THE POWER BEHIND THE THRONE
THE murder of Stolypin, though unsuspected by the chancelleries of
Europe, was, as I have explained, the work of the Hidden Hand of Germany.
Stolypin had suspected the true state of affairs at the Russian Court,
therefore the success of Germany in the coming war depended upon closing
his mouth; so Potsdam, using the erotic monk Rasputin as its catspaw,
effected a coup which had, alas! sad result to Holy Russia.
Stolypin was but one of many persons of both sexes who, because they knew
too much of Germany's secret propaganda in Russia, fell victims in those
constant conspiracies whereby they were swept either into the net of the
corrupt police or into their graves.
As servant of the head of Russia's "Dark Forces"--as Rasputin and
Protopopoff were afterwards denounced in the Duma--I was compelled to be
ever at the saint's elbow; hence I saw and heard much that was
astounding.
One night, a few months after Stolypin's assassination, we had been
bidden to dinner by the great Polish landowner Ivan Volkhovski, who had a
beautiful villa outside Petrograd. There I met a smart, middle-aged
Russian officer, who, over our champagne, declared to me that things were
growing critical in Europe over the Balkan question, but that France and
Russia were united against any attack that Germany might secretly
engineer.
"Then you think that war is really coming?" I asked him in surprise.
"Think!" he echoed. "You are a cosmopolitan, surely! Don't you know? Are
you really blind?"
"Well, I am blind politically," I replied with a wink. "I see that on all
sides people are getting rich quickly and receiving ironmongery--as I
call the tin decorations from the Sovereign--as reward for closing their
eyes to the true facts."
"Ah! I see that you are quite wideawake, my dear Rajevski," said the
officer, whose name was Colonel Dubassoff. "Our friends here in Petrograd
will continue to remain asleep, for they have every incentive, thanks to
the great pro-German propaganda and the generous distribution of German
gold. To-day our enemies in Berlin have their hands outstretched and
clutching upon Paris, New York, Rome and London, just as they have here
in Petrograd. War must come--depend upon it. The English Lord Roberts has
forecast it. He knows!"
"Then you believe that Germany is at work actively arming in preparation
for war?"
"Most certainly I do," replied the colonel. "Only a month ago I was in
London and afterwards in Paris. In London the authorities are not so
entirely asleep as we are in Russia."
Suddenly, as he spoke, I noticed that Rasputin, who was in whispered
conversation with Bishop Theophanus, a fellow-guest, had been listening
very attentively.
Two hours later, when I returned home with Rasputin, he ordered me to sit
down and write a note, which the scoundrel dictated as follows:
"Please listen to N.N. Colonel Paul Dubassoff, of the
Préobrajensky Regiment, has expressed in my presence to-night
disloyalty to the Sovereign, and he is a serious danger to the
State. He should be suppressed."
To this lie the monk scrawled his initials, and next morning the letter
was sent to the Chief of the Secret Police. Within twelve hours the
unfortunate colonel who had dared to pronounce his opinion concerning
Germany's activities was already lodged in the fortress of Peter and
Paul, where, I believe, he remained until the Revolution of 1917.
At that moment, however, the German propaganda in Russia found itself in
an extremely critical state. By Stolypin's murder a new difficulty had
arisen. All the colleagues of the late Prime Minister believed themselves
entitled to become his successor, and as each had his own particular
circle of friends, each naturally pulled all the political wires
possible. Intrigues arose on every hand, and though everybody realised
the personal danger of anybody appointed to the dead man's position, yet
ambition was apparent everywhere.
The Empress, who had now returned from her fateful journey to the Crimea,
was in daily consultation with the monk, it being their intention to
obtain the appointment of some hard-up Minister who, by being well paid
with German gold, would remain inert and keep his mouth closed regarding
the world-plot in progress. Being at Tsarskoe-Selo, and conducting the
Starets's correspondence, I know how deep was the intrigue to keep out
and discredit the Minister of Finance, Vladimir Nicholaievitch Kokovtsov,
who was known to be the only strong man who could succeed Stolypin.
The whole machinery of the pro-German propaganda had been set to work
from Berlin to prevent the mantle of Stolypin falling upon Kokovtsov. Yet
one afternoon, while I sat writing at Rasputin's dictation in his elegant
sitting-room in the palace of Tsarskoe-Selo, the Empress, who was dressed
ready to go for her daily drive, burst angrily in, saying:
"Nikki has just appointed that hateful money-grubber Kokovtsov! I tried
all I could to prevent it, Father. But I have failed!"
Rasputin smiled at her words, and with that sinister calmness that
characterised him in moments of chagrin, he replied:
"Pray do not distress thyself, O lady! Kokovtsov will assuredly not be
long in office when the hand of Gregory is lifted against him."
"He must not remain long. He may get to know too much, as others have
done. In Berlin his appointment will give the greatest offence," she
said.
"I will ask the Almighty's intercession, for I see, O lady, that thou art
nervous and unstrung. Compose thyself, I beg of thee. All will be well,"
and the "healer" crossed himself piously.
Truly, the condition of our dear land was in parlous state. A vogue for
asceticism had sprung up, just as other vogues have become popular in
other European countries.
As head of this circle of ascetic followers the monk had, with the
connivance of Badmayev the herbalist, invented an expedient to deaden the
flesh so as to render it benumbed as with cocaine. Hundreds of
weak-minded women were flocking about him. Some of them were wives and
daughters of the wealthy manufacturing class, but most were of the high
aristocracy, who all regarded my employer as the Saviour of Russia, sent
by Heaven to reform and deliver the "Holy" land from the toils of unrest
and desolation.
We Russians are always idealists. That is our curse. Our religion is,
unfortunately, an obsession, for any drunken scoundrel can become a "holy
man" by simply making such declaration, and ever afterwards "sponging"
upon his neighbours. Rasputin was but an example of this.
After all, it was but natural that, with the bevy of female devotees ever
at his knees, he should attract the gossip of the scandalmongers. Much,
indeed, of what they said was true, for I happen to know that personally.
But on that day at Tsarskoe-Selo I noted the Empress's agitation that
Kokovtsov had been appointed, and began to suspect that the camarilla
would take drastic action in order to defeat him. Indeed, when the
Empress had left the room, Rasputin grew thoughtful in turn, and stroked
his unkempt beard as he paced the floor, saying:
"Ah, Féodor! We must crush this jackanapes. I must see what we can do."
Weeks went by. The usual meetings of the monk's "sister-disciples" were
held at the house in the Poltavskaya, and often in the presence of a
stranger or a female novice about to be admitted to the cult he pretended
to speak to Alexandra Feodorovna over his mock telephone.
Every action of the monk was that of an arrogant and erotic swindler. His
intelligence was, however, extremely perceptive, and he was not wanting
in finesse of the mujik order, combined with a sense of foresight that
was utterly amazing. These, with his suave manner, his affectation of
deepest piety, and his wonderful fascination over women of every age and
every class, had now brought him to the position of the power behind the
Throne.
He already ruled Russia. Tsar and Tsaritza were his puppets, so cleverly
did he play his cards, yet as he frequently remarked to me in the weeks
that followed:
"Kokovtsov is against me. We are enemies. He must go."
I knew that if the Premier had an enemy in Grichka, then the statesman
was doomed.
Now, the plot which Rasputin formed against the new Prime Minister was an
extremely clever and subtle one.
While it was being carried out I often met Vladimir Nicholaievitch, who
was naturally compelled to curry favour with the Father, and consequently
sometimes visited him even against his inclination, no doubt. He was a
long, rather narrow-faced, bearded man, with a pair of deep-set eyes and
a secretive air, subtle by temperament, and keenly alive to his own
interests as well as those of the Empire.
His one sin in the eyes of Alexandra Feodorovna was that he hated
Germany.
"He once lost money in a German financial concern," Rasputin declared to
me one day with a laugh. "That is why he cannot bear the Germans."
The Premier, risen from the middle-class, was a dandy who never looked
one in the face, and whose eyes were ever upon his own clothes, as though
expecting to find specks of dust upon them. He was always immaculately
dressed, and his newly-acquired manners were so perfect that I often
wondered if he carried a book of etiquette in his pocket.
My own estimate of him was that he was too neat, too well groomed, too
civil, too bowing, and too anxious not to forget what he should say at
the right moment. In a word, he was an elegant who had suddenly entered
the Court entourage, in which there was no place for him.
The Tsar had no affection for him, and had merely appointed him because
he believed that he might worry him less than others whose names and
abilities had been put forward.
Poor Kokovtsov! He was in complete ignorance of the clever plot which
Rasputin, at the Empress's suggestion, was engineering against his
patriotic activities. Germany intended to rule Russia in the near
future, and woe betide any statesman who would not remain inert and be
spoon-fed by Teutonic propaganda, or place in his pocket the German marks
held out so temptingly to him. In that way lay advancement, emoluments,
decorations, and the Tsar's favour. To be Russian was, alas! to court
disaster and ignominy.
Monsieur Kokovtsov was typically a good Russian. He had no fighting
spirit, but was essentially a man of peace, entertaining a horror of
bloodshed or of sanguinary deeds. His placid temper caused him to avoid
all questions in dispute. He was prepared to do all possible to benefit
our country. He had cleverly conducted the election campaign, and had all
the governors of each province with him. The Emperor trusted him; the
Empress hated him.
Besides, Kokovtsov was a worker. He did not believe in that favourite
expression among Russians, "_nechevo_," which really means "nothing," but
is equivalent to "don't bother" or "don't worry." In Russia we
unfortunately always have a "_zarftra_," or to-morrow. For that reason he
was disliked also by the people.
It was not many months after his appointment when one night, at the
Poltavskaya, Rasputin received a visit from General Rogogin, the Director
of the Black Cabinet, the _cabinet noir_, the existence of which was
rigorously kept secret until the Revolution afforded the public a glimpse
of Russia behind the scenes.
Even from the tribune of the Duma it was declared that the Black Cabinet
was a fiction. Yet I happened to know that it existed, for later that
evening I accompanied Rasputin and the Director to the General Post
Office, where in three rooms on the second floor of the building the
mysterious department, where correspondence was opened and read, was
situated. Here was the most secret establishment of the Imperial Police.
For over a hundred years had this mysterious department been at work
examining the letters of all classes of people whose thoughts or doings
could be of interest to the Tsar, his Minister of the Interior, or the
Okhrana. Indeed, I learned from the general's conversation with the
monk--I first having taken an oath never to divulge anything of what I
saw or heard--that even the correspondence of the Tsar, his relatives, or
friends was not immune from examination.
Then I instantly realised the reason that the Tsaritza and Rasputin, in
communicating with their friends in Germany, sent their letters by hand.
On the night in question I stood watching with interest how letters for
secret examination were taken from a lift which passed up and down from
the sorting-rooms above to the distributing room below. The basket was
taken off the lift during its slow descent, and another basket
substituted containing letters already examined, so quickly that the man
in charge of the lift below noticed nothing.
We saw several processes of opening letters by steaming them, first
taking an impression in plaster of any seal, and also by cutting off the
end of the envelope by means of a small guillotine. The letters were
dexterously opened, photographed, replaced in their respective envelopes,
refastened and new seals made, or in other cases the ends of the cut
envelopes were resealed by means of paper pulp to match the colour of the
envelope, and placed under pressure in a hot press, thus actually
remaking the paper!
The watchman of this secret chamber was an illiterate, deaf and dumb
peasant.
"Each functionary on being first admitted here," said Rogogin, "is
compelled to take a solemn oath never to divulge its existence to a
living soul--not to his wife, father, sister, brother, or dearest
friend."
All was remarkable, a spying system of which I had never dreamed.
When we entered the Director's well-furnished private room and the door
was closed, Rogogin took from a locker drawer a letter which he handed to
the monk, saying:
"Here is the letter of which I spoke; if I hold it back it may arouse
suspicion."
Rasputin, who could only read with difficulty, looked at the letter, and
then, handing it to me with that lofty air he assumed in the belief that
he could conceal his ignorance, said:
"Féodor, read it to me."
It was on grey paper, and was as follows:
"IMPERIAL RUSSIAN EMBASSY,
"UNTER DEN LINDEN, 7.
"June 8th.
"_Secret._
"YOUR EXCELLENCY,--In accordance with your instructions I beg to
report confidentially as follows: On arrival here I presented my
credentials of His Excellency our Ambassador, and in consequence
was allowed to conduct a confidential inquiry among the staff of
the Embassy, and in other quarters, in which I have been actively
assisted with excellent results by P. Ostrovski, agent of the
Okhrana in Berlin, whom I recommend for advancement.
"My discoveries are several, and of an interesting nature. First,
a person named Hardt, who is often resident in Petrograd, is the
secret courier of the Empress between Potsdam and Tsarskoe-Selo.
Secondly, a sum of one hundred thousand marks was paid by the
Dresdner Bank on March 11th last to the account of one Boris
Stürmer, who has an account in Riga at the Disconto Gesellschaft.
Thirdly, the Emperor William on April 2nd gave audience in secret
at the Berlin Schloss to M. Protopopoff, for which no reason can
be assigned. Fourthly, I have learned on the best authority that
if Herr Hardt were arrested on any of his journeys to Sweden or
Germany, some highly interesting private correspondence would be
found upon him. Fifthly, there is no doubt whatever that the monk
Rasputin is in receipt of money from this city, as I have in my
possession a receipt given by him for two hundred thousand
roubles paid him by the Deutsche Bank, and this I am bringing
with me on my return.
"Further, I have documentary evidence of a widespread German
intrigue in Russia, facts which will, I feel confident, amaze
your Excellency. When I return I shall place in your hands
weapons by which the enemy may be combated. I hesitate to send
any documents through the post in case they miscarry, and I am
addressing this letter to Mademoiselle Pauline, as your
Excellency suggested.
"I have yet some further inquiries to make on your Excellency's
behalf, but I intend to leave Berlin in any case on the
twenty-second. I have the honour to remain, your Excellency's
obedient servant, IVAN BOTKINE."
The monk listened attentively, his big, strange eyes wearing a sly,
crafty expression. He fingered the jewelled cross suspended from his
neck--a habit of his.
"Ah! So Botkine leaves Berlin on the twenty-second. It is well that we
know this, my dear Rogogin--eh?"
"Yes," laughed the traitorous general. "He must not reach Russia."
"Of course not," agreed the monk. "We must obtain possession of this
documentary evidence that he will carry upon him. Who is he?"
"Botkine is a confidential agent in Kokovtsov's employ," was the
Director's reply. "He was, I find, assistant-director of police in Nijni
before the Minister was appointed, and is now in His Excellency's private
service."
"Well, it is excellent that by your astuteness, my dear General, we are
forewarned. If not, there might very easily have resulted a serious
contretemps--eh?"
"Exactly."
"And who is this Mademoiselle Pauline?" asked Rasputin, his clever
criminal brain already at work to defeat a revelation of the truth.
"Pauline Lahure, the little French dancer at the Villa Rode."
"Lahure!" cried Rasputin. "I know her, of course, a music-hall artiste.
She has been lately taken up by the old Countess Bronevski. She was at my
house only a fortnight ago, and wanted to become a 'sister'!"
"As spy of Kokovtsov--eh?"
"Without a doubt," I chimed in. "From all I hear His Excellency is a gay
dog."
"True, my dear Féodor," remarked the monk, fingering the cross nervously,
and then taking a cigarette which the general offered him. "But had not
our friend Rogogin been on the alert and opened the dainty dancer's
letters, what a trap we should have fallen into--not only ourselves, but
the Empress also! Vladimir would have presented the documents to the
Emperor, and an unholy domestic scene would have resulted. This fellow
Botkine must never reach Russia!" he added seriously.
"I agree," replied the general. "Let us see Gutchkoff at once," he added.
General Gutchkoff was a Jew and the director of the dreaded political
police, with whom Rogogin, of course, worked hand-in-glove.
It was then nearly eleven o'clock at night, but we all three drove to
General Gutchkoff's house in the Spaskaya. He was out, his man informed
us.
"I must see him at once," said the monk loftily. "Where is he?"
"He went out to dinner, Holy Father, and he is probably now at the
Krestovsky or at the Bouffes."
"Go at once and find him," said the monk. "It is a matter of extreme
urgency, and we will await him here."
Thus ordered by Gregory Rasputin--who was all-powerful in the
capital--the general's servant ushered us into a cosy little salon,
placed a box of cigarettes and some liqueurs before us, and then himself
left in a droshky to find his master, who was so well known in Petrograd
as a _bon viveur_.
For half an hour Rasputin, much worried by the secret inquiries of the
Premier into the doings of the pro-German camarilla, chatted with the
general, more than once expressing fear regarding the perilous situation.
"Revelations seem imminent," he exclaimed anxiously. "The man Botkine
must never arrive in Russia--you understand that, Rogogin!"
"I quite agree," said the Director of the Black Cabinet. "But Gutchkoff
must see to it. I have done my part in the affair."
"You have done excellently, my dear friend--most excellently," declared
the monk. "Nothing could have been better. I will mention your great
services to the Empress. Yes, we must rely upon Gutchkoff."
In half an hour the servant returned with his master, the head of the
political police, a short, fat man in general's uniform, with
decorations, who, when he entered the room, betrayed unmistakable signs
of having dined well. Indeed, he had been unearthed from a midnight
carouse at a questionable restaurant.
At sight of Rasputin, a power to be reckoned with and a person of whom
even the greatest in the land craved favours, he pulled himself together
and cast himself into a chair to listen.
The monk was clever enough not to enlighten the Police Director regarding
the plot to upset Kokovtsov's undue inquisitiveness. He merely told him
that a certain secret agent named Botkine was leaving Berlin for
Petrograd on the twenty-second.
"The man is dangerous," he added, "extremely dangerous."
"Why?" asked Gutchkoff, somewhat surprised at our midnight visit.
"Because--well, because I happen to know that he is in possession of
certain facts concerning very high personages. He is a blackmailer, and
has been to Berlin to endeavour to sell some documents to Maximilian
Harden--documents which, if published, would place a certain member of
our Imperial family in a very unsatisfactory light," Rasputin said. "My
friend Rogogin here will bear me out."
The Police Director, after a few minutes' silence, asked:
"Has he sold the documents in question?"
"I think not," was Rasputin's reply. "If he has not, he will have them in
his possession on his return. We must secure them at all costs."
"You wish to close his mouth--eh?"
"Yes. He must be suppressed at all hazards," declared the monk. "It is
the wish of the Emperor," he added, a glib lie always ready upon his
tongue. "Further, I need not add that if this affair be conducted in
secrecy and scandal in the Imperial House avoided, His Majesty will
certainly see that you are adequately rewarded. I can promise you that."
General Gutchkoff was again silent. He well knew that if the Tsar had
ordered the man Botkine to be silenced there must be some very unsavoury
affair to be hushed up.
"There is an agent of yours in Berlin named Ostrovski, is there not?" the
monk asked.
"Yes."
"Then he must also be removed at once to another post. Transfer him to
Constantinople, or, better still, to Yokohama. He must not remain in
Berlin another twenty-four hours, and he must, not, at any cost, be
allowed to return to Russia," Rasputin said decisively.
"I scarcely follow you, Holy Father," was the amazed general's reply.
"Ostrovski is very reliable, and has been entrusted with the most
delicate affairs. He has always given me the greatest satisfaction."
"I regret if he is under your protection, but that does not alter
matters. He and Botkine have been acting in unison, and hence Ostrovski
knows more of this scandal concerning a certain member of the Imperial
family than is good for him to know. Promote him with increased salary to
Yokohama, and send him there by way of Marseilles upon some confidential
mission. But on no account must he return to Russia before going to
Japan--you understand? He will no doubt wish to travel by way of Siberia,
but this must be forbidden. If you will write out his appointment, I will
obtain the Emperor's signature to it to-morrow morning."
"You wish me to write out the order now--eh?" asked Gutchkoff, still much
puzzled, but eager to get scent of the particular scandal known to
Botkine.
"Yes, now," replied the monk, pointing to the writing-table, whereupon
the Police Director sat down and wrote out the order transferring the
agent Ostrovski to Japan, an order which Rasputin, after pretending to
read it, handed to me to place in my pocket.
"And now, what about this person Botkine?" asked Gutchkoff. "How do you
wish me to act towards him?"
"In the way that I will direct to-morrow," replied the monk. "I must have
time to devise some plan--a plan which will be secret and arouse no
suspicion," he added grimly, with a sinister smile.
Early next morning I accompanied him to Peterhof, where the Imperial
Court happened to be. Anna Vyrubova was away in Moscow, but without delay
he sought the Empress and remained in her boudoir for a full hour, no
doubt explaining the discovery of Kokovtsov's inquiries in Berlin.
I met the Prime Minister himself in the long corridor guarded by "Araby"
servants which led to the Emperor's private cabinet, and with him was
General Gutchkoff, who had evidently also been summoned to audience
regarding some matters concerning the police administration. Kokovtsov
had no suspicion of what Rasputin had learned, or that Gutchkoff had
promised to act as he directed against his trusted agent Ivan Botkine.
The pair strolled along the softly carpeted corridor, chatting affably,
for they were apparently going to consult His Majesty together. Truly,
the Court world is a strange life of constant intrigue and
double-dealing, of lack of morals and of honesty of purpose and of
patriotism. In our Holy Russia many good men and women have, because of
their love for their own land, been sent to drag out their lives in the
dreariness of the Siberian prison camps.
When the monk returned to me he asked for Ostrovski's appointment,
written on the previous night, which I carried in my pocket. This he took
at once to the Tsar. His Majesty was at that moment closeted with the
Prime Minister, Gutchkoff having already seen the Emperor and,
transacting his business, been dismissed.
Five minutes later Rasputin returned with the Emperor's scribbled
signature still wet, and in my presence handed it to the Director of
Political Police. Ostrovski had been transferred to Japan, where he would
be harmless, even though he might have learned facts from Botkine. But
what had Rasputin decided should be the fate of the latter? For the sake
of Alexandra Feodorovna and the whole camarilla Botkine's lips must, I
knew, be closed. That had been decided. I longed to learn what the
Empress had said when the monk had revealed the truth to her and pointed
out her peril.
No doubt Her Majesty would see to it that the affair was hushed up. I
knew full well that she understood that once Kokovtsov obtained evidence
too many people would be implicated, and perhaps a public trial might
result. Both she and Rasputin, no doubt, realised that it would be unwise
to allow a member of the Okhrana--as Botkine had been--to be arrested,
for fear of the scandal public revelations would cause. The capital
teemed with Germans like Stürmer and Fredericks, traitors like
Protopopoff and Soukhomlinoff, men like Azeff, Guerassimoff and
Kurtz--one day the bosom friend of Ministers and powerful noblemen, and
the next cast into the fortress of Peter and Paul--Rogogin, the sycophant
Raeff--whom Rasputin had made Procurator of the Holy Synod--and the
drunken "saint" Mitia the Blessed--at last dismissed--spiritualists,
charlatans, and cranks. Upon such fine society was the Throne of the
Romanoffs based! Was it any wonder that it was already tottering
preparatory to its fall?
I left Peterhof with Rasputin at about three o'clock that afternoon, and
on our return to the Poltavskaya I spoke over the telephone, at the
monk's orders, to Doctor Badmayev, the expert herbalist who prepared
those secret drugs with which Madame Vyrubova regularly doped the little
Tsarevitch, keeping him in a constant state of ill-health and in such a
condition that he puzzled the most noted physicians in Europe.
Badmayev, a small, ferret-eyed man, his features of Tartar cast, came and
dined with us, after which Rasputin signed a cheque for twenty-eight
thousand roubles, a sum to which "the doctor" was entitled under an
agreement. Well did I know that the sum in question was payment for his
active assistance in supplying certain drugs of which the monk in turn
declared that he himself held the formula. The drugs--which he pretended
to be the secret of the priests of Tibet--were those which he doled out
in small quantities to his sister-disciples, and which produced
insensibility to physical pain, drugs which were so baneful and
pernicious that the monk always warned me against them, and never took
any himself.
After dinner, at which they both drank deeply of champagne, the monk and
his friend went out to spend the evening at a low-class variety theatre,
while I was left alone until midnight.
In consequence I visited some friends in the Ivanovskaya, and returned to
Rasputin's at about a quarter-past twelve. Twenty minutes later he
returned in a hopeless state of intoxication; therefore I did not speak
to him till next morning.
Such was the fellow's vitality that he was up before six o'clock. At
seven he went out, and returned about nine, when he called me to his den.
"Féodor," he said, "I wish you to leave to-day for Vilna, and go to the
Palace Hotel there. Remain until a friend of ours named Heckel calls upon
you."
"Who is Heckel?" I asked, surprised at being sent upon such a long
journey in that sudden manner.
"A friend of Hardt and myself. Do not be inquisitive--only obey. When
Heckel calls please give him this letter," and he handed me a rather
thick letter in an official cartridge envelope of the Imperial Ministry
of Foreign Affairs. "Heckel will tell you that he is from 'Father
Gregory.' He is tall, fair, and rather slim--a German, as you may guess
from his name. Your train leaves at two-forty this afternoon. Be careful
of that letter and to whom you deliver it in secret. Heckel, after
finding you at the hotel, will produce an English five-pound note and
show it to you. That will be his passport. If he does not do so, then do
not give him the letter."
That afternoon I left for Vilna by the Warsaw express, and after a long
journey through the endless pines and silver birches duly arrived at the
hotel indicated, and there awaited my visitor. He arrived next day, a
fair-haired, slim man, just as Rasputin had described him, evidently an
_agent-provocateur_ from Berlin. After he had been ushered into my
bedroom by a waiter, he greeted me warmly, and inquired if I had anything
to hand him.
To this I made an evasive reply, in pretence of being in ignorance of his
meaning, whereupon he said in German:
"Ah! I forgot. You wish first to establish my identity," and laughingly
he produced from his wallet an English five-pound note, which he showed
to me.
In consequence I handed him the letter from the Ministry, which he placed
unopened in his pocket and then left, while that same night I returned to
Petrograd.
Three days later I learned the truth.
Ivan Botkine, the trusted secret agent of the Prime Minister Kokovtsov,
who had left Berlin on the twenty-second for Petrograd, had been found
dead in one of the sleeping compartments on the arrival of the train at
the frontier station of Wirballen. His pockets and valise had been
rifled, and an inquiry had been opened. Though the doctors disagreed as
to the exact cause of death, it was apparent that one of the dishes he
had eaten in the restaurant car an hour before had been poisoned.
Further, I have since established the horrifying fact that the mysterious
letter from the Ministry which I handed to Heckel in Vilna contained a
secret poison! That it was used to remove poor Botkine, Rasputin
afterwards admitted to me. Such were the methods of the camarilla
who were ruling Russia!