THE SCENT OF PERIL.
“I got a scent of the trouble yesterday,” said Nikolitch after a pause,
long enough to try my patience severely; “and should have come to you
at once, but I was sent out of the city to Jagodina with part of the
regiment. I dared not write to you for fear the letter got into wrong
hands.”
“What did you hear, and how?”
“You know there have been many changes made in the regiments here;
and no one could understand the reason for them. But I believe I know
it now. Those officers who are against force have been gradually sent
out of the city and their places filled by men of the opposite views.
Yesterday an excuse was made that some manœuvres were to be held round
Jagodina; and by means of it nearly all of the no-violence men were
sent away--myself amongst them; while others have been moved in. You
can guess the object--a _coup d’etat_.”
“And Petrosch?”
“Was like a sphinx when I managed to see him yesterday. Denied the idea
of force, referred to the arrangement with you; but would say not a
word as to what was intended. He pleaded entire ignorance.”
“What will happen?”
“I cannot say. We discussed it all last night at Jagodina, and the
impression there is that some most drastic steps have been decided
secretly and that we were being got out of the way for them to be
carried out.”
“What kind of violence do you anticipate?”
“God knows,” he exclaimed, throwing up his hands, almost despairingly.
“We must see Petrosch.”
“I dare not. I am supposed to be in Jagodina. I got leave of absence
because the chief is very friendly, but he said I must not come to
Belgrade. He meant I mustn’t let him know if I did. So I said I wished
to go to Alexinatz. But I felt I must get the news to you somehow; so I
came here secretly. I shall be broken if my presence is known.”
“Won’t you stay and see it through, now you are here?”
“I owe you no less, Bergwyn, let happen what will. I have got you into
it. But I should prefer not to go outside this house if we can help it.”
“I wanted you to do me a great service. And it is more important now
than ever, if what you think is true.”
“What is it?”
“To go to the Princess Gatrina.”
“I have thought of her. That’s largely why I came--after what you told
me about the hill business.”
“You think she would be in danger?”
“How can it be otherwise? But of course it depends on what is going to
happen. You must warn her.”
“That’s just it. I can’t get a word to her. I was trying all yesterday.
She won’t see me, wouldn’t read a letter I sent asking her to see me;
wouldn’t even let the man who helped us in the hill affair have a word
with her. I hoped you would be able to help me.”
He hesitated a moment. “Of course I will,” he said then. “The thing’s
too grave to let any personal considerations weigh with me. She must be
persuaded to leave the city--at least until the officers have carried
out their plan.”
“She won’t go.”
“She must, or the worst may happen to her. Some of these men will go to
any extreme.”
“Put it plainer, Nikolitch. You mean her life will be in danger?”
“I don’t like even to think of it in plain terms, Bergwyn. To tell you
the truth, I believe I’m horribly afraid and can’t think.”
“I’ll go to Petrosch myself at once, while you go to the Princess. I
think she will receive you. What I want you particularly to do with her
is persuade her that there is no foundation for this statement;” and I
put the newspaper cutting in his hand.
He read it and looked up. “Is it a time to think of this?” he asked.
“Yes; because when that is contradicted she may consent to see me and I
can add my influence to persuade her to seek safety in flight.”
“Would they let her go?” he asked.
“Get her consent and I’ll do the rest.”
“Send your man to my rooms for clothes. I mustn’t be seen in these;”
and he shewed me that under a long overcoat he was wearing his uniform.
I rang for Buller and gave him instructions, and then started to find
Colonel Petrosch. I had much difficulty, driving from place to place
and losing much time, to catch him after all at his house.
Having heard of my first call he was thus prepared for my visit; and
must have guessed my object, although he expressed surprise at seeing
me.
“I wish to see you very particularly, Colonel; you will have heard that
I called here a couple of hours ago; and I have been seeking you ever
since.”
“I am very sorry; but of course if you had sent me word beforehand I
would have waited in or come to you, Mr. Bergwyn.”
“I could not do that. I have only just heard the news which has brought
me to you.”
“Indeed. How?”
“I have many sources, as you will understand. Is it true that the
officers have resolved upon their line of action?”
“Yes. I told you that two days ago.”
“What is it?”
“I told you then I could not disclose it, Mr. Bergwyn. You will
remember that.”
“Has there been any alteration in their plans?”
He paused. “In a sense, no. No finally decisive step taken.”
“There have been some considerable changes in the disposition of the
regiments?”
“Oh, yes. We have had some manœuvres at Jagodina and have had to make
them as imposing as possible.”
“That is the only reason for the changes?”
“Not entirely. Some have been made in connection with the plan of the
officers.”
“A large number of officers have been brought to the capital. I know
that. Are these the men who favour a policy of force?”
He flinched from the question. “Is that your information?”
“Yes; just that.”
“To a certain extent you are right, Mr. Bergwyn,” he answered slowly.
“I had better tell you something. Since I saw you, a formal demand has
been made to the King to abdicate, backed by the statement ‘that a
refusal would be followed by the declaration of the army against him.’
At first he refused; but afterwards withdrew the peremptory refusal and
asked for time to consider the matter. A week was conceded and there
the matter was left.”
“Then nothing will be done for a week?”
“Nothing _would_ have been done; but His Majesty or the Government,
most probably the Queen, has broken faith. Of those who waited upon
him--there were five--three have been arrested and thrown into prison.
Naturally the army is embittered.”
“What will be done?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “For whatever happens now, the blame will
lie with the Court.”
“I suppose that’s about as hopeless news as you could give me.”
“It is not good,” he replied, very gravely.
“You are still in a position to keep the condition of no violence.”
“We have decided to release you from your undertaking so that we may
not even appear to be guilty of bad faith. The decision has just been
made; and I should have written you at once or seen you, to return you
this paper;” and he put my letter back into my hands.
Nothing that he could have said or done would have so deeply impressed
me as that.
“You told me there had been no change of plan.”
“There has been none--yet,” he answered. “The final decision has still
to be made.”
“I have heard your policy summed up in the one word--assassination.”
“Our policy has always been liable to misinterpretation; against that,
in times like these, we cannot guard.”
“I won’t disguise from you that you have alarmed me greatly.”
“Is there a man in the country at the present time who does not view
the future with alarm? The issues are too fateful for all classes,
Mr. Bergwyn. But if you are speaking in contemplation of any sort of
financial business, I would advise you strongly to hold your hand and
wait.”
“How long?”
“Until the new Government is established, the new King crowned and the
country once more settled.”
“The new King?” I asked quickly.
“The succession will revert to the Karageorgevics.”
“And Princess Gatrina?”
“It is very unfortunate for her and her friends that she still remains
in the city.” He spoke with impressive deliberation.
“It is largely on her account I have been influenced in what I have
done.”
“So I have gathered for myself, Mr. Bergwyn; and so I have thought,
despite the contradictory rumours which have reached me concerning you
both--and others.”
“Can you give me no assurance that at least she will be in no personal
danger?”
He paused a long time to think. “Personally I will do everything in
my power. You have met me so frankly that you deserve no less. You
may rely upon me to do my utmost; but although I shall of course have
considerable influence, I am but one of many.”
“She would be allowed to leave the city?”
“Her departure would be welcome if she would go at once.”
“And if she stays?”
“She may carry her life in her hands, Mr. Bergwyn.”
“But I could still depend upon your influence?”
“To the uttermost shred. I give you my honour.”
I rose to go then. “I need not assure you that I shall treat in
confidence what you have said, Colonel Petrosch.”
He shook his head. “It does not matter now, Mr. Bergwyn. I have told
you nothing--I could tell you nothing, of course--that may not be
openly repeated. It is too late for anything of that kind to signify
now. The army is too strong to be shaken from its purpose by anything
that could happen. You will see that yourself very soon. The die is
cast.”
This indifference to publicity amazed me as much as anything he had
said in the interview and confirmed the absorbingly gloomy impression
which he had created.
I drove back to my house feverishly anxious now to hear how Nikolitch
had fared with Gatrina. But he had not returned and I sat eating out my
heart with impatience at his delay. He was so long that I began to fear
he might have been arrested for having come to the city in defiance of
his orders, and I sent Buller at length to the Princess’s house for
news of him.
A line came back from him.
“She is away. I am waiting for her return.”
I scribbled a reply to this.
“I have had the worst confirmed. For God’s sake do all you can;” and
this I sent back to him by Buller.
The suspense of the time that followed was agony. My alarm for her took
a hundred crude and wild shapes as I thought of the peril that would
encircle her when the desperate schemes of the army were once put in
operation.
I was maddening myself with such thoughts when Buller brought me
Elma’s card. I sent a curt message that I would not see her. I felt I
could not trust myself in that desperate mood.
But he came back with a note.
“You must see me. I have terrible news affecting Gatrina’s safety.”
I went to her then. In such a cause I was ready to go anywhere and do
anything. She was more serious than I had seen her before, and spoke
without any of the affectations customary with her.
“There must be peace between us, Mr. Bergwyn.”
“What have you come for?”
“Gatrina is in danger and you must help to save her.”
“What is your news?”
“A revolution is imminent, and if Gatrina is in the city when it breaks
out, she will be involved. The King has been told he must abdicate, and
a conflict between him and the army is now certain. She must be got to
a place of safety.”
“Why do you come to me?”
“Because you can prevail with her.”
“On the contrary, you have made that impossible. You know how--by the
false tale you told before the Queen.”
“It can be contradicted. I will contradict it if you agree.”
“Agree to what?”
“To unite with us in saving her to take the Throne.”
“You mean to marry the Duke Barinski?”
“I mean, first, to save her life. This is no time to think of any
personal ends. She is necessary to the country.”
“She has no chance of succeeding to the Throne. I know that. I know
what is to be done.”
“You can help us if you will. Get her to trust herself to us instead of
to the Court, and we will be responsible for her safety.”
“How? Another case of Maglai?”
“You need not sneer. I did not mean that. She would be safe under the
protection of the Russian flag.”
“With you as her chief adviser and friend. I should not deem that
safety; nor would she.”
“You abandon her then to her fate?”
“I will not counsel her to play the part of cat’s paw for Russia.”
“Even to save her life?”
“Will you undo the mischief you have caused and let her know the truth?
Then I will act with you to this extent. If I can, I will prevail with
her to leave the country for a time and from a position of freedom,
decide whether to make this marriage or not.”
“She must not leave the country. She must be here when the moment of
crisis arrives, and the future occupant of the Throne has to be chosen.
Her absence then might be fatal to everything.”
“Go to her and tell her that all you said was untrue and why you said
it, and leave the decision to her.”
“You are still dreaming of the impossible. I have shewn her most of
your old letters to me.”
“Then you had better tell your Russian employers how you have succeeded
in wrecking their schemes.”
She paused in considerable embarrassment.
“You must have some other aim, however,” I continued. “You have
contradicted yourself. You said at first that I still had influence
with her: now that you have kept your word and broken her trust in me;
and yet that you need my help. You will not be surprised that I find
it difficult to believe you at all--except as a power for mischief and
wrong.”
“You do not seem to realise her peril.”
“And you do not explain your inconsistency.”
“I will make it all plain to her.”
“So that I may go to counsel her to marry another man. I will not.”
“Not even to save her life?”
“You said that before. I will find means to save her life, if it should
be really in danger.”
“What I have proposed is the only way.”
“You may think so. I will find another. I do not trust either you or
your employers. You can help me by undoing what you have done and
telling her the truth--by that means you can aid in saving her life.
But with your help or without, I will find the means.”
“You are very bitter against me.”
“I speak the truth and the truth may well have a bitter sound.”
“If you refuse me, the responsibility for what may occur will be yours.”
“Will you go to her and admit the falsehood?”
“If you agree to my terms. Not otherwise.”
“That was the answer I expected,” I said as I rose.
She made a gesture of impatient dissent. “You make things so difficult.
We both desire the same end: the Princess’s safety; and yet you will
not act with me to reach it.”
“You come to me, or you are sent to me, because it is thought I can now
be of some use as a decoy. I have no fancy for the part. I do not trust
you or those behind you.”
“You entirely misjudge my motives.”
“Very possibly, if they are genuine. You have taught me not to expect
that; and I have learnt the lesson. That’s all there is to it. And now,
I have no wish to say to you any more of the angry things I feel. Shall
we end this?”
“Will you consider what I have said and let me come to-morrow for an
answer?”
“No. You have my answer; and I have no wish to see you again.”
“How bitter you can be!” she cried, rising.
My only reply was to open the door for her to leave.
“Do you mean to render me desperate? You underestimate my power to
revenge myself. You will drive me to take a course which even I might
afterwards regret. I am not yet Gatrina’s enemy; but ...” a very angry
glance finished the sentence.
“We shall do better to end this,” I answered, curtly, meeting her look
as I held the door for her.
“You will be well advised for your own and her sake if I find you in a
different mood to-morrow;” and with this threat she went.
For her threats I cared little enough; and the only part of the
interview which made any impression was the confirmation she had
brought of the coming trouble.
I was thinking this round when Nikolitch returned.
“Well?” I asked eagerly.
He shook his head. “I have done no good,” he said.
My heart fell at the words. The last chance had failed, and I knew
by my pang of disappointment how much I had built upon my friend’s
mission.