CHRISTIAN TUESKI.
While the men were straining and fighting to get admission into the
room, I loaded my revolver, seized a heavy stick that lay in a corner,
and opening the window noiselessly and with some little trouble and
agility, got into the street. I let myself into the house and then I
thundered at the outer door of my own rooms as if seeking immediate
admission.
Instantly there was a great scuffling within, and I knew that the men
were making off by the back, in the probable belief that they had been
disturbed by some unexpected caller. Judging the time as best I could,
so that I might perhaps catch one of them, I rushed in suddenly. One
had fled, the second was in the act of dropping from a window, while a
third was just clambering out.
I struck this one a blow on the head which laid him down senseless in a
heap on the floor, and leaning out was in time to give the second a
whack that must have nearly broken his arm. Then without wasting a
moment I bound the man I had knocked down and closely bandaged his eyes.
Telling Paula Tueski that I had scared the rascals away, I dragged the
fellow to the light, that she might recognise him. She identified him
directly, and without a word being spoken except by me, I thrust him
into a dark closet and turned the key on him while I settled what to do
next.
"You knew him, I could see," I said, when I joined my visitor again.
"Is he a police spy?"
"No, not in the ordinary sense. I have seen him with my husband: but
exactly what he is, I don't know. I believe he is one of a small band
of really villainous men, used for especially ugly work."
"But why am I marked out for a visit from them?"
"I believe my husband has suspected you--on my account. I know he
hates you cordially. You remember that affair in the Opera lobby, when
you insulted him so grossly." I nodded: but of course I had not the
remotest idea what she meant. "He never forgives. Since then he has
been accumulating every jot and tittle of fact against you--and you
have given him plenty, Alexis--and if he can work your overthrow, he
will."
"Yes: but why try to get me assassinated. I'll go at once and ask
him," I said, readily and impulsively.
"Are you mad?" exclaimed my companion.
"On the contrary, I'll go and shew him the danger of interfering with
me. Where is he to be found now?"
"At home. He will not leave for an hour yet to make his evening visit
to the Bureau. But he will never consent to see you."
"At any rate I'll try; and I'm much mistaken if I don't force him. I
have a plan," I added, after a minute's thought. "I will clear us both
at a stroke. Go at once to my sister, and tell her from me that I wish
her to come back here with you and wait for me. Mind, too, should
anyone come to fetch away that fellow I've locked up, let Olga say
enough in his presence to make it clear that she was here with us when
the attack was first made. Be quick and careful: for much will depend
on all this being well done."
I drove rapidly to the place and sending in my card asked for an
immediate interview with the Chief of the Police, on urgent business.
The reply came back that M. Tueski could not see me; I was to call at
his office. I sent the messenger back with a peremptory reply that I
must see him, as I had discovered an assassination plot. I was still
refused admittance; though a longer wait shewed me he had considered
the matter carefully.
This time I wrote a brief note:--"One of your hired assassins, has been
identified, has confessed, and lies at this moment bound and in my
power. If you do not see me now I shall communicate direct with the
Ministry of the Interior."
That proved the 'Open Sesame,' and in a few moments, I was ushered into
the presence of one of the most hated men in Russia,--the man I had
been commissioned to kill.
He was a small man with a face that would have been common looking but
for its extraordinarily hard and cold expression. It was lined and
seamed in all directions: and each line might have been drawn by Nature
with the express object of marking him out as an absolutely merciless,
calculating, and emotionless man.
His eyes were very bright as they fixed on me, and his voice, harsh,
high pitched and tuneless.
"Men don't belie your new character when they call you daring," was his
greeting.
He was standing by the side of a long table with his black clothed
figure outlined against the colours of luxuriant tapestries with which
the walls were hung. He motioned me to a chair, near enough to be
within the demands of courtesy to an officer bearing the Emperor's
commission, and far enough removed from him to be safe should the
visitor turn out to be dangerous. I noticed, too, that an electric
bell button was well within reach. "What do you wish with me,
Lieutenant? This visit is unusual."
"I am not accustomed to bother about what is usual where my life is
concerned," I answered, firmly. "I want an answer to a plain question.
Why do you send your bravoes to assassinate me?"
"I have sent no bravoes to assassinate you, Lieutenant. I don't
understand you. We don't hire assassins." As though the whole thing
were ridiculous.
"Yet your wife recognised this man instantly."
"My wife!" he exclaimed, with a sufficient change to shew how this had
touched him.
"Yes. Your wife. She was in my rooms when these men came."
He drew in a deep breath while he looked at me with eyes of hate. I
had got right between the joints of his armour of impassivity. It was
a cruel thrust; but I had an ugly game to play, and was forced to hit
hard.
He seemed to struggle to repress his private feelings and to remain the
impassive official. But human nature and his jealousy beat him, and
his next question came with a jerk that shewed the effort behind it.
"What was she doing there?" His tone was the essence of harsh
bitterness.
"What was she doing there?" I echoed, as if in the greatest
astonishment. "Why, what should she be doing but calling with my
sister? They are there now, keeping guard over your--assistant."
He turned away for a moment to prevent my seeing in his face the relief
which I could hear in his voice as he answered:--
"You are an even bolder man than I thought."
"I don't understand you, of course; but I have need to be bold," I
retorted, "with you against me ready to plan my private execution.
They're heavy odds. But now, perhaps, you'll answer my question--Why
do you do this?"
"There might be many reasons--if it were true," he answered in the same
curt tone he had first used.
"One's enough for me, if it's true," I replied, copying his sharp
manner.
He stood a minute looking at me in silence, and then sat down.
"I think I've been doing you an injustice, Lieutenant," he said,
presently. "I thought when you forced your way into me you might be
coming to assassinate me. But I see now you're not such a fool as to
try and do anything of that kind when you have left a broad trail
behind you that would lead to your certain detection. You are young;
with all the weaknesses of youth strongly developed--rash, hotheaded,
sometimes tipsy, a fool with women, and when, necessary, a knave too,
loose in money matters and unscrupulous, a gambler, a dicer, and a
bankrupt in morals, religion, and honour. But you are shrewd--for
you've deceived everyone about your sword-skill and your courage--and
under the garb of a worthless fellow you have a cool, calculating, and
yet dare-devil head that should make your fortune. Others are more
right about you than I."
"Others?" I asked, interested and amused by this quiet enumeration of
the results of the analysis of two very different, but united
characters. "Who are the others?"
A faint ghost of what in another man would have been a smile relaxed
the grim, hard, straight lips for an instant, in mockery of my attempt
to draw him.
"You are not unknown, Lieutenant, as you may find soon; but you are a
fool to mix yourself up with the Nihilists."
It was my turn now to be on the defensive.
"That is a charge which a child can make and the wisest man can
sometimes fail to rebut," I answered, sharply. "I am not a Nihilist."
He waved his hand as if my repudiation were not worth a serious thought.
"I can make you a career, if you will. If you will act under me...."
"Thank you," I returned, coldly. "I know what you can do. You can put
me first on the list for some task which will insure my being served as
you meant me to be served to-day. One commission is enough for me, and
I prefer the Emperor's."
"You don't know what you say, nor what you refuse."
"All the more reason for not regretting my refusal," I retorted,
lightly. "But this does not answer my question--Why do you seek to
have me assassinated?"
"Siberia is getting overpopulated," he returned, manifestly angry at my
refusal.
"You mean it's cheaper to kill than to exile."
"One must have some regard for its morals, too," he sneered, with a
contempt at which my rage took fire.
I looked at him with a light in my eyes which he could read plainly
enough.
"You are a coward, M. Tueski," said I, sternly: "because you presume
upon the office you hold to say things which without the protection
that guards you, you would not dare to let between your teeth."
"It is useless to talk in that strain to me," he said, shortly. "I
know you."
"No--by Heaven, you don't--yet. But I'll let you know something of me
now. Men say you know no fear; that your loves, desires, emotions, are
all dead--all, save ambition. I'll test that. This plot you have laid
against my life is your own private revenge for some fancied wrong.
You have sought to carry it out even at the very moment when you had
had a hint to guard me. It was cunningly laid, and nearly succeeded;
and then you would have set the blame down at Devinsky's door."
He listened without making a sign: quite impassively. But the mere
fact that he did listen shewed me I was striking the right note, and
further that he wished to see what I meant to do.
"Go on," he said, contemptuously, when I paused.
"I can prove this: aye, and I will prove it, even if I go to the
Emperor himself: and prove it--by your own wife." He could not wholly
conceal the effect of this. He knew the strength of the threat.
"More than that," I cried then, quickening my speech and shewing much
more passion. "You know what the world says about me and your wife.
You shewed me you knew it, when I told you just now that she was in my
rooms when your men came to try and take my life. You have dared to
smirch my honour in regard to women: and you have lied. So far as your
wife is concerned, there has never been a thought of mine toward her
tainted with dishonour. So far as I am concerned she is virgin pure.
But, by God! beware how you taunt me. It lies with you to say whether
I shall change; and if you drive me to it, I'll...."
I left the terrible sentence unfinished; and the change in the man's
manner shewed me how he was inwardly shrinking and wincing at my
desperate words.
"Go on. What do you want?" He spoke after a great effort and strove
to keep his voice at the dead level of official lifelessness. But the
man was an inward fire of rage and jealousy.
"This duel is not my seeking, but yours, M. Tueski," I continued. "And
for my part I would as soon have a truce. But if we are to fight on, I
will use every weapon I can lay my hand on,--and use them desperately.
You can prove the truth of what I say. Send round someone to my rooms
and fetch away the scoundrel who is there. My sister will let him go.
Your wife, her friend, is staying with her to help in case of need.
And whatever else I may be, at least I should not give my mistress to
my sister for a friend."
"You are the devil!" The words forced themselves through his teeth at
this word. I used it deliberately: and it was the shrewdest thing I
could have done. He left the room without another word, going through
a door behind him; and, calling to someone, he whispered some
instructions.
"You have sent? You are right," I said, when he returned. "And now,
call off these bloodhounds of yours; and so long as you play fair with
me, my sister and your wife can be friends. And no longer. One other
condition. Give me two police permits to cross the frontier on special
business--one for me and one for my sister. You may not be sorry if I
decide to take a holiday."
"I cannot give them, and you cannot leave," he answered.
"Write me the permits. I'll see about using them."
"No; I cannot write them. If I did, they would be cancelled to-morrow
by the Ministry of the Interior."
"Why?"
"The fact is what I say. You cannot leave Russia."
"I care nothing for that. Write them--or we resume this duel, M.
Tueski."
He was a changed man. He was so accustomed to exact implicit obedience
to his will, and to ride roughshod over everyone about him, that now
being beaten, his collapse was utter and complete. He was absolutely
overcome by the pressure I could threaten and he thought I was
blackguard enough to apply.
For once at least my old black character did me a good turn. He acted
like a weak child now, entirely subjected by my will. He wrote the
permits as I directed.
As he was writing it occurred to me there must be some influence behind
the scenes which told with him. Else, why did he not forthwith write
out the order for my imprisonment? He had done it hundreds of times
before in the case of men infinitely more influential than myself. His
signature would open the door of any prison in Russia. It suggested
itself that it was this reason which was at the bottom of the attempt
to get me killed. He dared not follow out his own desire.
"One thing puzzles me," I said, coolly, as I took the permits. "Why
haven't you, instead of writing these, written an order packing me off
to gaol? What is this power behind you?"
"I may live in hope, perhaps," he returned. "Your sword and your
shrewdness may carry you far: and some day as far as the gaol you speak
of. I shan't fail to write it when the time comes."
I left him with that.
As I left the house a man pressed close to me, and I turned to see what
he wanted. There was no one else about.
"Is it done?" he whispered.
I looked at him keenly; but I had never seen him before, I thought.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"The night in the riverside wharf," he whispered back.
He was a Nihilist; here right in the very eye of the police web.
"The way is laid," I answered, equivocally, as I hurried away.
I had actually forgotten in my eagerness all about my charge to kill
the man with whom I had been closeted in conference.
But I saw instantly that the Nihilist would probably hold it for an act
of treachery that I had been in Tueski's house and yet had let him live.