How Iván ever reached home that night, without being arrested by
the police on suspicion of being drunk, he never afterwards could say.
He remembered nothing after the time when, out of Grete Ottlinger’s
confused babble, he had gleaned the name of Grünebaum--the name that
to him at last meant absolute salvation. He knew the shop well on the
Opernring, kept by old Moses Grünebaum, and containing a wonderful
collection of antique jewellery, furniture, and curios of all kinds--a
shop much frequented by connoisseurs, the most thought of in Vienna,
in fact, for that class of things, certainly not one that would ever
fall under suspicion of harbouring stolen goods.
It was obviously too late to interview old Moses at that hour of the
night. Iván, though hardly alive to any outward facts, save the
all-absorbing one, was nevertheless conscious of that, and instinct
guided his reeling footsteps to the hotel on the Kolowrátring.
A mass of letters awaited him; correspondence he was sadly neglecting
in these days of anxiety. One of them was from his Eminence. Iván
tore it open in eager excitement. It ran as follows:--
“Klinger’s Hotel, Marienbad,
“_February 28th._
“My dear Son,--You will see by the above address that I have altered
my plans and am staying here for the present. The fresh mountain air
is having a most beneficial effect upon my health, and I shall
probably stay (D.V.) the full length of my intended holiday. I hope
you are getting on satisfactorily with the work, fast enough to enable
you to take some days’ rest before we once more meet at St. Petersburg
for diplomatic business. By the way, if you should happen to get there
before I do, I think it would be as well if you would call on Madame
Demidoff, and ask her to hand you over the Emperor’s candlesticks,
which then could remain in your charge. I hope she accomplished her
journey in safety, and that not the slightest harm has come to those
tiresome things, which very nearly succeeded in depriving me of my
holiday. I assure you, my dear son, when I think of all the enjoyment
I should have missed on their account, I am doubly grateful to madame
for the kind favour she has done me.
“My apostolic blessing on you, my son, and sincere respect to Madame
Demidoff when you see her.
“Antonius d’Orsay,
“_Cardinal-Archbishop_.”
Volenski put down the letter; a sigh of complete relief came from his
heart. Thank heaven! his Eminence knew nothing. It was not to be
wondered at; the robbery at Oderberg had not created much comment in
the press owing to the speedy capture of the thief, and it would have
been nothing but the most adverse coincidence if his Eminence, who, to
Iván’s knowledge, never glanced at a newspaper, should that one day
of all days have seen the two numbers that contained an account of the
theft.
He knew from his own experience that the facts were not sufficiently
mysterious to excite public interest, and as his Eminence’s name had
not once been mentioned by Madame Demidoff, it was not very likely
that the Cardinal would hear of the matter from any outside source.
Madame evidently did not mean that his Eminence should hear about her
loss; that was only natural, no one likes to own to gross
carelessness, least of all a lady. Oh! that he might only get rid of
the fear that already she knew all, and was on the same quest as
himself, backed by Russian money and Russian influence! But even then,
at present, he was ahead of her. She had not interviewed Grete
Ottlinger, she could not know where the candlesticks were, and before
Grünebaum’s shop was open the following morning he meant to be on the
spot, ready to pay away all he possessed for the priceless receptacles
of the secret papers.
That night, as he well knew that sleep would never come to him, he
spent in getting through all arrears of work for his Eminence. He
meant, as soon as he had seen Grünebaum and purchased the
candlesticks, to start at once for Petersburg, and deliver the papers
to Taranïew. Three days had now elapsed since the abduction of
Nicholas Alexandrovitch; three days, during which Iván, absorbed in
the harrowing search for the missing messages, had not seen his
comrades. Every day added one to the many dangers of discovery, and
Dunajewski and his comrades were still pining in the Moscow prisons.
Oh! this burden of responsibility seemed too hard to bear; the terrors
of carrying the secret papers seemed as nothing compared with what he
had to undergo. But, thank God! all these anxieties would be over by
to-morrow at the latest, and then in his heart of hearts there first
occurred to Iván the wild longing to give up all these intrigues and
plots; be content to live the life of a quiet citizen, and leave
Russian politics steadily alone.
The busy night he spent acted soothingly on Iván’s nerves. He worked
until the tardy winter’s dawn peeped in through the curtains, then,
having refreshed himself with a bath and a good breakfast, he once
more sallied forth on his quest, and nine o’clock found him on the
Opernring, outside Grünebaum’s shop, waiting to see the shutters
taken down.
The moment that was done he stepped in and asked to see the
proprietor.
A snuffy old Jew, with flat nose and broad lips, with eyes like a
toad’s--so nearly dropping out of his head, that he appeared to be
wearing spectacles for the sole purpose of keeping them in their
sockets--came forward, rubbing his hands benignly one against the
other, evidently wondering who his very early customer could be. He
was accustomed to mistrust everybody.
“A very good-morning, sir; and what may I have the pleasure to show
your Excellency to-day?--jewellery?--antiques?----”
“I have come on a matter of private business,” said Volenski briefly.
“You had better show me into your office, for your own sake.”
The Jew looked at him keenly for a moment from behind his spectacles,
then said suavely--
“I have no business that I should wish to conceal; but if your
Excellency will take the trouble to walk this way----” And he led the
way to a well-lighted, luxurious little office at the back of the
shop, where a quantity of voluminous ledger and cash books testified
to the extent and prosperity of his business.
“Will your Excellency be pleased to be seated?” he said.
“No, I prefer to stand; what I have to say won’t take long. You
received yesterday, at the station of the Nordbahn, a parcel of goods
from a woman named Grete Ottlinger. These goods were stolen. You knew
it. What have you to say?”
“That I am as innocent of this as a new-born babe, your Excellency;
that I was never out of my shop all day yesterday, it being, as your
Excellency no doubt will deign to remember, a very rainy day; that I
never even heard of any woman named Grete Ottlinger; that I never set
eyes on stolen goods--this I swear by our fathers Abraham, Isaac,
Jacob, and by the grave of my forefathers.”
“Enough of this drivel,” said Volenski impatiently, “you lie, and you
know it. Now I will be brief with you. Among that stolen property----
Don’t interrupt me,” he said sternly, as the Jew made another attempt
at protest, and raised his hands upwards as if calling Abraham to
witness of his innocence; “I said that, among that stolen property
there was a pair of antique china and chased gold candlesticks. I wish
to know where those candlesticks are. I will pay you the full amount
you will have to give to Grete Ottlinger, and two thousand guldens
besides, if you will hand them over to me at this moment. If you
refuse, I will lodge information against you at the police, and within
half an hour you will be arrested, your house, books, and belongings
searched, and even if nothing definite can be proved against you--you
might be a cunning rascal--your business will practically be at an
end. You will be marked as a suspicious person, and none of your
customers will dare return to you for fear of buying stolen property.”
The Jew, who at the beginning of the interview had turned pale to the
lips, had now regained some composure. Rubbing his two hands together
again--
“Now I see that your Excellency is a generous gentleman,” he said
benignly, “with no desire to harm a poor old man, who has wife and
family to support--but with a wish to deal fairly with him. I swear to
your Excellency, that my greatest desire is to serve you in every way
I can, and I will tell your Excellency the whole truth. I have never
done such a thing before, but the woman tempted me, and the things
were very beautiful. I did not like to keep them in my shop, it wasn’t
safe, and as soon as I received them from Grete Ottlinger I packed
them off, and sent them through a trustworthy messenger to my partner
in London. I received a telegram from him this morning to say he had
crossed the frontier quite safely last night, and is now out of reach
of the police, who are still busy hunting for the things in this city.
And if your Excellency will keep to your word, and give me ten
thousand guldens, which will only be one thousand over and above what
the candlesticks have cost me, I will tell you where my partner is to
be found, and then it will be your Excellency’s own fault if you
cannot succeed in inducing him to part with the articles in question.”
“I will pay you nothing till I have the candlesticks in my possession,
then I pledge you my word that you shall be paid in full. Now choose
quickly, you have no time to lose; the express starts from Vienna at
one o’clock; if you give me your accomplice’s address, together with a
few lines on a card, telling him that I am a friend, I will leave for
London at that hour; if you refuse, I go this instant to the police
and lay information against you.”
“How do I know that you will not lay information against me when once
you have secured the goods?” the Jew muttered suspiciously.
“Look at me,” said Volenski; “do I look like a vile traitor who would
use a man first, and betray him after?”
The Jew shot a piercing glance from his bleary eyes at the young Pole,
whose manly face looked fierce, agitated, passionate, but certainly
not false; and, without another word, he took from his pocket-book a
business-card, bearing the words--“Moses Grünebaum, Dealer in
Antiquities,” wrote on the back--“Isaac Davies, 14, Great Portland
Street, London,” and below, “To introduce a friend,” and handed it to
Volenski.
“I shall be back in Vienna on Saturday,” said the latter, “and if I
bring the candlesticks with me, I will bring you the money I promised
on that very day.”
And pulling his hat over his eyes Volenski walked out of the shop,
taking no further notice of the Jew, who followed him to the door,
bowing obsequiously, and still irrelevantly calling to Abraham, Isaac,
and Jacob to witness to his complete innocence.