rimsky who sent you to this house?” said Michael. “Now, the
truth!”
Ilya stared at the floor and tried to think. In a way, it was true that
Rimsky had sent him to the house, and yet it was not true in just the
way that Michael was saying. The _moujik’s_ brain was not equal to a
quick and accurate reply when folk of education twisted things up so.
“I? No, master. Rimsky does not know I came to this house. How could he
send me here when he has no knowledge of where the Excellence lives? I
told no one because I am very secret, master.”
“Then the American did not send you?” snapped Michael.
Ilya turned to Katerin. “There is an American, mistress,” he insisted.
“You know nothing of an American but what this fool Rimsky told you?”
insisted Michael. “Come! You have not seen the American?”
“How could I see him, master?” asked Ilya.
Michael gave a snort of disgust and leaned back in his chair. “It is
nothing,” he said sadly. “Send Ilya away,” with a look at Wassili.
“I can see the American, mistress,” pleaded Ilya, aghast at the idea
that his visit had come to nothing and fearful of what Wassili might do
once they were in the courtyard again. “I speak truth! There is an
American officer come seeking the master general!”
“Ilya Andreitch, I will give you fifty rubles if you will find this
American,” said Katerin, hopeful again as she saw that Ilya was in
earnest—at least she was determined not to make the mistake of sending
Ilya away without making sure of what he did know. She knew that he was
frightened, and that behind his fear there was more information than he
was able to put into words.
“I can find him, mistress, if he is at the Dauria—I know the place well.
I was there but yesterday with pig-livers.” His eyes glittered with the
richness of the reward promised.
“This is a trap of Zorogoff’s to get us to leave the house,” growled
Michael.
“Not if there is an American in the city to see us,” said Katerin.
“Some spy got Rimsky to tell this story to Ilya and then watch him to
see where he went. I do not like it. Or perhaps they want you to go to
the hotel seeking this mythical officer and seize you there. I tell you
it is a trap, my daughter.”
But Katerin picked up the pen on the table and wrote on a sheet of paper
this note in Russian:
_The man who takes this to you can find us again. Time is
precious for we are in great danger. Be discreet. Say who sends
you that we may know you are from friends._
She did not sign the note, but dried the ink over the candle, folded it,
and handed it to Ilya with a handful of rubles which she took from
between the leaves of a book on the table.
“Give this to the American officer if you find him at the Dauria. If he
has come for us, let him tell you so. But you are not to come back here
to our house—Wassili will meet you at the _sobrania_ at midnight, and
you are to tell Wassili what the American says. Do not tell the American
where we are but let him send a message and the name of the friend who
has sent him. That will be our proof that he is not an enemy. Talk with
no one about this—and when you have told Wassili what the American says,
go home to bed and do not drink. If you give a true message to Wassili
you shall have fifty rubles more to-morrow.”
“He will be drunk as an owl ten minutes after he gets to the Sofistkaya
and the first _kabak_,” grumbled Michael. “And if he finds this
American, how is the American to read Russian?”
“If he come from friends, he must know something of Russian, else he
would not have come by himself—and perhaps he has with him some man who
can read it for him.”
“You are wasting your breath and my ink,” said Michael. “I think nothing
of this business.”
“God’s blessing on you, mistress,” said Ilya, crossing himself twice and
turning to follow Wassili out of the room. “I shall be very secret and
do as you command—and I shall not go drinking wine with the money.”
Wassili lighted his candle from the flame of the one burning on the
table and opened the door. Ilya went out before him, and they both
descended the stairs.
“It is all a trap, as I have said,” Michael went on again, staring
disconsolately into the flame of the candle, his head bent forward on
his breast. “This is the Ataman’s work—and he will come again in the
morning to mock us.”
“I have faith that God has saved our lives,” said Katerin. “If an
American is in the city who seeks us, I shall go to him myself in case
Ilya fails us.”
“Then you would be going to your doom, my daughter,” and Michael dropped
his face into his outspread arms upon the table to conceal the dejection
which had come over him again since he believed that Ilya had come on a
fool’s errand.
“Hope is greater than fear, my father,” said Katerin, and lifted his
head from the table to kiss him. “Who knows? By dawn we may be safe with
this American. We must pray that Wassili will bring us a message at
midnight which means the end of our troubles. Zorogoff will not dare
defy an American officer.”
“Zorogoff will defy the devil himself,” said Michael. “I put little hope
in this fool’s tale, but if it will make you happy, I will hope and
believe till we know that there is nothing to be gained from this Ilya
and his foolishness. And what you have just said about going to the
hotel yourself—that must not be. I shall not let you out of my sight.”
“Then perhaps we may both go,” said Katerin. “We would be in no greater
danger if we tried to find the American than if we waited here for
Zorogoff.”
“We shall stay here,” said Michael. “I am too old and wise to be fooled
by Mongol tricks. If I knew you could be safe I would be happy to say
farewell to you forever—but God tells me that we are in greater danger
now than ever, and we must trust no one. Come! Hand me my pen again,
that I may write down the things you should remember when I am dead.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
XI
THE FLIGHT
WASSILI lurked in front of the _sobrania_ from midnight till near
morning. There was a ball going on inside the building and many people
coming and going during the night, mostly officers of Zorogoff’s forces
and their women. But Wassili saw nothing of Ilya, though he gossiped
with the droshky-drivers about the _sobrania_, warming himself against
the biting cold by frequent drinks of tea at a restaurant across the
street.
When he had almost decided to return to Kirsakoff and report that he had
not seen Ilya, he heard that Ilya had been killed. Then Wassili gathered
such details as he could, and along toward morning hastened homeward
with his story.
Katerin saw the disaster in the _moujik’s_ face when he appeared at the
door of her room, breathing hard from a run up the stairs. His hands
were covered with candle wax as a result of their shaking.
“What news, Wassili?” she cried.
“The Cossacks killed Ilya soon after he left this house, mistress,”
panted Wassili. “He crossed an old garden to evade the sentries, and did
not stop when they halted him. He fell with six bullets in him—and they
say in the city that he was a spy, for he carried a secret message.”
“Your message to the American,” said Michael, who had waited up for the
return of Wassili. “It is as I said—Ilya was bait for the Ataman’s trap.
There is no American. If you had gone with Ilya you would have been
seized, my daughter, and if I had gone, I would have been shot down. We
are lost—the story about the American was a myth to draw us from the
house.”
“But, master, there is truth in what Ilya told us,” put in Wassili.
“What?” cried Michael. “You, too? Are you fool enough to believe now
what Ilya Andreitch said?”
Katerin had sat down on a bench when she heard that Ilya had been
killed, her hope crushed again. Now she sprang up at Wassili’s words,
waiting for him to go on.
“It is truth, master,” insisted Wassili. “I had the news in the city, so
what Ilya said must have been true.”
“Who told you?” cried Katerin. “Did they say he had come for us? Is he
at the Dauria? Did you see him?”
Wassili was overwhelmed by such a volley of questions, and he paused to
catch his breath and assort his information from his memory before he
should reply.
“Come! Come! Rattle your tongue, Wassili!” commanded Michael. “Sit here
and talk!”
Wassili sank upon the bench while Michael and Katerin hovered over him.
“An _iswostchik_ told me,” began Wassili. “His father was in the
Siberian Rifles with mine and I can trust his word. He told me that he
drove an American officer to the Dauria—two days ago. If the American
officer is there now, I cannot say. But there is none among the
_iswostchiks_ who has taken him back to the station. That I know, for I
asked many of them—and they would know if the stranger had been taken
away.”
“Thanks to God!” cried Katerin. “Then though poor Ilya is dead, there is
still hope for us. We must pray that he spoke the truth. Tell us more,
Wassili.”
“It came about this way,” resumed Wassili. “I heard my friend boasting
of how he had brought a rich American to the Dauria—this officer—and how
he paid double fare in Imperial rubles without any complaint. Not
knowing what was the right fare, and not knowing that Imperials are
worth thrice the money now in this city prove him to be a stranger. That
he was an American, my friend is sure, for he was in Vladivostok last
month and smuggled opium in here for the Chinese when he came up by the
train. Why, he even knows the Americans so well that he speaks American.
He cannot be fooled—he got rich in Vladivostok changing money for
Americans.”
“But does the American seek us?” urged Katerin. She was anxious to
establish the fact that the American had come to help them escape the
Ataman.
“I heard nothing of that, mistress,” replied Wassili.
Michael pondered the matter carefully.
“It all means no good for us,” he said finally. “This officer may have
sent Ilya to us, but why was Ilya shot? I say it looks like a trap.”
“But Zorogoff’s spies may have known that the American sent Ilya, and
may have killed Ilya so no word could go back from us,” said Katerin.
“I grant that, yes,” said Michael, but still he had his doubts, and
shook his head sadly.
“And if Zorogoff knows that an American officer has come, then the
Ataman will not dare persecute us further. Did you hear the name of this
American, Wassili?” asked Katerin.
“Mistress, I know nothing more. I did not dare go to the hotel when I
heard that Ilya had been killed, but came back here for the orders of
Excellence.”
“And that was right,” said Michael.
“Shall I go now to the American officer, master?” asked Wassili.
“Let me think on it,” said Michael. “They killed Ilya and they may also
kill you. It is dangerous business and we must be cautious. If it is
true that an American has come, then the Ataman will do one of two
things—strike speedily or leave us in peace. I believe that he will
destroy us. I wish my wits were equal to telling me what I should do.”
“We must not leave it to the Ataman,” declared Katerin. “The time has
come for us to make our decisions—we it is who must act and not wait for
the Ataman to make up his mind.”
“We! What do you mean, my daughter? What is it we can do?”