I did not leave my rooms on the following day, and passed the chief
part of it preparing for the part I was to play in the evening, and
discussing the details.
The Prince and I had several interviews, and his confidential
attendant, a Frenchman named Pierre, waited on me. From him I had a
number of hints as to little characteristics of the Emperor, gestures,
movements, habits and so on, calculated to help out my rendering of the
part.
We arranged that I should go in ordinary morning dress, and over this I
was to wear a semi-military cloak borrowed from the Imperial wardrobe.
The papers I required were all prepared with scrupulous care. These
were a patent of nobility making Boreski a Count--and I was instructed
how to perform the little ceremony of investing him with it; a written
consent to his marriage with the Duchess Stephanie; and a draft upon
the Imperial Treasury for the sum of a million roubles.
“The draft is post dated, as you see,” said the Prince, “as the money
is intended for the Duchess’s dowry, and is not payable until the
marriage. You can explain this.”
“He’ll probably look for the money down,” I objected at once.
“He is dealing with an Emperor who would not break faith with him,”
returned the Prince with a grim smile reminiscent of our previous
night’s discussion.
“If these papers are so valuable, why not give the money at once and
let me take it in bank notes?”
“When we have the papers we can deal with him for a tenth part of the
sum. A million, indeed!”
“If your economic instincts lead to trouble, don’t blame me,” I
returned a little sharply. “I repeat I think you should send notes.”
“Your Majesty can promise him anything. If he raises any difficulty he
can come to me,” he added.
“There is nothing else I have to take?”
“Nothing except this ring of the Emperor’s. You had better wear it, as
it is well known; and perhaps had better take a revolver, although I
don’t think you will have any trouble calling for one.”
“One never knows,” said I, and decided to take his advice.
“You will, of course, be cautious not to attempt a word of Russian.
Your accent would betray you in a moment. You can use French with
absolute safety, as His Majesty’s unfortunate preference for that
language is well known. That is most important.”
“I’m not likely to forget. I can understand everything in Russian, but
I know my limitations.”
“Then I will go and get ready to accompany you on the first part of the
journey to the rendezvous at the Square of St. Peter.”
Now that the time was so close I was a good deal excited and impatient
for the curtain to go up.
“You have His Majesty’s figure and walk remarkably, m’sieur,” said
the Prince’s man watching me closely. “From behind I myself should be
deceived even at so short a distance and in so good a light as this. It
is wonderful.”
“Unfortunately I can’t keep my back turned to people all the time.”
“That is true, m’sieur; but then it is always safer to turn the face
to--dangers, is it not?” He put so much emphasis on the word that I
turned and looked at him.
“You think a good deal of the dangers, then, Pierre?”
“There is always danger in this Russia;” and he grimaced to show his
French dislike of it.
“Yet you stay here.”
“I am only a valet, m’sieur, they pass over my head. But I have been
fifteen years in the country and have seen many strange things.”
“If the Emperor were really going on this business, you think he would
run big risks?”
“It may be different with you, m’sieur; you may be discovered in time.
But if it were the Emperor, I should rub my hands with pleasure to see
him return.”
“You take a cheerful view of things, Pierre. I expect you have a liver
that troubles you.”
He threw up his hands and shoulders.
“Americans and English are the same and like mad risks. But I would not
do this--no, not for the crown of Russia. I know what I know.”
“And I do it for the love of the thing, and I suppose that’s about the
difference between us.”
“Monsieur is monsieur,” he replied with a comical, lachrymose air. “But
you will need to be very cautious. You have friends in Petersburg,
probably?”
“No, indeed. No one knows of my presence here.”
“That is strange--but perhaps--convenient. You would not be missed.”
“No, not by a soul except here in the Palace.”
He smiled mysteriously.
“If you are discovered, m’sieur, I should not let that fact be known. I
should speak of many. A friendless man may be a helpless one.”
“You have a pleasant imagination, Pierre.”
“Russia is not France, m’sieur, nor America,” he replied, cryptically,
with so lugubrious an air that I smiled.
It was not a cheerful send-off, and in the carriage I told old Kalkov
what his man had said.
“Pierre is a good valet but a fool,” he answered with a grunt. “He had
his nerves twisted once in a Nihilist row, and ever since has seen a
Nihilist conspiracy in every trouble.”
“You don’t take these conspiracies seriously?”
“As a rule, no; occasionally they are dangerous of course; but
generally little more than froth and wind--mere political dyspepsia
from the soured stomach of sectional discontent.”
“Is this Boreski a Nihilist?”
“Possibly. It is always possible. But I think not. We shall know much
more when you return.”
“If I do return, that is.”
“Naturally;” and he smiled, not pleasantly.
I began to think how the cat must have felt when she had burnt her foot
in drawing the chestnuts out of the fire and saw the monkey enjoying
them. But it was too late to retreat now, even if I had been so
minded. The Prince felt something of this, I fancy, for he gave me the
opportunity.
“If you have any fear, M. Denver, and wish to draw back, we can return
to the Palace.”
“Not on any account.”
“I want you to feel, whatever happens, that you have gone into the
thing quite voluntarily. I wish to feel that too.”
“I shall see it through, Prince.”
“Spoken like an American,” he replied promptly, and a minute afterwards
the carriage stopped. “We have arrived.”
We got out on the north side of a large square and looked about for the
other carriage. None was in sight, but a hooded automobile stood in the
shadow on the opposite side.
“Can that be it?” I asked the Prince.
“It would be very easily traced,” he said.
“But not so easily followed. There is no other and we are already a few
minutes behind time.”
“We can cross and see.”
His face was full of doubt.
“I had better go alone,” I replied, detaining him.
“As you will. God send you may be successful for the sake of Russia.”
His tone was intensely earnest, and with the words ringing in my ears
I swung off into the road in the direction of the autocar, and when I
turned once I saw him watching me intently and eagerly.
Now that the moment for action had really come, I was as cool as I
could have wished. I took a mental note of everything and I was careful
to assume so far as possible the swinging stride of the man I was
personating.
As I neared the car a man stepped from inside it and touched his cap.
“Who is your master?” I asked, putting all the authority I could
into my manner, and staring hard at the man. He was dressed like a
chauffeur, and save for his black beard and moustache his face was
almost hidden by the peak of his cap and a pair of hideous driving
goggles.
“M. Boreski, m’sieur.” His French was that of an educated man, I
thought.
“What are your instructions?”
“We are waiting for some one from the Palace, m’sieur.” The “we”
struck me as peculiar. I stopped by the car and looked harder at him.
“You speak French with a good accent, my man,” I said, with some
suspicion in my tone, and then the unexpected happened.
A girl, closely veiled, put her head out from the hood which covered
the back seat, and with a dash of contempt said--
“The American will scarcely be afraid to trust himself with a woman.”
I gave a start of genuine pleasure. It was the girl who had spoken to
me on the train.
“With you, mademoiselle, I would trust myself anywhere;” and without
hesitation I took the seat by her side.
The chauffeur got into his place and we were off at a smart pace into
the darkness.
I looked back at old Kalkov and waved my hand to him, and as we whirled
round the corner out of the square he drew himself up and gave me a
military salute.
If I had any doubts before, they vanished the moment I was by the side
of the girl. The adventure had taken just the turn I could have wished;
and come what might, I was resolved to have a good time.
“That was Prince Kalkov, your Majesty?” she asked, speaking in Russian.
I answered in French.
“Yes, my very faithful old friend and counsellor to whose planning I
owe this--this excursion, shall we call it?”
“Your Majesty is----”
“Wait, please. This is a very unusual matter. I make one condition at
the outset. My incognito must be strictly maintained by every one--by
every one, if you please. I am not the Emperor, but as I told you
yesterday, an American. My name is Harper C. Denver. I do not even
speak the Russian language, although I can understand it, and I am
travelling in Russia for pleasure.”
She was undeniably as smart as she was pretty. She listened to me
intently, and she asked in English.
“You speak and understand English then perfectly.”
It was a pretty trap, but I was not to be drawn, so I replied in
French--
“An American must necessarily speak his own language, mademoiselle;”
and at that she laughed softly.
“You are doubtless staying at the Hotel Imperial, the favourite hotel
with Americans?”
“No, I am staying at the Palace with my friend the Emperor;” a truth
which sounded so ridiculous that she laughed again.
“We will be careful that a friend of our Emperor has his wishes
regarded so far as possible.”
We rode some distance after that without speaking until I broke the
silence.
“There are three questions I should like to ask, mademoiselle. Have I
your permission?”
“I cannot pledge myself to answer them, m’sieur.”
“Where are we going?”
“That will depend upon whether you have kept faith with M. Boreski.”
“In what way?”
“Are we being followed?”
“I gave express orders to the contrary.”
“An American citizen can give orders to the police in Russia then,
m’sieur,” she put in.
“Under certain circumstances an American citizen can be master of the
situation,” I replied equivocally and with more truth than she could
have any idea of. “Will you answer my question?”
“About ten miles, if all goes well--if your orders have been obeyed,
that is. We shall soon know.”
“You shall have any proof I can give you of my good faith in this
respect. How shall we know?”
She appeared to think for a few moments, then turned and looked at me
through her veil.
“If you mean that, there will be no difficulty.”
“I give you my word of honour. Let me put my second question. Do you
pledge yourself, you mademoiselle, personally, for my safety?”
“Unconditionally, and so will M. Boreski.”
“I don’t care about him. It is to you I trust.”
I felt her start and her voice was unsteady as she replied--
“On my honour, your Majesty shall not regret that confidence.”
“Then I will do anything and everything you ask. I put myself
absolutely in your hands.”
She rose then and spoke to the chauffeur.
“M. Boreski says your spies are dogging us and that the streets are
alive with them.”
“That is M. Boreski?” I asked indicating the chauffeur.
“Yes, that is M. Boreski. We anticipated there would be treachery of
the kind.” There was again a spice of contempt in her tone.
“So far as I am concerned your suspicions are unwarranted,
mademoiselle. I have been badly served, and some one shall suffer for
it. But what do you propose?”
“Will you change from this carriage into another with me, leaving this
to be followed by your police?”
There was the same touch of scorn in her manner.
“Certainly I will not if you continue to doubt my personal good faith.
I will return to the Palace and leave the thing to be arranged in some
other way. Otherwise, I am, as I said, absolutely in your hands.”
“I am convinced and ashamed of my doubts. Please forgive me.” She spoke
quickly and eagerly.
“Then let us make the change as soon as you will.”
She spoke again to Boreski, and the machine gave a spurt forward as
he increased the speed until we were flying along at a rate that made
conversation almost impossible.
After some time we swung round a corner and stopped with a sudden jerk.
“Now,” cried Boreski eagerly, and in a moment we two were on the ground
and he had started again, while the girl drew me inside the gates of a
house.
“You will see now how you have been obeyed,” she said, and the words
were scarcely out of her lips before a vehicle, driven at full gallop
with a couple of mounted men close behind it, went dashing and
clattering past us on the track of the automobile. “They are your
police, monsieur, and have now a long ride before them.”
She referred to them with a shrug of utter contempt.
“We have a short distance to go in the opposite direction, and shall
then find a carriage.”
Her coolness was admirable, and when we started to walk she could not
have been more unconcerned if I had been merely seeing her home from a
pink tea in New York.
We passed through two or three streets, meeting only a few loungers,
and as we crossed a more important thoroughfare at the corner of which
a man and a woman stood talking, my companion stopped and asked the
woman where we could get a drosky. She spoke in broken Russian and
added--
“We are Americans and have lost our way.”
“You will find none about here,” the man answered, and spoke in English.
“We are in a fix, it seems.”
“Which is the way to St. Mark’s Square?” I asked. “I know my way from
there.”
He gave us minute directions and we walked on.
“Those are police spies,” said my companion quietly, “and if we had
not spoken to them, they would probably have followed us. But no one
suspects Americans.”
“How well you speak English,” I said, off my guard for a moment.
“No better than you, monsieur,” she replied simply. “Your question in
English was a great stroke!”
“You have been in England?”
“Yes, two or three times. I was educated there and in France. What a
country of freedom is England. We shall get our carriage here,” she
said a little later, and presently it came rumbling along slowly and
stopped at a signal from her.
“We shall not be more than a few minutes now,” she said as we got in.
“You have not told me your name, mademoiselle?”
“I am Helga; and take the same surname as my cousin, M. Boreski--until
my mission is accomplished.”
“Your mission? What is that?”
“I will tell you some day--if you will grant me a hearing?”
“You may always depend on that, mademoiselle,” I answered as earnestly
as I felt, so earnestly indeed that she turned and looked at me in
surprise.
“Pray God your Majesty means that.”
And I was still pondering her reply when the carriage stopped and she
told me we had reached our destination.