AN ATTEMPTED ASSASSINATION
As they spoke, there came a knock, three taps in rapid succession,
followed by two slowly. The officer on guard opened the door a few
inches and peered out into the intense gloom of the landing. After a
brief colloquy in whispers with the new arrival, he stepped back and
threw open the door. Came a woman, muffled up so securely in a cloak
that nothing of her face and form was visible. She stepped into the
area of flickering light provided by the dim gas jet and, loosing her
cloak, threw back the hood.
Fenton's first impression was one of astonishment at her unusual
beauty; his second an odd sense of recognition. She was
small--_petite_ perhaps would give a more accurate impression--but
somehow her smallness seemed an essentiality. Although almost
doll-like in sheer perfection of beauty, there was no suggestion of
fragility about her. Her hair was a shimmering mass of golden curls
dressed with a carelessness that was art itself. Bluest of blue eyes
sparkled with animation; devastating eyes, no doubt, when their owner
so wished, though now they glowed with serious purpose. The mouth was
made for team play with the witching eyes, but it was firm too, very
firm, as though she got whatever she wanted. "A determined little
person," thought Fenton as, standing back in the gloom, he studied her
face. "A little person to be friends with; and, unless I am mistaken,
a little person who would make a very staunch friend. But I'm not sure
that I would want to stand in the way of the little person's plans."
The new-comer was immediately drawn into an earnest conversation,
conducted in low tones, with Prince Peter and Varden. The two men
showed the greatest deference in their attitude toward the girl--a
deference which apparently had its roots in deeper soil than men's
regard for a mere pretty face. When she spoke they listened
attentively and seemed to attach weight to her opinions. Fenton could
not catch what they said so he contented himself with watching the
girl, struggling meanwhile to fix that elusive sense of familiarity
that became stronger in his mind every moment. Where had he seen her
before? Then it came to him suddenly, a graceful gesture of the little
person's arm supplying the necessary clue.
In his mind's eye he saw a crowded assembly hall, a large stage rather
dimly lighted and a little figure that suddenly appeared in the centre
of it. He saw her rise on her toes, smile a wonderful smile that
seemed to grip the hearts of the fashionable audience and then glide
into such a dance as the nymphs must trip as the first faint shafts of
dawn warn them that their nightly revels are over. Anna Petrowa!
After a few minutes the prince stepped back into the room where the
conference had been held and Varden turned toward his friend.
"Come here, Fenton," he said. "Mam'selle, permit me to present our
latest acquisition, Mr Fenton from Canada. Fenton, this is Mam'selle
Anna Petrowa."
Fenton bowed, and the Little Person, for as such Fenton had
unconsciously pigeon-holed her in his mind, smiled. The smile brought
back more vivid recollections of her triumph of that evening when he
had watched her interpret divine music with her flying feet.
"I saw Mademoiselle Petrowa on her tour in our country," said Fenton.
"That was three years ago and it need hardly be added that I recognised
her."
The dancer looked up at him and smiled again. She had relaxed from the
serious attitude maintained during her conversation with Peter and
Varden, and did not seem at all adverse to the prospect of winning
admiration from this big stranger.
"I like your Can--ada," she said, speaking English with musical
limitations. "Some day I go back. Then perhaps I meet Mistaire Fenton
again?"
"I trust our next meeting won't be so long deferred as that," said
Fenton heartily. "I'm expecting to stay here in Ironia for some
time--or until the little matter in hand is settled. I've enlisted
myself as general assistant to Varden."
"And he's plunged right into the thickest of it already," put in
Varden. "He hasn't been in Ironia twenty-four hours yet and he's
already stumbled in on a secret meeting of the Society of Crossed
Swords, dodged half a dozen bullets, insulted Miridoff to his face and
made love to--some of our fairest ladies."
"I believe anything of Mistaire Fenton," said Mademoiselle Petrowa,
"and especially that which you say last. But have care, Mistaire
Fenton, these belles of Ironia--perhaps they aim their deadly glances
more true than the men can shoot."
Their laughter at this sally was interrupted by the return of the
officer, who had been summoned previously to the inner room.
"His highness would speak with Mademoiselle Petrowa," he announced.
When the door had closed leaving them alone together, Fenton turned
eagerly to Varden.
"You promised me plenty of excitement if I stayed here," he said, "but
this is certainly exceeding expectations. Anna Petrowa, _première
danseuse_, engaged in an exciting intrigue in Ironia and turning up at
a most ungodly hour of the morning in the dark ante-room of a
mysterious house! What else have you got up your sleeve, anyway?"
"Let me tell you about the real Anna Petrowa," said Varden. "It will
probably surprise you to know that she has been a Russian secret
service agent for many years. She was born in Moscow, of very poor
parents. They died while she was young, and I guess she had a pretty
trying start in life, taking things all round. She was drafted into
the Imperial ballet finally and soon made her mark as a dancer. At
fourteen she had won recognition as a coming star. At nineteen all
Europe was at her feet. She was a little over twenty when we saw her
in Toronto, and at that time she had already been enlisted into the
ranks of those who follow the most thrilling and dangerous game in the
world--secret service."
"Twenty-four hours ago I wouldn't have believed all this," asserted
Fenton, "but now anything seems possible. But look here, how in
thunder does she happen to be in Serajoz?"
"She was dancing in Vienna when the war broke out," explained Varden.
"It was not safe for her to remain there, so on instructions from
Petrograd she came to Ironia to assist in watching Russian interests
here. She naturally gravitated into close touch with our camp and we
have found her our most valuable and active assistant."
"But what part can a pretty woman play in this rough-and-tumble
business?" asked Fenton.
"Well, you see Mademoiselle Anna has made the acquaintance of one
Lieutenant Neviloff, who is right-hand man to Miridoff. Neviloff has
fallen head-over-heels in love with our bewitching Anna, and--well, she
can simply twist him around her little finger. So you see we have a
most excellent method of getting inside information from the opposite
camp."
Fenton whistled softly.
"She's playing a pretty dangerous part, is our famous Mademoiselle
Little Person," he said. "If they got on to the fact that she's
working with us, I suppose it would go hard with her."
"The Lord have mercy on her if Miridoff ever suspects what she's
doing!" said Varden gravely. "From now on she's going to be doubly
valuable to us. You see, it's going to be necessary to watch them
closely to forestall any attempts on the life of the prince. And we'll
have to depend on Anna Petrowa for that. I don't know which of them is
likely to stand in the most danger from now on, Prince Peter or our
little dancer."
At this point the rest of the party returned from the inner room and an
immediate move toward the street was made.
"There are two cars waiting in the next street for us," whispered
Varden, as they cautiously descended the creaky stairs. "I am to
accompany the prince home--sort of bodyguard, you know. Will you
perform like service for Mademoiselle Petrowa?"
They stepped out into the street to find that the darkness of night had
given place to the light of early dawn. It was decidedly chilly.
Fenton wrapped himself snugly in his cloak and dropped back beside the
diminutive, muffled figure of the dancer.
At that instant a startled shout from ahead broke the stillness.
Fenton saw a figure suddenly loom up out of the darkness with arm
upraised. Something flashed bright in the hand of the unknown
assailant as he hurled himself directly at Prince Peter.
Fenton could see that the man with gleaming dagger raised to strike the
blow that would throw the control of Ironian destinies into the hands
of the King's party was not alone. Another ruffian had emerged from
the shadows of a deep court and was struggling with Varden. He could
see that the prince, taken off his guard, had recoiled a step and was
endeavouring to draw his sword, around which his cloak had become
wrapped in a sudden flurry of the wind. All this the Canadian took in
during the fraction of a second following the warning shout from in
front. Instantly he stripped off his cloak and plunged ahead, throwing
a word of warning back over his shoulder to his companion.
Fenton had been a star half-back in his college days. He covered the
intervening space in faster time than he had ever done when the
touch-line was ahead and the opposing wing men thundered after. The
sound of his flying feet caused the assailant to pause and glance in
that direction, which probably saved the prince's life, for before the
dagger could descend Fenton's fist had found the fellow's jaw with a
glancing blow. The blow was partly spent when it landed, but it had
enough force left behind it to spin the assassin around to one side.
The next moment Fenton's left hand shot forward and gripped the dagger
arm.
The assassin was a wiry fellow, built on the lines most commonly seen
in the Near East. He had short, bowed legs, powerful shoulders, arms
of almost gorilla-like length. His large, hairy hands had an almost
Simian strength, as Fenton found in the struggle that ensued. The
fellow fought with the fury of a wild beast, writhing and snarling and
struggling to reach Fenton's throat with his free hand. It was all
Fenton could do to ward off that powerful paw which would choke the
life out of him once it had found its grip. At the same time, it
required all the strength he could summon to hold back his opponent's
right hand, which still grasped the dagger.
They swayed back and forth, each straining for an advantage. It was a
long time before the assassin relaxed his strenuous efforts for a
winning hold. Finally, however, Fenton's chance came. His opponent
stopped for a moment for breath, and his left hand dropped. Instantly
Fenton stepped back and planted a short-arm upper cut in the general
direction of his face. It landed fairly on the point of the chin. The
ruffian crumpled up at the knees and dropped back on the ground with a
thud. The knife, slipping from his fingers, clattered on the pavement
at Fenton's feet.
The latter paused a moment for breath, then groped carefully for the
knife in the dark. His hand had closed on the handle when Varden
called to him.
"I've managed the other one," he said. "Let's make a clean get-away
while we've got the chance. Discretion is the better part of valour,
particularly when you've fixed up the lesser part of it."
Glancing around, Fenton was rather astonished to find that, with the
exception of the recumbent figures of the two would-be assassins, they
had the street to themselves. The prince and Anna Petrowa had
disappeared. Before he had a chance to express his surprise at this
circumstance, Varden linked arms with him, and led the way at a brisk
pace from the scene of the encounter. Turning the first corner, they
espied a motor-car, the huddled figure of its driver silhouetted
against the sombre, grey-black sky. Varden spoke one sharp word in
Ironian, and opened the door. They slipped into the seats, and the car
glided noiselessly away.
"Well," said Fenton when they had settled back comfortably, "where did
the others go?"
"The prince's safety was, of course, the first consideration,"
explained Varden. "Then, of course, he couldn't risk being seen had
anyone been attracted by the noise. If it were known that Prince Peter
had been mixed up in an affair of this kind, awkward questions would be
asked. Accordingly he waited until he saw that we were able to handle
the pair, and then he quietly got away, taking Anna with him. It was
extremely important that she should not be seen. By this time they've
got safely to the other side of the town."