Shortly after eleven o'clock that same evening I was strolling with
Hartwig up and down the deserted platform at Victoria Station, my
intention being to take the eleven-fifty p.m. train back to Brighton.
For a full hour we had pressed the informer to explain the real reason
of his visit to Brighton on the previous day. But beyond assuring us
that it was not with any evil intent--which I confess we could scarcely
believe--he declined to reveal anything.
He only repeated his warning that Natalia was in grave personal danger,
and entreated me to be careful. The refugees in that house, all of them
Russians, seemed filled with intense curiosity regarding us, and
especially so, perhaps, because of Hartwig's declaration that he was
bearer of a message from that mysterious leader who was believed to live
somewhere in Moscow, and was known throughout the Russian Empire as "The
ONE."
No doubt after our departure Danilovitch had told them of some secret
message he had received from the mysterious head of the organisation,
who was none other than himself.
But his confession had held both of us practically silent ever since we
had left that dingy house in Lower Clapton.
"Markoff believes that Her Highness is aware of the contents of those
letters," Hartwig said as we strolled together in the great, well-lit
station. Few people were about just at that hour, for the suburban
theatre-goers had not yet arrived. "For that reason it is intended that
her mouth shall be closed."
"But this is murder!" I cried in hot indignation. "I will go straight
to the Emperor, and tell him."
"And what benefit would that be? His Majesty would declare it to be an
effort by some of the General's enemies to disgrace him," my companion
said. "Such damning statements have been made before, but, alas! no
heed has been taken of them!"
"But His Majesty shall hear--and he shall take notice! I will demand in
inquiry into the arrest and exile of Madame de Rosen."
"I thought you told me that you had already mentioned her name to His
Majesty," Hartwig said quietly.
I had forgotten. Yes. His words recalled to me my effort on her
behalf, and the futility of my appeal. I sighed, and bit my lip. The
two innocent ladies were on their way to that far-off dreaded penal
settlement of Yakutsk. From the time which had elapsed since their
arrest I calculated that they were already in Siberia, trudging that
long, never-ending post road--that wide, deeply-rutted track which runs
across those boundless plains between Tobolsk and Tomsk--on the first
stage of their terrible journey of over six thousand miles on foot.
A sudden suggestion flashed across my mind. Should I follow, overtake
them and hear the truth from Marya de Rosen's lips?
Yet before doing so I should be compelled to apply for a passport and
permits at the Ministry of the Interior at Petersburg. If I did this,
Markoff would at once suspect my intention, for travellers do not go to
Siberia for pleasure. And if he suspected my intention a way would
quickly be found by which, when I arrived at my destination, neither of
the ladies would be alive. In Siberia, where there is neither law nor
inquiry, it was, I knew, very easy to close the lips of any person whose
existence might be prejudicial to the authorities. A word from General
Markoff, and an accident would certainly occur.
No. I realised that to relax my vigilance over the safety of Natalia at
that moment would be most injudicious. Besides, was not Natalia herself
aware of the contents of the letters? If not, why had her enemies made
the firm determination that she should meet with a sudden and mysterious
end?
I mentioned to my companion my inclination to travel across Siberia in
search of the exiles; but he only shook his head gravely, saying:
"You are, no doubt, under very close observation. Even if you went, you
might, by so doing, place yourself in grave personal peril. Remember,
Markoff is desperate. The contents of those letters, whatever they may
be, are evidently so damning that he cannot afford exposure. The pains
he took to secure them, and to send Madame de Rosen into exile, plainly
show this. No," he added, "the most judicious plan is to remain here,
near Her Highness, and watch Markoff's operations."
"If Her Highness would only reveal to me the secret of those letters,
then we should be in a position to defy Markoff and reveal him before
the Emperor in his true light," I said.
"She has refused--eh?"
"Yes. I have questioned her a dozen times, but always with the same
result," was my answer.
"But will she refuse, if she knows that her father's tragic end was due
to the wild desire of Markoff to close her lips?"
"Yes. I have already pointed that out to her. Her reply is that what
she learnt was in confidence. It is her friend's secret, and she cannot
betray it. She is the very soul of honour. Her word is her bond."
"You will tell her now of Danilovitch's confession; how the letters were
stolen and handed back to the General by the man whom he holds so
completely in his power?" Hartwig said.
"I shall. But I fear it will make no difference. She is, of course,
eager to expose the General to the Emperor and effect his downfall. She
is fully aware of his corrupt and brutal maladministration of the
department of Political Police, of the bogus plots, and the wholesale
deportment of thousands of innocent persons. But it seems that she gave
a pledge of secrecy to poor madame, and that pledge she refuses to break
at any cost. `It is Marya's secret,' she told me, `not mine.'"
As we were speaking, a tall, straight, good-looking young man in
crush-hat and black overcoat over his dinner-clothes had strolled along
the platform awaiting the train.
My eyes caught his features as he went, when suddenly I recognised in
the young man Richard Drury, whom Her Highness had told me she had known
in her school-days at Eastbourne. I glanced after him and watched his
figure retreating leisurely as he smoked a cigarette until he came
beneath a lamp where he halted. Then, producing an evening paper, he
commenced to while away the time by reading. He was evidently returning
to Brighton by my train.
Apparently the young fellow had not recognised me as Miss Gottorp's
companion of the previous night, therefore standing near, I had an
opportunity of examining him well. He was certainly a typical specimen
of the keen, clean-shaven young Englishman, a man who showed
good-breeding, and whose easy air was that of the gentleman.
Yet I confess that what Her Highness had revealed to me both alarmed and
annoyed me. Madcap that she was, I knew not what folly she might
commit. Nevertheless, after all, so long as she preserved her
_incognito_ no great harm would be done. It was hard upon her to deny
her the least suspicion of flirtation, especially with one whom she had
known in the days before she had put up her hair and put on her
ankle-frocks.
Hartwig and I were undecided what our next move should be, and we were
discussing it. One fact was plain, that in view of the assertion of
Danilovitch, I would now be compelled to keep constant watch over the
skittish young lady whom the Emperor had given into my charge. My idea
of following and overtaking Madame de Rosen in Siberia was out of all
question.
"Are you remaining long in London?" I asked the police official, just
as I was about to step into the train.
"Who knows?" he laughed. "I am at the `Savoy.' The Embassy is unaware
I am in England. But I move quickly, as you know. Perhaps to-morrow I
may have to return to Petersburg. _Au revoir_."
And I wished him adieu, and got into an empty first-class compartment
just as the train was moving from the platform.
I sat in the corner of the carriage full of grave and apprehensive
thoughts.
That strange suspicion which the Emperor had revealed to me on the
afternoon before the last Court ball recurred to me. I held my breath
as a sudden idea flashed across my brain. Had it any connection with
this foul but cunningly-conceived plot to kill an innocent girl whose
only offence was that she was in possession of certain information
which, if revealed, would, I presumed, cause the downfall of that
camarilla surrounding the Emperor?
The thought held me in wonder.
Ah! if only the Emperor would listen to the truth--if only he would view
Markoff and his friends in their true character! But I knew, alas! that
such development of the situation was impossible. Russia, and with her
the Imperial Court, was being terrorised by these desperate attempts to
assassinate the Emperor. Hence His Majesty relied upon Markoff for the
safety of the dynasty. He looked upon him as a marvel of astuteness and
cunning, as indeed he was. But, alas! the burly, grave-eyed man who led
a life haunted by the hourly fear of death--an existence in armoured
rooms and armoured trains, and surrounded by guards whom he even grew to
suspect--was in ignorance that the greater part of the evidence of
conspiracies, incriminating correspondence and secret proclamations put
before him had been actually manufactured by Markoff himself!
At last, after an hour, the express ran slowly into the Brighton
terminus, and as it did so, I caught sight of a figure waiting upon the
platform, which caused me to quickly draw back. The figure was that of
a young girl neatly dressed in black with a small black hat, and though
she wore a veil of spotted net I recognised her at once as Natalia! She
was smiling and waving her tiny black-gloved hand to someone. In an
instant I knew the truth. She was there, even though it were past one
o'clock in the morning, to meet her lover, Richard Drury.
I saw him spring out, raise his hat and shake her hand warmly, and then,
taking care not to be seen, I followed them out as they walked side by
side down the hill in the direction of King's Road.
This action of hers showed her recklessness and lack of discretion.
Apparently she had walked all the way from Hove in order to meet him,
and as they strolled together along the dark, deserted road he was
evidently explaining something to her, while she listened very
attentively.
Surely it was unsafe for her to go forth like that! I was surprised
that Miss West allowed it. But, in all probability that worthy lady was
in bed, and asleep, all unconscious of her charge's escapade.
I had not followed very far before I became aware of a footstep behind
me, and, turning, I saw a small, insignificant-looking man in dark
clothes, who came quickly up to me. It was one of the police-agents
employed at the house in Brunswick Square.
"Well, Dmitri!" I exclaimed in a low voice in French. "So you are
looking after your young mistress--eh?" I asked, with a laugh, pausing
to speak with him in order to allow the lovers to get further off.
"Yes, m'sieur," replied the man in a tone of distinct annoyance.
"This is hardly wise of Her Highness," I said. "This is not the hour to
go out for a stroll."
"No, m'sieur," replied the shrewd agent of police, who had been for
years employed at the palace of the late Grand Duke Nicholas in
Petersburg. "I tell you I do not think it either safe or proper. These
constant meetings must result in scandal."
"Who is that young man?" I asked quickly. "You have made inquiry, no
doubt?"
"Yes, m'sieur, I have. But I can learn very little. He seems to be a
complete mystery--an adventurer, perhaps," declared the suspicious
police-agent in a low, hard voice; adding: "The fact is, that man who
calls himself Richard Drury is, I feel sure, no fit companion for Her
Imperial Highness."
"Why not?" I demanded in eager surprise.
"Because he is not," was the man's enigmatical reply. "I do hope
m'sieur will warn Her Imperial Highness of the danger," he said
reflectively, looking in the direction of the retreating figures.
"Danger!" I echoed. "What danger?"
"There is a grave danger," he asserted firmly. "I have watched, as is
my duty, and I know. Her Highness endeavours all she can to evade my
vigilance, for naturally it is not pleasant to be watched while carrying
on a flirtation. But she does not know what I have discovered
concerning this stranger with whom she appears to have fallen so deeply
in love. They must be parted, m'sieur--parted at once, before it is too
late."
"But what have you discovered?" I asked.
"One astounding and most startling fact," was his slow, deliberate
reply; "a fact which demands their immediate separation."