It was fortunate for my peace of mind in the hours which followed
Helga’s arrest that I did not know a number of grim facts that
afterwards came to my knowledge about Russian methods in dealing with
certain classes of offenders.
Her case was bad enough at the best. Prince Kalkov was one of the
most dangerous men in the Empire to have for an enemy; and that he
was Helga’s bitter enemy he had shown already. Her secret attack had
threatened his influence and position and had thus roused him to
vigorous measures of self-defence.
As I recalled my last interview with him, I saw now that he had
deliberately goaded me to passion and then let drop the hint of
possible escape in order to drive me to make the attempt which he had
planned to end fatally for me. And in thus goading me he had shown his
hand against her so openly, because he believed I should not live to
speak of it.
I thought I could see something more, too. He had not scrupled first to
use the brotherhood for his own purposes against Helga, and then had
swooped down upon them at the moment they were serving his end and had
made the raid upon them. In this way he had probably calculated not
only to demonstrate the vigilance of his agents but also to secure the
silence of the men he had used, should anything compromising to him
transpire.
As the result of that raid he had found that Helga had slipped through
his net and had taken the papers with her; and had learnt from Drexel
no doubt, that I had been with her at the house.
The hue and cry had followed which had led to the arrest of Helga and,
as he had no doubt been informed, of myself as well.
The net had been cast wide and, as both the birds had seemingly been
caught in its meshes, he would probably feel easy enough in mind.
There was only one point in which he had failed. He had not secured the
precious papers; and I had to consider what he was likely to do in
consequence.
I came to the conclusion that under the circumstances although he might
possibly see Helga to question her, he was not likely to see Siegel. In
my last interview he had threatened to have me charged with Vastic’s
murder, and I had left him to do it; and this was no doubt the charge
which Siegel would find himself called upon to face. He would have no
difficulty whatever in meeting it, of course, the moment he chose to
open his lips; but as he wished to learn at first hand the secrets of
the Russian prison, he would not speak for a while.
I should thus have time to operate, and my course was fairly clear. I
had to get to the Emperor himself with my story before Kalkov had any
suspicion that I was not safely under lock and key. If he knew I was
still at liberty he would put insuperable difficulties in my way, as he
had before.
I left the cars at Insterburg accordingly and caught the limited back
to the capital. The journey was without incident. I was recognized at
Kovna; but no questions save those prompted by curiosity were asked me.
My friend the police agent had spoken about me to one or two of the
officials, and what he had said had apparently been very much in my
favour. The elderly man whom I had seen lead Siegel away at the moment
when he seemed about to show fight, was particularly gracious to me;
and after a general query or so, he asked--
“Was the American whom we arrested here a friend of yours, monsieur?”
“Of course, in a sense all Americans are friends,” I replied evasively.
“Do you know his name?”
“There are some sixty millions of us Americans;” and I laughed. “Are
you sure he was an American?” I preferred to do the questioning.
“He would say nothing, not even his name.”
“Could I see him? I might by chance know him. A newspaper man gets to
know a lot of faces.”
“He has been sent back to the capital. If I can venture to warn
you----” he paused and looked at me.
“I shall be only too glad of a hint.”
“I should not seek him out then, if I were you. We know little about
him, but in our instructions the charge is an ugly one.”
I laughed.
“Well, when we Americans take a thing up we generally do it in earnest,
whatever it is. But I don’t believe any American would ever turn
Nihilist.”
“Yet you have had Anarchists in your country. Some of your Presidents
have been assassinated, monsieur; is it not so?”
“By madmen or wild European scum; not by honest Americans.”
He raised his eyebrows, smiled, and shook his head.
“The disease is the same in all countries. This man is a murderer,
monsieur,” he answered slowly and emphatically. “He was escaping.”
Poor Siegel! I could have laughed again; but did not. I was
appropriately shocked, almost horror-struck, at the news.
“It is terrible,” I said, gravely. “One cannot wish to help such a
criminal as a murderer, even if he be one’s own countryman;” and with
that we parted.
The one item of fact I had gathered was that the prisoners had been
sent back to Petersburg; and in the hours of my journey I had ample
time to consider my plans, and had them pretty well cut and dried when
I reached the capital.
I chose a quiet hotel for the night, registered myself as Frank Siegel
of San Francisco, and after a supper served in my own rooms, I went
straight to bed.
I took all the precautions I could to avoid observation, of course, as
I had to face the double risk of recognition by the Nihilists and by
any of Prince Kalkov’s agents.
In the morning I commenced my work. I drove to the American Embassy and
sent up Siegel’s card to Harold Marvyn.
I was shown up to his room and as I entered he jumped up from his table
and came toward me, with hand extended. Then he stopped suddenly and
with a very sharp look said--
“They brought me Mr. Siegel’s card.”
“Do you recognize me?” I asked.
“Good heavens, you are Harper C. Denver.”
“Yes.” And we shook hands. He was obviously perplexed and stood
fingering Siegel’s card.
“I’m afraid I’ve puzzled you; but for the moment Siegel and I have
changed personalities. It’s a queer show. But he’s in prison and I’m
here to tell you all about it.”
Marvyn was never a very demonstrative man and his diplomatic training
had increased his capacity for self-restraint. But my quiet statement
was too much for him. He went back to his seat, and as I drew a chair
close to his table, he stared at me, his thin sallow face all lines of
surprise, and letting out a long breath in a sort of mixed sigh and
whistle he exclaimed--
“Well, I’m gormed.”
I remembered his expression at Harvard.
“I haven’t heard that since you left Harvard,” I said, with a smile.
“But what does it all mean? What are you doing here? How is that--here,
show me.”
“It means a most infernal mess, which can all soon be put right,
however, if I can keep my head and you can keep my secret.”
“My dear Denver, I’ll do anything in the world for you. It was your
father got me into this, you know. But is it official?”
“It’s a bit of everything, I think. But you give me your word not to
repeat anything I tell you?”
“Of course I will.”
“For one thing I want your people here to get me a personal audience
with the Czar.”
“The Czar! Well, that’s a pretty tall proposition as a start. But I
daresay it can be done. We’re on excellent terms with Prince Kalkov who
arranges such things.”
I laughed.
“But old Kalkov’s just the man who must know nothing about it. He’s the
man I’m fighting; so I’ll drop that part of the business.”
“Fighting? How’s that? Give me some facts.”
“I think I’ll begin backwards,” and I told him about Siegel’s arrest;
and then little by little most of the story.
“Don’t tell me anything about the contents of those papers,” he said.
“It might be very inconvenient knowledge.”
“I can’t; I don’t know them myself; but it’s in regard to them I want
your assistance. Of course I don’t mean to compromise you in any way
officially.”
“I’m afraid you’re trying to weave cloth of spider’s webs with a
hornet’s sting for the shuttle, Denver. My advice to you in regard to
those papers is--burn ’em.”
“And if I were in your place here, I daresay I should; but you
understand that officially you know nothing about them. All that I wish
you to do is to receive for safe custody the property of an American
citizen to be dealt with as that citizen desires.”
“That’s all very well, but if any fuss came and enquiries were made
about them, think what a stink there might be,” he objected nervously.
“I tell you for all I know to the contrary they may be mere sheets of
blank paper. I hand you two packets of valuable securities, that’s all;
and I ask you to accept instructions as to their disposition. You can
surely do that? If an American can’t get a trifle like that done for
him in his own country’s Embassy, it’s a pretty pass.”
“And what are your instructions?” he asked suspiciously.
“I shall either call here every day before twelve o’clock or send you
a letter before that time, requesting you to hold them for a further
twenty-four hours. If you do not see or hear from me, you are to hand
them over to the person who produces a letter from me dated to-day,
requesting you to deliver them to the bearer, and signed by me in this
fashion: ‘Harper Clarence Denver, sophomore, citizen of the United
States.’”
“Who will present that letter?”
“What has that to do with the Embassy? It will be signed in that way to
prevent any forgery.”
“I think I can do that,” he agreed after a pause.
“I know you can; and there is only one thing further. The day you
part with them ask your friend, Prince Kalkov, in what prison he has
ventured to lock me up, and use all the powers of the Embassy to find
me. You may gamble on it that I shall need all the help you can afford.”
“I don’t like it, Denver, and that’s the truth. I wish you’d let us
take the thing up in the usual way.”
“My dear fellow, that’s just a sheer impossibility. I know where I’m
walking in this thing. I mean to win right along. This is no mere bluff
I’m putting up: I hold a straight flush.”
I pressed the matter very insistently and in the end gained my point,
although I should not have done so, had not Marvyn felt under a
considerable obligation to me as the son of the man who had helped
him, and whose influence could be depended upon to see him through any
bother. He yielded with great reluctance. Still, he yielded, and that
was all I needed.
“And what about Siegel?” he asked, when my point was settled and I had
written the necessary letters and given into his charge the papers.
“You may safely wait until you hear from him or me. When the mistake
is discovered they will be as anxious to get rid of him as he was that
they should make it.”
“He’s a queer fellow.”
“He’s getting the ‘copy’ he wants.”
“There may be a row about it,” said Marvyn, who appeared to have a far
scent for trouble.
“Only for newspaper purposes,” I answered as I left.
I was in high spirits at my first success. I had planted the
compromising papers where even Kalkov’s iron hand would be powerless to
reach them, and I had now only to complete the machinery by which they
were to fall into the right hands if trouble came my way.
I drove to the Embassy of the Power chiefly concerned and asked for the
man there whom Helga had mentioned to me. I sent up no name at first
and consequently met with a courteous refusal and a request to put my
business in writing.
Give my own name I could not just yet, so I sent up one of Siegel’s
cards, marking it on urgent private business. After some little
farther trouble this had the requisite effect, and I was shown into
the presence of a man some fifty years of age, thin and tall, with a
military carriage, clean shaven, with one of those straight almost
lipless mouths you see in men of secretive mind.
“Mr. Siegel?” he asked in English.
“Are we quite alone?”
His eyes asked me what I meant.
“You can see, sir,” was what his lips said.
“Will you answer my question, please?” I persisted. I had my reasons;
for there was a big screen in the room and I had heard things.
“You can rely upon everything being confidential.”
I pointed to the screen and looked at him. He started.
“A screen always suggests draughts to me. Permit me to----”
“There is no need,” he interposed quickly, as I was moving toward it.
“It is usual to have a memorandum of matters that pass here.”
“I am much obliged for the thoughtfulness, but I can trust my memory,”
I answered drily; and then he sent some one out of the room and himself
folded the screen together.
“Now, Mr.--er--Siegel,” he said referring to the card.
“I am not Mr. Siegel and have no connection with the press of any
country. I wished to see you on something of extreme importance and of
a vitally confidential nature. I used that name to gain this interview.”
“And your own name?”
“Is for the moment of no concern. You would not know it, but will of
course learn it if this interview ends as I wish.”
“Will you be seated?” and he motioned to a chair.
I drew my chair close to his and waited.
“Yes?”
“I can speak more easily to you here;” and I pointed to the seat at his
desk.
“You are mysterious, sir.”
“No; only cautious. I don’t intend to be overheard,” I replied quietly.
He took his seat then and turned to me a listening but impassive face.
“You had some negotiations recently in regard to certain papers?”
“Ah!” Recognition and interest now took the place of impassiveness.
“They have come into my possession.”
“How?”
“That is of no consequence. I have them. And--” I paused and met his
intent gaze--“they may find their way to you.”
He thought rapidly.
“The price, sir?”
“You mean money? I am not for sale. I say they _may_ find their way to
you.”
“I do not understand you.”
“Yet my words speak my meaning.”
“From whom do you come?”
“On my own initiative.”
“Where are the papers?” and his eyes shot at me as if to pierce to my
pockets.
“They are in perfectly safe keeping.”
“What is it you wish?”
“I am in some personal danger--possibly great danger--and if anything
should befall me, I intend those papers to come to you.”
He saw my meaning in a flash.
“You intend to use that as a means to restrain those who threaten you?”
“Exactly.” There was no change in his expression but I read his
silence, and added: “You can get them in no other way.”
He made up his mind then promptly.
“Your terms?”
“I ask little except absolute secrecy about myself. If you consent, I
shall leave with you a letter to those who will upon receipt of it hand
you documents which will tell you precisely where and how to get the
papers you wish, and will be a full authority to secure their being
handed to you. There are two sets of documents. One is for your use:
the other you must give me a pledge to have placed in the hands of the
Czar himself.”
I did not tell him he would get the papers themselves from Marvyn, nor
that they were actually at the American Embassy.
“If that is all why not give them me at once?”
“You will only present the letter I shall give you under certain
conditions.”
“Those are?”
“That on any day you fail either to see me or hear from me by noon.”
“You ask nothing from us?”
“Nothing more than I have said.”
“No assistance, should you get into this danger you anticipate.”
“You could render none.”
“It is very extraordinary.”
“Your answer?”
“I accept your conditions, of course. But I wish you would give them me
at once. We would find means to protect you.”
“Thank you. That is impossible.”
I wrote the letter in the terms I had agreed with Marvyn and handed it
to him.
“My name you will see is Denver,” I said.
“Mr. Marvyn, of your Embassy. I know him.”
“Your pledge of secrecy must be kept, or the whole thing falls through.
I have arranged that. The slightest breath, and the papers are lost to
you.”
“Does Mr. Marvyn know?”
“Mr. Marvyn knows no more about them than the secretary you sent out of
the room. I have left with him the particulars which will enable you to
get the papers.”
“On your side, Mr. Denver, you will observe confidence?”
I smiled as I answered.
“If they are to fall into your hands, I shall be in a place where my
silence will be very effectively secured.”
“I do not ask about that,” he said as I rose. “But you will render us a
service we should never forget, Mr. Denver.”
I smiled.
“You mean, I may do so. There’s an ‘if’ in the matter, and I hope it
will be the strongest word in the whole conversation.”
I left him then to set about the still more difficult task of getting
my audience with his Majesty.