Just before eleven o'clock that night, accompanied by Hartwig, I called
at Richard Drury's cosy artistic flat in Albemarle Street, and in answer
to my questions his valet, a tall, thin-faced young man, informed me
that his master was not at home.
"I understand that you have had no news of him since last Monday?" I
said. "The fact is, this gentleman is a detective, and we are
endeavouring to elucidate the mystery of Mr Drury's disappearance."
The valet recognised Hartwig as having called before, and invited us
into the small bachelor sitting-room, over the mantelpiece of which were
many photographs of its owner's friends--the majority being of the
opposite sex.
"Well, sir, it's a complete mystery," the man replied. "My master slept
here on Sunday night, and left for the country on Monday afternoon. He
had a directors' meeting at Westminster on Tuesday, and told me that he
should be back at midday. But he has never returned. That's all. They
sent round from the office to know if he was in town, and of course I
told them that he had not come back."
"Have there been any callers lately?" I asked. "Has a lady been here?"
"Only one lady ever calls, sir--a foreign lady named Gottorp."
"And has she been here lately?" I inquired quickly. "She called on the
Friday, and they went out together to lunch at Jules's. She often
calls. She's a very nice young lady, sir."
"She hasn't called since Monday?" I asked.
"No, sir. A stranger--a foreigner--called on Tuesday afternoon and
inquired for Mr Drury."
"A foreigner!" I exclaimed. "Who was he? Describe him."
"Oh! he was a dark, middle-aged man, dressed in a shabby brown suit. He
wanted to see Mr Drury very particularly."
Hartwig and I exchanged glances. Was the caller an agent of Secret
Police.
"What did he say when you told him of your master's absence?"
"He seemed rather puzzled, and went away expressing his intention of
calling again."
"He was a stranger?"
"I'd never seen him before, sir."
"And this Miss Gottorp--is your master very attached to her?"
"He worships her, as the sayin' is, sir," replied the man frankly. "She
lives down at Brighton, and he spends half his time there on her
account."
"You say your master left London for the country on Monday afternoon.
What was his destination?"
"Ah, I don't know. I only know he drove to Victoria, but whether he
left by the South Eastern or the South Coast line is a mystery."
I had already formed a theory that Drury had travelled down to
Eastbourne and had met his well-beloved outside the shop in Terminus
Road. Afterwards both had disappeared! My amazement was mingled with
annoyance and chagrin. Natalia had, alas! too little regard for the
_convenances_. She had acted foolishly, with that recklessness which
had always characterised her and had already scandalised the Imperial
Family. Now it had resulted in her becoming victim of some dastardly
plot, the exact nature of which was not yet apparent.
For half an hour we both questioned Drury's valet, but could learn
little of further interest. Therefore we left, and strolled along
Piccadilly as far as St James's Club, where, until a late hour, we sat
discussing the sensational affair.
Was it an elopement, or had they both fallen victims of some
cleverly-conceived trap in which we detected the sinister hand of His
Excellency General Serge Markoff?
Next day I returned to Brighton and closely questioned Miss West, the
maid Davey, and the puzzled Dmitri. I saw the manager of the hotel
where Drury was in the habit of staying, and, discovering that Drury's
friend, Doctor Ingram, lived in Gower Street, I resumed to London and
that same night succeeded in running him to earth.
He was perfectly frank.
"Dick has disappeared as suddenly as if the earth has swallowed him," he
declared. "I can't make it out, especially as he told me he had a most
important directors' meeting last Tuesday, and that he must travel up to
Greenock on Thursday to be present at the launch of a new cruiser which
his firm is building for the Admiralty. He certainly would have kept
those two appointments had he been free to do so."
"You knew Miss Gottorp, I believe?" I asked of the quiet-mannered,
studious young man in gold-rimmed glasses.
"Quite well. Dick's man told me yesterday that the young lady has also
disappeared," he said. "It is really most extraordinary. I can't make
it out. Dick is not the kind of man to elope, you know. He's too
straightforward and honourable. Besides, he was always made most
welcome at Brunswick Square--though, between ourselves, the young lady
though inexpressibly charming, was always a very great mystery to me. I
went with Dick twice to her house, and on each occasion saw men,
foreigners they seemed, lurking about the hall. They eyed one
suspiciously, and I did not like to visit her on that account."
I pretended ignorance, but could see that he held Natalia in some
suspicion. Indeed, he half hinted that for aught they knew, the pretty
young lady might be some clever foreign adventuress.
At that I laughed heartily. What would he think if I spoke the truth?
Next day I put into the personal columns of several of the London
newspapers an advertisement which read:
"Gottorp.--Have returned: very anxious; write club--Uncle Colin."
Then for four days I waited for a reply, visiting the club a dozen times
each day, but all in vain.
I called at Chesham House one afternoon and had a chat with His
Excellency the Russian Ambassador. He was unaware of Her Imperial
Highness's disappearance, and I did not inform him. I wanted to know
what knowledge he possessed, and whether Markoff was still in
Petersburg. I discovered that he knew nothing, and that at that moment
the Chief of Secret Police was with the Emperor at the military
manoeuvres in progress on that great plain which stretches from the town
of Ivanovo across to the western bank of the broad Volga.
Hartwig was ever active, night and day, but no trace could we find of
the missing couple. Drury's friends, on their part, were making inquiry
in every direction, but all to no avail. The pair had entirely
disappeared.
The house of the conspirators in Lower Clapton was being watched night
and day, but as far as it could be observed there was little or no
activity in that quarter. Danilovitch was still living there in
retirement, going out only after dark, and though he was always shadowed
it could not be found that he ever called at any other place than a
little shop kept by a Russian cigarette-maker in Dean Street, Soho, and
a small eight-roomed villa in North Finchley, where lived a compatriot
named Felix Sasonoff, the London correspondent of one of the Petersburg
daily newspapers.
Our warning had, it seemed, had its effect. Much as we desired to
approach the mysterious head of the so-called Revolutionary
Organisation--the man known as "The One," but whose identity was veiled
in mystery--we dared not do so, knowing that he was our bitterest enemy.
One morning, in despair at obtaining no trace of the missing pair, I
resolved to travel to Petersburg and there make inquiry. I realised
that I must inform the Emperor, even at risk of his displeasure, for,
after all, I had been compelled by my journey to Siberia to relax my
vigilance, though I had left the little madcap under Hartwig's
protection.
What if they had actually eloped! Alas! I knew too well the light
manner in which Natalia regarded the conventions of old-fashioned Mother
Grundy. Indeed, it had often seemed her delight to commit breaches of
the Imperial etiquette and to cause horror in her family.
Yet surely she would never commit such an unpardonable offence as to
elope with Richard Drury!
Again, was she already dead? That was, I confess, my greatest fear,
knowing well the desperate cunning of Serge Markoff, and all that her
decease meant to him.
So, with sudden resolve, I took the Nord Express once more back across
Europe, and four days later found myself again in my old room at the
Embassy, where Stoyanovitch brought me a command to audience from the
Emperor.
How can I adequately describe the interview, which took place in a
spacious room in the Palace of Tzarskoie-Selo.
"So your friend Madame de Rosen was unfortunately dead before you
reached Yakutsk," remarked His Majesty gravely, standing near the window
in a brilliant uniform covered with glittering decorations, for he had
just returned from an official function. "I heard of it," he added.
"The Governor-General Vorontzoff reported to me by telegraph. Indeed,
Trewinnard, I had frequent reports of your progress. I am sorry you
undertook such a journey all in vain."
"I beg of Your Majesty's clemency towards the dead woman's daughter
Luba," I asked.
But he only made a gesture of impatience, saying:
"I have already demanded a report on the whole case. Until that comes,
I regret I cannot act. Vorontzoff will see that the girl is not sent
farther north, and no doubt she will be well treated."
In a few brief words I described some of the scenes I had witnessed on
the Great Post Road, but the Emperor only sighed heavily and replied:
"I regret it, I tell you. But how can I control the loyal Cossacks sent
to escort those who have made attempts upon my life? I admit most
freely that the exile system is wrong, cruel--perhaps inhuman. Yet how
can it be altered?"
"If Your Majesty makes searching inquiry, he will find some terrible
injustices committed in the name of the law."
"In confidence, I tell you, I am having secret inquiry made in certain
quarters," he replied. "And, Trewinnard, I wish you, if you will, to
make out for me a full and confidential report on your journey, and I
will then have all your allegations investigated."
I thanked him. Though an autocrat, he was yet a humane and just ruler--
when he was allowed to exercise justice, which, unfortunately, was but
seldom.
"My journey had a tragic sequel in Yakutsk, Sire," I said presently,
"and upon my return to England I was met with still another misfortune--
a misfortune upon which I desire to consult Your Imperial Majesty."
"What?" he asked, opening his eyes widely. "A further misfortune?"
"I regret to be compelled to report that her Imperial Highness the Grand
Duchess Natalia has disappeared," I said in a low voice.
His dark, heavy brows narrowed, his cheeks went pale, and his lips
compressed.
"Disappeared!" he gasped. "What do you mean? Describe this latest
escapade of hers--for I suppose it is some ridiculous freak or other?"
"I fear not, Sire," was my reply. Then, having described to him the
facts as I have related them here to you, my reader, omitting, of
course, all reference to Richard Drury, I added: "What I fear is that
Her Highness has fallen victim to some revolutionary plot."
"Why? What motive can the revolutionary party have in making an attempt
upon her--a mere giddy girl?"
"The fame motive which incited the attempt in Petersburg, in which her
lamented father lost his life," was my quiet reply.
His Majesty touched a bell, and in answer Stoyanovitch appeared upon the
threshold and saluted.
"If General Markoff is still here I desire to see him immediately."
The Captain saluted, backed out and withdrew.
I held my breath. This was, indeed, a misfortune. I had no wish that
Markoff should know of the inquiries I was instituting.
"May I venture to make a request of Your Majesty?" I asked in a low,
uncertain voice.
"What is it?" he asked with quick irritation.
"That General Markoff shall be allowed to remain in ignorance of Her
Highness's disappearance?"
"Why?" asked the Emperor, looking across at me in surprise.
"Because--well, because, for certain reasons, I believe secrecy at
present to be the best course," I replied somewhat lamely.
"Nonsense!" was his abrupt response. "Natalia is missing. You suspect
that she has fallen victim to some conspiracy. Therefore Markoff must
know, and our Secret Police must investigate. Markoff knows of every
plot as soon as it is conceived. His organisation is marvellous. He
will probably know something. Fortunately, he had only just left me on
your arrival."
His Excellency probably left the Emperor's presence because he did not
wish to meet me face to face.
Again I tried to impress upon His Majesty that, as Hartwig had commenced
an investigation in England, the matter might be left to him. But he
only replied:
"Hartwig is head of the criminal police. He therefore has little, if
any, knowledge of the revolutionaries. No, Trewinnard. This is
essentially a matter for Markoff."
I bit my lips, for next second the white-enamelled steel door of that
bomb-proof room in which we were standing was thrown open, and a
chamberlain announced:
"His Excellency General Serge Markoff!"