Zouroff had exulted very greatly on that night when he had said
good-bye to Corsini at the doors of the Palace. The carriage was
waiting a short distance away. In a few hours the young musician would
cease to be a menace to him.
He was doomed to grievous disappointment. One of the escaping band had
managed to despatch a telegram in cipher acquainting him with the fact
that his plans had miscarried, that Corsini had been rescued by the
police at Pavlovsk.
Upon receipt of that telegram, he went into one of his violent rages,
but of course nobody witnessed his distress. After he had recovered
himself, he sought out his valet and imparted to him the news.
Later, in obedience to his master's instructions, the valet learned
that Corsini was back at the Opera; further, that General Beilski had
surrounded him with a strong bodyguard, which was to protect him, in
an unobtrusive fashion, day and night.
His suspicions fell at once on La Belle Quero. If he had obeyed the
promptings of his wild and savage nature, he would at once have gone
to her dressing-room at the Opera, taxed her with her treachery, and
strangled her with his own hands. Needless to say, he had no idea of
the part played by his sister in the rescue of the hated musician.
But he was wily as well as savage. He would take his own measures with
this treacherous Spanish woman in due course. She certainly would not
escape his vengeance; but he would do nothing rash, nothing calculated
to bring his own neck into jeopardy. He would meet her as if nothing
had happened. He would be more lover-like than ever.
And things, as he thought, were now hastening so rapidly towards the
goal that his revenge need not be long delayed.
Corsini had resumed his duties at the Opera, and his brief
disappearance had been plausibly explained. The story of a short
indisposition had satisfied all curiosity.
His feelings at this particular period were, perhaps, a little
uncertain. He was not quite sure that the excellent Salmoros, whom he
had once looked upon as a pure and benevolent philanthropist, ever
ready to extend a helping hand to a struggling genius, had done him
such a good turn, after all.
True, he had made certain strides in his calling: he might be said now
to have gained a European reputation in place of a purely local one.
On the other hand, he was mixed up in the political schemes of
Golitzine. He had been kidnapped, and but for the tenderness of a
woman, perhaps two women, might have been done to death by now.
On the whole, England seemed a safer place than Russia. In Russia
there was only one bright spot. And that was the presence of the
Princess Nada.
And this constant, ubiquitous bodyguard annoyed him. Of course he was
quite sensible enough to know that it was necessary. Whoever his
enemy might be, Zouroff or another, he would try and kidnap him again,
undeterred by the failure of the first attempt. Golitzine and the
Chief of Police were quite right to put a cordon round him.
It irked him very much, this body of four patient men who guarded him
day and night, not in any way obtrusively, but always within
reach--lurking in the corridor of his hotel, in the passages and
lobbies of the Opera House, always ready to rush to his assistance if
he were suddenly surprised.
In London he could walk east, west, south, or north without fear--to
the breezy heights of Hampstead, the sylvan glades of Richmond. For,
if he were to seek inspiration, he must fly from closed rooms, from
shut doors, and hold communion with the stars.
On the second night of his return, the four patient men accompanied
him on one of his walks, scattering discreetly, but ever on the alert.
Inspiration had come to him. The fugitive notes, with difficulty
recaptured, were shaping themselves into music in his brain. Suddenly
a tall figure loomed out of the darkness and stood in front of him.
The four silent watching men formed up and drew closer.
"Do not fear," whispered the man; "I am a friend. I see there are men
looking after you. They are members of the police, I am sure. Tell
them not to be afraid for your safety; but I would like them to
withdraw out of earshot."
"I seem to remember your voice, I have a faint recollection of your
face," answered Corsini, "but at the moment I cannot recall when and
where we met."
The big man laughed softly. "Throw back your memory a little while. A
lonely road leading out of a still more lonely village filled with
troops and mounted police. Your train had broken down, you had taken a
quiet walk. You were saying your prayers before a village ikon. There
suddenly appeared a tall, bearded man who implored your charity."
Then Corsini recognised him. "Ivan the Cuckoo, Ivan the outlaw! What
are you doing here?"
"Get your friends a little out of earshot and then we can talk
quietly," was the outlaw's answer.
Corsini went up to the leader of the four men, who had drawn very
close.
"This is a man whom I met on my first entrance into this country under
very strange circumstances. I have good reason to believe he is well
disposed towards me; but he wishes to speak to me in private. Will you
withdraw a little so that you cannot hear what he says?"
The chief of the party looked somewhat doubtfully on the big figure of
the outlaw. "He seems a bit of a ruffian, Signor, but it is as you
wish. We will go out of earshot, as you request, but we will keep our
pistols well levelled at him, in case of accident. You are sure you
can trust him?"
"I think so," replied Corsini. "I am afraid he is not a very estimable
character and his appearance is not in his favour, but I helped him
once when he was in great straits, and he swore to return the
obligation. I am inclined to trust him myself."
The four men withdrew. The big man chuckled quietly. "So you have
persuaded them to get out of the way. They were urging you not to
trust me, eh?"
"Something of the sort. Well, Ivan, what have you got to say?"
"Simply this. On that day you saved me, when the police were waiting
within a few yards to trap me like a rabbit, I swore I would pay back
the debt, did I not?"
"You did, Ivan. I remember that promise well. But you don't mean to
say you are going to pay it back to-night."
"If not to-night, very shortly, Signor Corsini. You see, I know
something about you. Well, I will tell you something you may, or may
not, know; you have a very bitter enemy, who is resolved to hunt you
to death."
"That is true, Ivan. I can guess his name, but you know it. Is that
not so?"
"It is quite true," replied the outlaw in low tones. "Your enemy is
mine, too, the dastard and scoundrel who enjoys the style and title of
Prince Zouroff."
"Your enemy also?" queried Corsini in wondering tones. "But how can
you have crossed his path?"
"I have a heavy account against the man and his family," answered the
outlaw in his low, fierce voice. "In the old bad days of serfdom, his
father, who was even a bigger ruffian, if it is possible, than his
son, had my father flogged to death for a trivial offence. That was
burnt into my brain."
He tore open his clothes and showed his naked chest, on which was a
long scar.
"You see that. Boris insulted my sister, a pure and innocent girl,
born on his estate as I was. She told me the story. I borrowed a
sword. I lay in wait for him in the woods one night. I challenged him
to fight. I wounded him, thank Heaven, but he got his sword in too and
left me with that scar. You can guess that I have got a big account
against this Prince who swaggers about St. Petersburg and boasts
amongst his intimates that he will dethrone the Czar."
For a few seconds the outlaw paused, struggling to regain his
composure, which the recital of his wrongs had so disturbed.
"After that incident, you will guess there was no safety for me,
Signor. It was no longer possible for me to remain on this villain's
estate," he resumed. "I wandered forth to embrace a life of crime--to
become a thief, a bandit, a marauder. But, as Heaven is my judge, my
guilt lies at his door."
"You spoke of repaying a debt, Ivan," interjected Corsini, with a view
of recalling the unhappy man from these troublous and disturbing
memories. "And if not to-night, very shortly. I don't know that I very
much desire repayment. What I did was out of feelings of humanity.
Some people might say misplaced humanity. But what I did that night I
should do again to-morrow if we were both in the same position."
The big, bearded man regained his calmness, and spoke in slow,
measured tones. "I have seen your portrait in the newspapers, Signor,
and so was able to give a name to my preserver. It is in my power to
put you in possession of an important secret that will bring great
distinction to you, when you impart it to the proper quarters. In
return you will secure for me a full pardon. I am not asking too
exorbitant a price; I am sure you will admit that."
"It is a secret, I can guess, concerning the man whom you describe as
our common enemy, Prince Boris Zouroff."
Ivan nodded his big head. "Listen! I have many friends in St.
Petersburg, most of them certainly not of a reputable class. But I
have one friend, quite a decent and honest fellow, born like myself on
the Prince's estates. His name is Stepan, and he is in the service of
the well-known opera-singer, popularly known as La Belle Quero."
Corsini started. At first he had felt inclined to pay little heed to
the outlaw's rather wild talk. How could a man in his position be of
any serious use, a man who had to skulk in obscure corners, lest he
drew upon himself the too vigilant attention of the police?
"Stepan and I were boys together and great comrades. The poor fellow
is heavily handicapped in the fact that he is very deaf. At times he
can hear a little, but his hearing is never to be depended on. He was
rather a favourite of Zouroff's, who, I suppose, found him useful in
certain ways, perhaps because of his infirmity: what he could not hear
he could not communicate to others."
"I quite understand," interposed the young Italian.
"Some considerable time ago, Zouroff brought him up from the country
and installed him in the service of Madame Quero. Of course he had a
motive in this, which you will presently comprehend. I must explain to
you that owing to his deafness being so acute, all those who want to
speak to him have to use signs. All the same, he is a very intelligent
fellow, and can see through a brick wall as clearly as anybody. His
speech is affected, too."
"For what purpose did his master hand him over to Madame Quero?"
queried Corsini.
"I will explain, Signor. The singer has constantly at her house
parties of men; no other woman but herself appears at them; and these
parties consist of Zouroff and his friends. I have made it my business
to find out all their names. You can have that list when you want it;
it will be useful to certain persons in high quarters."
Decidedly, Ivan was growing very interesting. The young Italian
listened with the closest attention.
"In the side wall of Madame Quero's villa there is a secret door, my
friend Stepan is janitor. On the night when these parties assemble he
is on duty. A small bell is pulled, which he cannot hear, but he sees
the wire of it vibrating. Stepan ushers them into an inner chamber
across which, screening it from the small vestibule, hang heavy black
velvet curtains. These men, Signor, are conspirators, one and all.
Stepan is too deaf to overhear what they are conspiring about, but he
has his suspicions."
"One moment, Ivan," interrupted Corsini. "You said that Prince
Zouroff has showed this man favours. Is he not loyal to his master?"
"No more loyal than I am, Signor, although, like him, I was born on
the villain's estates. Shall I tell you why? When Stepan was a
youngster, before this terrible deafness came upon him, he was in love
with my sister. You can now understand that he hates Zouroff with only
a few degrees less hatred than myself."
"It is quite intelligible, Ivan. Please go on."
"Now I am getting to the point where you come in," explained the
outlaw. The four patient men were still watching the prolonged
interview, with their pistols ready to be discharged at a moment's
notice, should this burly stranger show any suspicious movement.
"These men conduct their conversation in French; that much Stepan
knows. On the nights of these assemblies, both the vestibule and inner
chamber are very dimly illuminated. Stepan could manage to hide me
there to overhear. But, as you know, Signor, I speak French very
imperfectly myself and it would be impossible for me to follow them. I
often have to ask you to repeat your words slowly, to catch the
sense."
Corsini admitted that it was so.
"Now, Signor, here comes the strange thing, a coincidence that must
have been fashioned by Providence to direct our ends. In a dim light,
you and Stepan are as alike as two peas; it was this resemblance that
put the idea into my head. I will not say that in the broad daylight
the difference between you might not be discernible."
Corsini drew a deep breath. He was beginning to have an idea of the
scheme which had worked in Ivan's cunning brain. "You want to dress me
up as Stepan, put me in his place, and overhear what they are
plotting, so that I can communicate it to the police?"
"Precisely, Signor. Is it not a great idea?"
"It sounds pretty well, my friend, but there are one or two little
things that might confound your scheme. Has it occurred to you that,
since the Prince might communicate with me by signs, I might not be
able to understand the alphabet."
"I have arranged for all that, Signor," replied the big man, who was
pretty full of resource. "There is a fair-sized cupboard in the
vestibule in which Stepan can hide himself while you are listening.
You pull open the cupboard and he can change places with you when you
please. You can do this as often as you like in the twinkling of an
eye."
Corsini smiled. "Admirably thought out, Ivan, but there will be no
need. I know the alphabet perfectly; I learned it when a boy, and
since my short sojourn here I have picked up a fair amount of Russian.
Of course Zouroff speaks Russian to Stepan."
The outlaw smiled gleefully. "No, Signor; everything, I see, is
working most smoothly for our plans. Zouroff had the boy very well
educated; he can speak French as well as you can, and the Prince
always expresses himself to him in that language."
"Then all should go very smoothly, Ivan. When do you want me to take
up my _role_; in other words, when does the next meeting at the villa
take place?"
"To-morrow night or the night after, I cannot be sure. But I shall
hear from Stepan to-morrow, who will be informed by Madame Quero. I
will send you round a note to your hotel," answered the outlaw.
"And at what hour do they assemble?"
"Shortly after midnight, Signor. Here, by the way, is a list of the
names which you might like to show. I take it, after our conversation,
you will go at once to General Beilski and tell him what you have
learned."
Corsini nodded. It was not, however, his idea to repair to that
somewhat pompous functionary. He proposed to seek the astute
secretary, Golitzine, at his own house; failing that, at the Winter
Palace.
"And you will not forget the free pardon, Signor, for the poor outlaw
who was driven to a life of crime through the wrongs perpetrated upon
him and his by the Zouroffs, father and son."
"No, Ivan, I will not forget that. I shall also press for a
substantial reward, if things come off as we hope. Now, supposing I
want to communicate with you? Will you let me have your address, or
not?"
Ivan pointed his hand in the direction of the four waiting men.
"I am rather fearful of this sort of gentry, Signor, as you can well
imagine. But I trust you; I proved your metal that night when I found
you in front of the ikon. I know you will not betray me. Still, do
not write to me unless absolutely necessary, and be very careful of
your messenger. Anyway, address me under an assumed name."
He drew a dirty piece of paper out of his pocket and scribbled upon it
the address of his mean lodging, in one of the commonest quarters of
the town; also the assumed name by which he was to be addressed.
Corsini held out his hand. "Well, Ivan, if this all turns out well,
you will have more than repaid your obligation. Good-night; I will get
that free pardon for you, rely upon it. I shall hear from you
to-morrow or next day at the latest."
He watched the big figure of the outlaw well out of sight. Then he
beckoned to the leader of the four men.
"A most fortunate meeting," he said, in a cheerful voice. "I am now
going straight on to Count Golitzine. I will try his house first."