“In mortal peril.”
When I once more became conscious of my surroundings, I was seated in a
chair, in the center of a large, low-ceiled apartment, of which the
atmosphere was chill and damp and the light feeble. I was supported on
either side by a figure clad in a long gray cloak and wearing a gray
hood and scarlet domino. As my scared senses reasserted themselves more
fully, I could see that the room was peopled by many other figures
similarly attired, and that my presence among them was the central
subject of interest.
Nay, there was one other object that must have been of even more
horrible interest than I was! In front of the chair upon which I was
seated there lay a recumbent figure, covered by a large square of black
cloth. It was outlined with horrible distinctness, and a shudder ran
through me as I realized that this was the dead body of the man I had
seen struck down while in the act of shadowing my husband for some
purpose unknown to me, though I could not have imagined that purpose
anything but inimical to his safety.
And where was he, the beloved object for whose sake I had braved the
dangers which now encompassed me? I looked around me, hoping to
recognize his figure among the many with which I was surrounded. But
alas! the enshrouding cloaks and obscuring dominos would not permit
recognition, and my heart sank within me as I thought that even were he
here he might find it impossible to be of service to me without
endangering his own life.
At the end of the chamber in which I now found myself was a slightly
raised platform upon which were seated seven or eight of the cloaked
figures. But I noticed that in their case the cloak was black and the
domino yellow, and I conjectured rightly that they were the rulers of
the assembly. I was feeling acute bodily suffering, yet that was for the
time lost sight of in the horror of possible speedy annihilation.
Have any of my readers ever been in a situation of mortal terror? If so,
they will be able to realize the acuteness of perception with which I
regarded everything around me, and the miraculous swiftness with which
the most irrelevant ideas chased each other through my brain. Even while
trying to pierce the disguise of my possible judges, I found myself
wondering how dear little Jerry was getting on, and whether Belle’s
wedding would be postponed again or not.
But, after what seemed an interminable time, the silence was at last
broken by a voice which ordered, in deep, impressive tones, “Remove that
covering.”
Instantly four figures approached the object lying in front of me, two
from either side of the room, and each one silently lifted a corner of
the cloth, and doubled it back, so as to expose the corpse of a man
whose countenance wore such an expression of terror and agony as made me
use desperate efforts to cover my face with my hands. But they were held
tight by the two persons who supported me on my seat, and the same
sonorous voice which I had already heard commanded me to look upon the
face that lay in front of me, and ponder upon the fate mapped out for
all traitors to their country.
Such a command was not reassuring, and I relapsed into trembling
passivity, while black cloaks and gray cloaks proceeded to try the
murdered man after he was dead.
“What is the name of that traitor?” was the question I heard, from the
lips of the man who seemed to be the president of the assembly.
“Karol Gratowitzki.”
“What was his crime?”
“He was a government spy.”
“And his special mission?”
“To dog the footsteps of Number Finis.”
“Then he deserves his fate. Who was the avenger?”
“Number Sixteen.”
“Then his exemption from future death-service has been earned.”
At these words the man who had replied to the above questions stepped
forward, bowed to those who were seated on the platform, uttered a
formula, of which I did not catch the import, and then ranged himself
upon the opposite side of the room to the one he had previously been
standing at.
“Remove the body,” was the next command. In another moment the board
upon which the dead man had been laid was re-covered, and was lifted up
by four figures, who marched down the room with it, and disappeared
through a low door, which was bolted after their exit, amid a dead
silence on the part of those left behind.
“Now my turn is at hand,” I thought, feeling sick with dread, and
looking in vain for a friendly sparkle in the eyes of the silent figures
around me. My premonition was correct, for the next words I heard
referred to myself.
“Who is the prisoner?”
“We do not know,” was the reply.
“How came she here?”
“She was spying upon one of our chosen.”
“Did she betray antagonistic intentions?”
“Yes; she sprang forward, as if to strike, simultaneously with the man
who has already been removed.”
“What weapons has she in her possession?”
“None that we have seen. She has not yet been searched.”
“Remove her, and search her.”
Up to this point I had remained silent, for my tongue refused to utter a
sound. But the prospect of suffering the indignity of having my clothing
removed for the purpose of examination made me utter a startled protest.
There was, indeed, a tiny English revolver hidden in my dress for
defensive purposes. But how was I to convince these stern martinets that
I would never have dreamed of hurting any one, unless it was absolutely
necessary, in order to save either my own life or my husband’s.
“Indeed!” I cried, forgetting that I was not speaking to a meeting of
English people, “I assure you that I am innocent of the remotest
intention of injuring any one belonging to you. And surely I have
already suffered indignity enough!”
There was a slight movement of surprise, as if my nationality had been
unsuspected, and then one of the black-cloaked figures who had hitherto
not spoken stepped forward, and addressed the president in a low tone.
Receiving an affirmative reply to some suggestion which he offered, he
proceeded to cross-question me in very good English.
I am sure that I created an unfavorable impression where I was most
anxious to be conciliatory, for, after partially unfolding my story, I
was seized with sudden alarm on behalf of Sergius, and forthwith became
as reticent as I had a few moments before been voluble. For was it not
possible that undue candor on my part might betray some secret hitherto
carefully preserved by my husband? Suppose his marriage, while still a
member of this dread society, was against the rules? And suppose I were
betraying a secret that might prove fatal to him, if I spoke of his
recent absence from the country for which he had sworn to give up his
life? Of all that concerned his connection with the people who now had
me in their power he had told me nothing, and in all likelihood his
reticence on this subject was entirely due to considerations of personal
safety. Perhaps he was under oath to reveal nothing. How, then, was I to
account not merely for my knowledge of the fact that he was a member of
this society, but of the still more perilous secret of his motive for
returning to Russia? Or of my own object in following him?
Would not my admission that my presence in Moscow was the result of my
private determination to frustrate an event which they regarded as
necessary for the salvation of their country be sufficient to procure my
own death-warrant as well as my husband’s? Mine because they must
necessarily regard me as an enemy, his because he was, even if
unwillingly, the cause of my knowledge of their deadly secret. Alas!
where was he? Surely, if he were present, he would at once have tried to
save me from the summary fate which hung over me. And yet, to do so
might be to risk his own safety.
Truly, vanity was never reproved more cruelly than mine was then! When
the Princess Nina had told me that, so far from my presence near him
being advantageous to Sergius, it might prove an additional source of
peril, I did not believe her, since I meant to be too cautious to run
into danger. And here I was, in dire extremity, and likely to involve my
dear husband in my own ruin, all because I had had too much faith in the
superiority of my own judgment.
The position, too, was one that was very difficult to understand. How
did I come to be classed with the man who had already succumbed to the
swift vengeance of this terrible society? The solution of this question
was beyond my powers, but I was at least able to grasp one fact. Sergius
must be the Number Finis whom the stranger was said to have been
shadowing. And his safety was of such importance to the society that
protectors, two and three deep, followed in his wake.
Some of these must have watched my pursuit of him, and must have
imagined me to be his enemy. As this thought thrust itself forward, I
began to feel less despairing, but could still not quite determine
whether his speedy arrival on the scene would be conducive to my
salvation, or to his undoing, and my brain became so bewildered that I
hardly knew whether to pray for his prompt arrival or for his continued
absence. There had been a break in the stern mode of conducting the
inquiry. The door was silently opened by the janitor, in response to a
signal from without, and three persons entered, who evidently brought
news of stirring import, though its nature was not permitted to reach my
ears. There was a buzz of excited voices, and the prevailing feeling
seemed to be one of consternation. Several people who had hitherto kept
silent joined in the conversation, and some hurriedly left the
apartment. Although I had made wonderful progress with the Russian
language, it was still beyond my power to comprehend very rapidly spoken
utterances, and even if the discussion had been carried on in a louder
tone I might still have been unable to grasp its full import. But I
could at least tell that the news received was provocative of grief in
the breasts of some of this mysterious assemblage of people, while
others were stirred to menacing anger.
How this anger might affect my own fate was impossible for me to tell.
But at all events I had received a momentary respite, and the dread of
instant death was removed from me. Even my hands were now released, and
had I been able to do so I might have stood up unhindered. But I was
sick and giddy, from the combined effects of the violence to which I had
been subjected, and of the mental distress under which I was laboring,
and could now do no more than gaze helplessly around me, and wonder why
Sergius did not come to my rescue.
Presently the excitement abated again, and the cloaked figures resumed
their places, the three latest comers approaching close to where I was
sitting.
“Now, Brother Finis,” said the president, “look closely at this woman,
who was caught dogging your footsteps, in company with a man whom we
know to have been a government spy, and tell us if you have seen her
before.”
My heart leaped to my mouth at these words. This must be Sergius,
although the ample folds of his cloak, and his hood and domino, had
prevented me from recognizing him.
Hastily stepping forward, he now obtained a full view of me for the
first time. He did not recognize me for a moment, owing to my
disfiguring wig. But when I looked appealingly at him, clasped my hands
in an attitude of distress, and sobbed just the one word. “Sergius!” he
started as if struck by lightning.
The next instant he had pushed both my bonnet and my wig from my
forehead, disclosing my own dark curls, and as at last I succumbed again
to the faintness which had oppressed me for so long, I heard, my
husband’s voice exclaim:
“My God! This is my wife!”
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