"You, Princess?" I cried in astonishment, grasping her hand.
But she uttered a low scream, and, twisting her fingers from mine,
dashed swiftly away. I was unable to overtake her, for, taking a
desperate leap, she alighted on a projecting rock, and, scrambling down
among the bushes, descended the precipitous face of the cliff and
disappeared.
Not daring to follow, I remained breathless and bewildered for about
half an hour, and at length turned my heavy steps again towards Cromer.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
While walking in London's _al fresco_ pleasure exchange, the Row, one
bright spring afternoon, exchanging salutes with those I knew, a
brilliantly-varnished carriage, drawn by a magnificent pair of bays,
suddenly passed me. Notwithstanding the rapid pace at which it was
driven, I caught a glimpse of the tip of a tiny bronze shoe stretched
against the cushion of the front seat, the fold of a light fawn dress,
and under a lace-fringed sunshade a fair face--the face of Agafia
Ivanovna, Princess Tchikhatzoff.
Until the equipage turned out of the Park, I kept it in sight; then I
jumped into a hansom, and followed, until I watched her alight and enter
one of the largest houses in Queen's Gate. On inquiry, I ascertained
that the house had been taken furnished for the season by a young
foreign lady, whose name nobody seemed to know.
That evening, after dining at the club, I sat in the smoking-room,
shrinking with horror from some terrible deed that I seemed forced to
commit. Then gradually there crept over me that strange attraction that
drew me irresistibly towards her; until at last, unable to remain, I put
on my hat and drove to the house.
"I wish to see the Princess," I said, giving my card to the grave,
elderly man-servant who opened the door.
Bowing, he ushered me into a small, well-furnished room and disappeared.
The moment he had gone, I heard voices speaking rapidly in Russian in
the next apartment. Agafia was addressing some man, and I thought I
heard her utter my name, and refuse to see me. The rooms communicated
by means of folding-doors, and, determined to speak with her, I turned
the handle and entered.
The scene that met my gaze was only momentary, but it was one of
tragedy. In a low lounge chair a young man was sitting, calmly smoking
a cigarette. He had blonde hair, but his face was turned from me.
Stealthily Agafia crept up behind him, her face distorted by the same
terrible look of vengeance that I had sometimes seen in my weird
day-dreams. In her uplifted hand something gleamed in the lace-shaded
lamplight. It was the knife upon which she had taken the _ikon_ oath in
Petersburg.
"Princess! At last!" I cried, rushing forward in an endeavour to
prevent her from striking the deadly blow at her unsuspecting visitor.
At that moment, however, I felt my hands gripped tightly, and a man
flung himself before me. With an imprecation, I tried to push him
aside, for I had instantly recognised him as the man who had dined with
the Princess at the Dominique.
My senses seemed paralysed. With one hand he held me, and with the
thumb and finger of the other he pressed my temples so tightly that I
became dazed. For a moment I was conscious of his sinister face peering
into mine, and of a peal of harsh, demoniacal laughter that rang through
the room. Then I knew no more.
When I recovered consciousness, I found myself lying in bed in a long
hospital ward, with the kind face of my friend, Dr. Ferguson, a
specialist in mental diseases, looking down upon me.
I had, he told me, been found by the police early one morning lying in a
back street in Kensington in a state of collapse, owing to injuries I
had received on the head. For a week I had been delirious, and no hope
had been entertained for my recovery; but at last I had rallied, and was
now gaining strength.
He questioned me, apparently in order to ascertain if my brain had been
affected; but it was remarkable that my mind was much clearer than
hitherto.
It was many days before I was able to rise, but at last, when I was
allowed to go out, I related to him all the circumstances surrounding
the mysterious Princess.
Being much interested, he consented to accompany me to the house, and
late that evening I placed my revolver in my pocket, and together we
took a cab to the corner of Queen's Gate.
Dismissing the man, we walked together to the house, only to find the
shutters up and the place deserted. Our knocks and rings having been
unanswered, we descended to the area, and after considerable difficulty
entered by the kitchen window. By the aid of a candle we had brought
with us, we searched the house, which we found still furnished, although
unoccupied, and on the carpet of the room in which I had seen Agafia was
a great dark stain--the stain of blood. Was it mine, or that of the
unknown victim?
Ascending to the floor above, we opened the door of the drawing-room,
and on glancing round the great, handsome apartment, our eyes fell upon
an object that caused us both to start back in amazement.
Attired in a long, loose gown, and chained by her wrists to one of the
polished granite columns, was Agafia!
With her hair unbound, she had sunk at the base of the pillar, and was
apparently dead. Evidently she was a prisoner, for the empty jug and
plate standing near told their own tale.
As in a moment of passion I bent to kiss her, Ferguson, who had placed
his hand upon her breast, took out a lancet and made a slight incision
in her arm.
"There is yet life," he said.
"Thank heaven!" I cried. "We must save her."
Opening her eyes, he took the candle and looked intently into them.
They still had a fixed, stony stare, and there seemed a film upon them.
Then the doctor, with his forefinger and thumb, stroked her forehead in
a downward direction, pressing her temples, saying--
"You shall now awake and feel exactly as you were before that villain
placed you under his influence. Come, rouse yourself! Rouse yourself!"
Several times he repeated this, until at length her eyes twitched, her
face flushed, and she gradually became perfectly conscious, answering
the doctor's questions quite rationally. But at me she glanced shyly,
and blushed.
"She remembers nothing distinctly since she was hypnotised," Ferguson
said, "therefore you are a stranger."
I endeavoured to explain that I had delivered the letter she entrusted
to me; but she shook her head, saying--
"I only saw you once, in the Dominique Restaurant in Petersburg, when
you drank the wine over which Petrovitch Delianoff had made passes
during the few moments you were absent."
Ferguson, who was one of the greatest English authorities on hypnotism
and a student of the occult, eagerly asked what the man had done.
"He touched my forehead quickly in a curious way," she answered, "and he
afterwards dipped his finger in the wine, saying, `Your sensibility and
soul will now leave you and be transferred to this glass of wine. In
future you will feel nothing.' Since that time I--I seem to have been
in a long dream; I can remember nothing distinctly."
"Ah! I now understand," exclaimed my friend, raising the candle and
looking into my eyes. "The man has experimented successfully upon you
with the novel method of producing hypnosis recently discovered by
Charcot at La Salpetriere. Remarkable as it may seem, it is,
nevertheless, possible to transfer by suggestion the sensibility of
hystero-epileptic subjects to any liquid. On drinking the wine, you
absorbed her sensibility, and her very soul thus transferred to you,
produced the mysterious affinity of thought and deed. The very singular
coincidence of the marks upon your wrists, and the curious magnetic
force that impelled you towards her, are nothing more than
demonstrations of the powerful psychical influence of the mind on the
body."
"What can have been the motive for all this?" I exclaimed, when, after
considerable difficulty, we had broken the chains and led her to a
chair.
"The motive was gold," she answered in a weak voice. "I--I am the
victim of the man Delianoff. Mine has been a tragic career. Three
years ago I loved Nikanor Baranovitch; but, although only eighteen, my
mother compelled me to marry the Prince, who was nearly forty years
older than myself. It is true he idolised me, but I cannot say that I
experienced the least regret when, five months later, he died, leaving
me all his wealth. Then, alas! my unhappiness commenced. The
management of the estate was left to Delianoff, and there was a clause
in the will which provided that if I died, or married Nikanor, the
property should go to Vladimir Lemontzeff, a nephew of the Prince's who
was an _attache_ at the Embassy in London.
"Almost as soon as the Prince was buried, Delianoff proceeded to place
me under his influence, for, my mother and most of my near relations
being dead, I was utterly alone. The scoundrel was an accomplished
hypnotist, and in order to further his villainous scheme, he put cruel
rumours in circulation which caused Petersburg society to shun me. His
irresistible power of fascination I was unable to withstand, and by
hypnotic suggestion he has caused me to hand over to him the greater
part of my fortune. He kept me constantly in his thrall by threatening
to give information to the police that I had committed murder. This
crime he had suggested to me, causing me to believe that I had actually
stained my hands with blood. Just at that period I saw you in the
Dominique, and, as I have already explained, he practised on you one of
his devilish experiments. He was a Nihilist, and on that night he used
his influence to induce me to attend a meeting alone, and swear to kill
whoever the Executive decided should be removed. Soon afterwards I
heard of Nikanor's illness in Pavlova, and you were good enough to
convey to him a letter in which I told him how Delianoff had attempted
to cut my throat, and how utterly helpless I was in his hands."
"Nikanor died, and could not save you," I observed sorrowfully.
"Yes," she sighed; "Delianoffs motive for getting me to take the oath
was as ingenious as his other villainies, for, when his plans were
complete, he brought me to London, invited Vladimir here, and then, by
the exercise of his occult power, he made me believe that the Prince's
nephew was the man the Executive had ordered me to kill. But you saved
me, for just as I was about to strike the fatal blow, you entered.
Delianoff at that moment came behind you, and, with his curious touch,
insinuated in your brain the image of sleep. Of what afterwards
occurred I know nothing, for I fainted.
"This scoundrel, who had planned that I should kill Vladimir and
afterwards commit suicide, in order that his villainy should not be
exposed, was mad with rage at the failure of his plot. When I regained
consciousness, he dragged me about the room, brandishing a knife and
threatening to murder me; but at last his anger cooled, and his
demoniacal ingenuity devised a terrible torture. My passive will was
still under his influence, and I could not escape or utter cry when he
locked the fetters upon my wrists and chained me to yonder column. For
several days he came regularly with food and water, but four days ago,
after telling me how he had obtained possession of all that belonged to
me, he laughed derisively, and said he should leave me to die of
starvation."
"Yes; we were only just in time," the doctor remarked, feeling her
pulse, with his eyes upon his watch. "You would have been dead
to-morrow."
The Princess had no friends in London, therefore I gave up my chambers
to her, taking up quarters at a neighbouring hotel, while the hospital
nurse I engaged attended her until she fully recovered.
She can never recover the bulk of her fortune; nevertheless she has the
satisfaction of knowing that Delianoff speedily met with his deserts.
Although ostensibly a Nihilist, it was ascertained that he acted as a
spy in the pay of the Secret Police. His end was befitting a coward and
a traitor, for while assisting in an attempt to wreck the Winter Palace,
he handled a bomb carelessly, with the result that it exploded and
killed him.
Some are of opinion that, being an informer, the vengeance of the
Narodnaya Volya fell upon him, and I incline to that belief.