Peter the valet was a man of criminal instincts, cunning, avaricious,
and unscrupulous. Perhaps his sole remaining qualities were his
devotion to his master, Zouroff, and his ardent love for the
Princess's maid, Katerina.
His interview with the formidable and awe-inspiring Beilski had shaken
him considerably. His faith in Zouroff was great, but in that brief
conversation he had begun to realise the sinister power of the police,
at which body, the Prince, in his arrogance, was wont to snap his
fingers.
He returned home full of thought and much perturbed. He had already
determined in his own mind the cause of the failure to remove Corsini.
In an unguarded moment, he had revealed to Katerina certain facts
about a travelling carriage whose first stoppage was to be at
Pavlovsk. Katerina had blabbed all this to somebody.
But, until his interview with Beilski, he had been content to let
matters stand where they were. It did not greatly concern him that
Corsini had been rescued and was back again in St. Petersburg. His
master would never suspect him: he would rather suspect one of the
four other men of having given it away, for the sake of the reward
that he would claim. So reasoned Peter in his narrow, but cunning
brain. Therefore, for many reasons, he did not tax Katerina at once
with the betrayal of his misplaced confidence.
Beilski's threat set his thoughts working vigorously in the direction
of self-preservation. He was devoted to the Prince, but he was still
more devoted to himself. If he could have saved Zouroff, he would, but
that seemed impossible, the Police knew too much. But he could save
himself by telling what he knew. It was necessary therefore to earn
that free pardon. It was only a matter of hours before he would go to
the General and make a full confession.
It hurt him very much that he should crown so many years of fidelity
with such a black act, but it seemed a question of _sauve qui peut_.
Loyal as he had been to his master, he knew enough of his character to
be sure that the Prince, in a similar emergency, would have thrown
him, and a dozen like him, to the wolves in order to purchase a
moment's respite. Why should he pursue a different policy?
Beilski had promised a free pardon, and also not to implicate him in
the transaction. Still Zouroff was a man of extraordinary shrewdness,
and when he began to work it out in his mind, might quickly focus his
suspicions in the right direction.
How to avert Zouroff's suspicions from himself! That was the question.
His narrow, but cunning brain bent itself upon this for some time. At
the end of his cogitations, he sought Katerina, and bluntly taxed her
with the betrayal of his confidence.
At first, Katerina, with the natural adroitness of her class and sex,
protested indignant denial; she vowed that she had forgotten the
incident altogether.
"You are lying," said her lover sternly. "If you do not confess this
instant, I will take you to the Prince himself, and he will wring the
truth out of you."
Katerina's face went white. She had been very frightened at Beilski,
but her terror of Zouroff was greater even than her fear of the Head
of the Police. If she saw him in one of the corridors, she would
scuttle away like an alarmed rabbit. If he came into her young
mistress's room, she was agitated till he was gone.
In a few moments, what with her fear of Zouroff and her genuine love
for Peter, the artful valet had her reduced to a state of tears. It
was not long before he forced out of her everything he wanted to know.
How she had conveyed the information to the Princess, how she had
taken her mistress's note to Beilski, how, later on, she had been
summoned to the presence of that formidable person and confessed much
as she was doing now.
Peter uttered no word of reproach; the time of reproaches was past;
but he saw clearly that the game was up, so far as the abduction of
Corsini was concerned. The sooner he made a clean breast of it to
Beilski, the better. At the same time, he wanted to throw suspicion
upon somebody else.
He loved Katerina genuinely, too well to harm a hair of her head, even
to save himself. In this respect he was several degrees better than
his master, who would have sacrificed the whole world for such a
laudable purpose.
And to the charming young Princess, with her gracious ways, her sweet
friendliness to all, he was also strongly attached. He would not harm
a hair of her head, if he could help it. But still, his first instinct
was for self.
Besides, if he gave them away, he would be giving himself away, also.
What these two women knew, mistress and maid, they must have learned
from some member of the Zouroff household.
Was there any member of that household, except himself, who had
foreknowledge of the Prince's plans? He was inclined to doubt it.
Confidants he must have, when engaged in so many dark schemes, but
Zouroff chose as few as possible. Yet, and yet--if only he could throw
suspicion in a likely quarter, on somebody else!
Katerina, embarked on the full tide of confession and genuinely
alarmed for her lover's safety, babbled on artlessly. Peter had drawn
a gloomy picture of the vengeance he might expect at the hands of his
master for that innocent gossip of a few moments, when discovery came
home to him, as it was sure to do. In her revelations she let fall the
fact that the celebrated Madame Quero had paid a visit to the
Princess, during her brother's temporary absence.
Peter pricked up his ears at the information. He knew full well the
relations between the Prince and the handsome singer. Here was a fact
that might be turned to his advantage. Madame Quero, he felt assured,
participated in all her lover's secrets.
"Have you any proof of that?" he asked eagerly.
Katerina opened wide her tear-dimmed eyes. "Proof? Do you doubt my
word? Why, she gave me her card, and the Princess handed it me back
and told me to return it to her, with her excuses for not receiving
her. I did not like to be so rude, and I put it in my pocket."
"Have you still got that card, Katerina?" questioned the valet
anxiously.
"Of course I have. I kept it as a souvenir. I regard her as a very
distinguished person, and I hear she came from our own class. The
Princess, of course, looks upon her as the dirt under her feet, but in
her position there is no blame, perhaps, for her doing that." Thus
poor Katerina, divided between loyalty to her young mistress and
admiration for the beautiful woman who had overcome such formidable
obstacles.
The artful valet put his arm round her waist and imprinted a fond kiss
on her pretty cheek.
"Katerina, my little sweetheart, I think you will admit you owe me
some amends for your foolish indiscretion. Give me that card, and we
will cry quits. But not a word to the Princess. But I forgot. You
cannot tell her; you ought to have returned it to Madame Quero."
Katerina was glad to be reconciled to her lover on such cheap terms.
Five minutes later, the card of La Belle Quero was in Peter's hands.
And then Peter thought long and cunningly. He had made up his mind to
betray his master--it was a matter of necessity--but he was very
particular that his master should not know by whom he was betrayed.
There was Fritz, the German, one of the four men implicated in the
abduction of Corsini. Fritz was always a shifty person, ready to sell
himself to the highest bidder. Peter felt assured that Zouroff's
suspicions were already centred on Fritz. He was one of the two men
who had escaped, no doubt with the connivance of the police; anyway,
that would be Zouroff's view.
The possession of Madame Quero's card had suggested new lines of
thought. Of course, Peter did not know to what extent the beautiful
singer was in the Prince's confidence. Here, naturally, he was groping
wildly in the dark. But the more he diverted Zouroff's attention from
himself on to other people, the better.
In divulging what he proposed to do to the Prince, it was more than
probable that he would implicate the young Princess Nada. And Peter
had a very soft spot in his heart for her. Still, it was simply a
question of saving himself. If Zouroff saw red and laid all about him,
as it were, Nada must protect herself. Even a ruffian like Zouroff
would exercise some compunction when his sister was in question. With
regard to La Belle Quero, who had, at times, treated him a little
disdainfully, with the slight arrogance of a person who had emerged
from his own class into a superior one, Peter felt no qualms. The
Prince and she could adjust their own differences at the proper time
and hour.
Later on, he approached Zouroff with his fawning and cringing aspect,
and handed him Madame Quero's card.
"You know that my eyes and ears are always open in your Excellency's
service," he whined. "That is what I have found."
Zouroff's face grew as black as thunder as he read it. "She has been
here, then. To see whom?"
Peter shrugged his shoulders. He wanted to be as non-committal as
possible. "That I cannot tell. Your Excellency may guess better than
I."
The Prince looked at him long and intently. Peter was a very cunning
rogue; that he knew full well; but he was the last man he was inclined
to suspect.
"How did you come into possession of this?" he thundered.
But Peter was determined not to implicate his sweetheart, Katerina. In
this respect he was a slightly better man than his master.
"Your Excellency will excuse me; my lips are sealed. One must be
faithful to one's comrades. There are wheels within wheels, as you
well know."
The Prince nodded. He knew Peter well. In many ways he was docile and
obedient, but it was always politic not to push him too far; on such
occasions the valet was apt to take on a spirit of sturdy independence
which his master was compelled to respect. Wild horses would not draw
from him how, or through whom, he had discovered that card.
"Leave me, Peter, if you please," commanded Zouroff. "I must be alone
to think this thing over, since you say your lips are sealed."
He shook his fist angrily in the direction of the retreating valet.
"Ah, for my good old father's days," he murmured regretfully. "I
would have had it out of you with the knout then, my excellent
friend."
Left alone, Zouroff pondered out all these things in his subtle brain.
The treacherous Madame Quero had come to the Palace, to seek whom, and
to what purpose?
Rumour, gathered at the stage door, and in the more intimate circles
of the profession, averred that the handsome singer was in love with
Corsini. He had also his impressions of his sister in connection with
the handsome young Italian. He had watched them together in that
prolonged conversation on the night of the concert at the Zouroff
Palace, on quitting which, Corsini had been abducted.
Rapidly in his own mind, he reconstructed the sequence of events.
Madame Quero was in love with Corsini. He gnashed his teeth as he
remembered he had been fool enough to suggest to the Spanish woman
that Corsini must disappear. She had acted on that hint and come
straight to the Palace to invoke his sister's assistance in rescuing
Corsini.
His sister was in love with Corsini herself. The two rivals had united
to save their common lover, and their measures had been well taken.
The police had met the carriage at Pavlovsk, rescued the drugged and
inanimate Director of the Imperial Opera, and brought him safely back
to St. Petersburg. And, in the capital, so Zouroff was assured by his
spies, he was being safely guarded by Beilski's men. The Government
and the police were proving themselves very cunning, almost as
cunning as Zouroff himself.
So far he had reasoned things out very logically. Now came the one
thing for which he could not account. To La Quero he had given no
details, and as he had not given them to her, she could not
communicate them to his sister. Here was a final stop.
And yet, the carriage containing Corsini, drugged and bound, had been
surrounded at Pavlovsk by the police. Somebody, then, had given
information. Who was that somebody?
His suspicion fell at once on Fritz, the German, chiefly, perhaps,
because Fritz had been found guilty of minor acts of disloyalty in
previous transactions. For a man of his acute intelligence, it was,
perhaps, a little surprising that he did not, at first hand, suspect
Peter.
But Peter had just disarmed his suspicions by handing to him Madame
Quero's card. Yes, Peter was loyal, if every other person was tainted
with treachery.
There emerged from his strenuous efforts to get at the truth some
clear and certain facts, according to his own deductions, which were,
of course, erroneous.
Madame Quero had been informed by Fritz of the actual facts: that
Corsini was to be kidnapped just outside the precincts of the Palace,
that the carriage was to stop on its first stage on the Moscow road at
Pavlovsk.
He had to admit that there were flaws in his reasoning. If Madame
Quero had got this information from Fritz, and she was resolved to
save Corsini, she could have informed the police herself. Why had she
come to the Palace, to invoke the assistance of Nada?
Pending his cogitations, he had recourse to stimulants, as was his
wont on such occasions. Amid the fumes of alcohol he solved the
problem, as he thought. Quero, not wishing to appear herself, had made
his sister her instrument. He ground his teeth, and vowed implacable
revenge upon his once sweetheart, La Belle Quero.
But his anger against his sister was hardly less burning. To think
that this innocent young girl, only just out of the schoolroom, should
dare to thwart his plans.
He burst into her sitting-room, his face red and inflamed from his
secret drinking. She recognised the symptoms at once. He had one of
his wild fits of brutal and unreasoning rage.
He attacked her at once, in unmeasured language.
"You are a disgrace to your sex," he shouted wildly, "a disgrace to
the noble house of Zouroff, to the name you bear."
The young Princess looked at him calmly and steadfastly, with her
clear gaze. He was a wild beast at the moment--she saw that; also
gathered that he had been drinking heavily. Wild beasts are sometimes
tamed by the eye. She never took her glance off him.
"Of what do you accuse me?" she asked in cold and cutting accents. "In
what way have I, of all the members of our family, disgraced the house
of Zouroff?"
The Prince spluttered forth his accusations. "You have disgraced
yourself by falling in love with a strolling player, that mountebank,
Corsini."
Of course he was still master enough of himself not to reveal all he
knew, or thought he knew.
The Princess drew herself up haughtily. It was not the first time she
had encountered her brother in this mood.
"I don't think you know what you are talking about, Boris; I can see
your condition very plainly. Signor Corsini is not a strolling
player--that description applies to the destitute members of the
theatrical profession. Corsini is a musician, an artist, and the
Director of the Imperial Opera. Think of some other expression that
will vent your rage and spite, but don't call him 'a strolling
player.'"
"But whatever he is, you love him," thundered the Prince, now fairly
consumed with rage.
The young Princess kept her temper, her tone was as cutting as before.
"You insult me with these questions," she said calmly. "Return to me
when you are sober and I may perhaps be able to talk with you, reason
with you." She was thinking of a few hints dropped by General Beilski
on his brief visit to her.
"And if I do not choose to leave at your bidding," retorted the
Prince, in a jeering tone. "Suppose I insist upon remaining and
finishing our conversation!"
"In that case I shall leave the Palace for good." And suddenly her
woman's strength gave way, opposed to that of this resolute ruffian
and bully. "If our dear mother were here, you would not dare to stay
in this room a moment longer. You take advantage of my weakness," she
cried tearfully.
"Our dear mother," mimicked Zouroff, in mocking accents. "You and your
mother have always held together against me; you always held against
my dear father in the old days."
"Of whom you are a worthy son," flashed the Princess, with an angry
gesture. She had poignant memories of those old days, when her mother
had suffered untold indignities at the hands of Prince Zouroff the
elder, indignities which had bitten into the souls of both wife and
daughter. Boris was the only member of the family who reverenced the
name of his father, for the very simple reason that he partook of his
worst qualities.
And then a softer mood came to her. After all, he was her brother, son
of the same kind, gentle mother. She went across to him and placed a
hand upon his shoulder.
"Be reasonable, Boris, and prudent. I can guess more than you think. I
am sure you are playing a very dangerous game. Be certain on your side
that your opponents are not stronger than you."
But Zouroff was in no mood to listen to the tender expostulations of a
woman, especially a woman whom he despised as much as his sister, this
frail girl who took after her gentle mother, who had in her none of
the iron qualities of his brutal father.
He flung her aside, and spoke in a grating voice.
"You will leave the Palace, will you? Yes, you shall, but when and how
I choose. There is your own little comfortable Castle of Tchernoff.
Perhaps if I sent you there, it might cool your hot blood."
The Princess flamed up. "You dare not think of such a thing. Brute as
you are, you would not dare to do it."
"We shall see. Remember I am still your legal guardian," cried the
Prince, with a mocking laugh, as he left the room.
The interview had sobered him. All that was now working in his mind
was, first, a scheme of revenge upon La Belle Quero; second, a milder
scheme of revenge against his sister.
An hour later Peter, the valet, reported himself to General Beilski
and obtained his free pardon by a full confession. And the General,
waiting for further developments, stayed his hand for the moment.