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 Quero. 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 Quero 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
Quero 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 Quero? 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 Quero, 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 Quero 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 Quero." 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 Quero, 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?