AN INSTRUCTION TO THE POLICE
Count Sergius was a little more than uneasy when Alban returned--he was
suspicious. A highly trained agent of Government himself, he rarely
permitted any circumstance, however trifling, to escape him; and this
circumstance of tardiness was not trifling.
"He has met the girl," the argument went, "and she is detaining him with
a fine story of her wrongs. He may learn that we have tricked him and
that would be troublesome. Certainly I was a fool not to have had him
watched--but, then, his first night in Warsaw and he a stranger! We
shall make up for lost time at once. I will see the Chief and give
instructions. A dove does not go but once to the nest. We will take
wings ourselves next time."
By which it will be perceived that he blamed himself for having lost a
great opportunity and determined not to do so a second time. His whole
purpose in coming to Warsaw had been to track down Boriskoff's daughter
and to hand her over to the police. This he owed to his employers, the
Government, and to his friend, Richard Gessner--than whom none would pay
a better price for the service. And when it were done, then he imagined
that nothing in the world would be easier than to excuse himself to this
amiable lad and to take him back to England without any loss of time
whatever. In all a pretty plan, lacking only the finer judgment to
discern the strength of the enemy's force and not to despise them.
Alban entered the sitting-room just as the Count had determined to have
his breakfast. It was nearly twelve o'clock then and the fierce heat of
the day made the streets intolerable. Few people were abroad in the
great avenue--there was no repetition of the disturbance of yesterday,
nor any Cossack going at a gallop. Down below in the restaurant a bevy
of smartly dressed women ate and gossiped to the music of a good
Hungarian band. From distant streets there came an echo of gongs and the
muffled hum of wheels; the sirens of the steam-tugs screamed incessantly
upon the sleepy river.
Whatever the Count's curiosity may have been, he had the wit to hide it
when Alban appeared. Adopting a well-feigned tone of raillery, he spoke
as men speak when another has been absent and has no good excuse to
make.
"I will ask no questions," he said with mock solemnity--"A man who
forgets how to breakfast is in a bad way. That is to suppose that you
have not breakfasted--ah, forgive me, she makes coffee like a chef,
perhaps, and there is no Rhine wine to match the gold of her hair. Let
us talk politics, history, the arts--anything you like. I am absolutely
discreet, Mr. Kennedy, I have forgotten already that you were late."
Alban drew a chair to the table and began to eat with good appetite. His
sense of humor was strong enough to lead him to despise such talk at any
time, but to-day it exasperated him. Understanding perfectly well what
was in the Count's mind, he was not to be trapped by any such artifice.
Honesty is a card which a diplomatist rarely expects an opponent to
hold. Alban held such a card and determined to play it without loss of
time.
"I have seen Lois Boriskoff," he said.
"Again--that is quick work."
The Count looked up, still smiling.
"I told you that we should have no difficulties," he exclaimed.
Alban helped himself to some superb bisque soup and permitted the waiter
to fill his glass from a flask of Chablis.
"It was quite an accident upon my part. I went up to the Castle as you
advised me and then down into the old town. Lois is with her friends
there. I have had a long talk to her and now I understand everything."
The Count nodded his head and sipped his wine. The frankness of all this
deceived him but not wholly. The boy had discovered something--it
remained to be seen how much.
"You are successful beyond hope," he exclaimed presently, "this will be
great news for Mr. Gessner. Of course, you asked her plainly what had
happened?"
"She told me without my asking, Count. Now I understand everything--for
the first time."
The tone of the reply arrested Sergius' attention and brought a frown to
his face. He kept his eyes upon Alban when next he spoke.
"Those people are splendid liars," he remarked as though he had been
expecting just such a story--"of course she spoke about me. I can almost
imagine what she said."
"It was a very great surprise to me," Alban rejoined, and with so simple
an air that any immediate reply seemed impossible. For five minutes they
ate and drank in silence. Then Count Sergius, excusing himself, stood up
and went to the window.
"Is she to come to this hotel?" he asked anon.
"She would be very foolish to do so, Count."
"Foolish, my dear fellow, whatever do you mean?"
"I mean what I say--that she would be mad to put herself into your
power."
The Count bit his lip. It had been many years since so direct an insult
had been offered to him, and yet he did not know how to answer it.
"I see that these people have been lying to you as I thought," he
rejoined sharply, "is it not indiscreet to accept the word of such a
person?"
"You know perfectly well that it is not, Count. You brought me to Warsaw
to help you to arrest Lois Boriskoff. Well, I am not going to do so and
that is all."
"Are you prepared to say the same to your friend in London--will you
cable that news to Mr. Gessner?"
"I was going to do so without any loss of time. You can send the message
for me if you like."
"Nothing will be easier. Let me take it down at your dictation. Really I
am not offended. You have been deceived and are right to say what you
think. Our friend at Hampstead shall judge between us."
He lighted a cigarette with apparent unconcern and sat down before the
writing-table near the window.
"Now," he asked, "how shall we put it to him?"
Alban came over and stood by his side.
"Say that Paul Boriskoff must be released by his intervention without
any condition whatever."
"He will never consent to that."
"He will have to consent, Count Sergius. His personal safety depends
upon it."
"But, my dear boy, what of the girl? Are you going to leave her here to
shout our friend's secret all over Warsaw?"
"She has not spoken and she will not speak, Count."
"Ah, you are among the credulous. Your confidence flatters her, I fear."
"It is just--she has never lied to me."
The Count shrugged his shoulders.
"I will send your message," he said.
He wrote the cable in a fine pointed hand and duly delivered it to the
waiter. His own would follow it ten minutes later--when he had made up
his mind how to act. A dangerous thought had come to him and begun to
obsess his mind. This English boy, he was saying, might yet be a more
dangerous enemy than the girl they had set out to trap. It might yet be
necessary to clap them both in the same prison until the whole truth
were known. He resolved to debate it at his leisure. There was plenty of
time, for the police were watching all the exits from the city, and if
Lois Boriskoff attempted to pass out, God help her.
"We must not expect an answer to this before dinner," he said, holding
out the message for the waiter to take it. "If you think it all right,
we can proceed to amuse ourselves until the reply comes. Warsaw is
somewhat a remarkable city as you will already have seen. Some of its
finest monuments have been erected to celebrate the execution of its
best patriots. Every public square stands for an insurrection. The
castle is fortified not against the stranger but the citizen--those guns
you tell me about were put there by Nicolas to remind us that he would
stand no nonsense. We are the sons of a nation which, officially, does
not exist--but we honor our dead kings everywhere and can show you some
of Thorwaldsen's finest monuments to them. Let us go out and see these
wonders if you are willing."
The apparent digression served him admirably, for it permitted him to
think. As many another in the service of the autocracy, he had a
sterling love for Poland in its historical aspect, and was as proud as
any man when he uttered the name of a Sobieski, a Sigismund or a
Ladislaus. Revolution as a modern phase he despised. To him there were
but people and nobles, and the former had become vulgar disturbers of
the Czar's peace who must be chastened with rods. His own career
depended altogether upon his callous indifference to mere human
sympathies.
Alban could offer no objection to visit Warsaw under such a pleasant
guide and he also welcomed the hours of truce. It came to him that the
Count might honestly doubt Lois' word and that, knowing nothing of her,
he would have had little reason to trust her. The morning passed in a
pleasant stroll down the Senatorska where are the chief shops of Moscow.
Here the Count insisted upon buying his English friend a very beautiful
amber and gold cigarette-case, to remind him, as he said, of their
quarrel.
"It was very natural," he admitted, "I know these people so well. They
talk like angels and act like devils. You will know more about them in
good time. If I have interfered, it was at my friend Gessner's wish. I
shall leave the matter in his hands now. If he accepts the girl's word,
he is perfectly at liberty to do so. To me it is a matter of absolute
indifference."
Alban took the cigarette-case but accepted it reluctantly. He could not
resist the charm of this man's manner nor had he any abiding desire to
do so. As far as that went, there was so much to see in these bright
streets, so many odd equipages, fine horses, prettily dressed women,
magnificent soldiers, that his interest was perpetually enchained and he
uttered many exclamations of surprised delight very foreign to his usual
manner.
"I cannot believe that this is the city we saw yesterday," he declared
as the Count called a drosky and bade the driver make a tour of the
avenues and the gardens--"you would think the people were the happiest
in the world. I have never seen so many smiling faces before."
The Count understood the situation better.
"Life is sweet to them because of its uncertainty. They live while they
can. When I used to fish in your English waters, they sent me to a river
where the Mayfly was out--ah, that beautiful, fluttering creature which
may live one minute or may live five. He struggles up from the bottom of
the river, you remember, and then, just as he has extended his splendid
wings, up comes a great trout and swallows him--the poor thing of ten or
twenty or a hundred seconds. Here we struggle up through the social
ranks, and just when the waters of intrigue fascinate us and we go to
play Narcissus to them, up comes the official trout and down his throat
we go. Some day there will be so many of us that the trout will be
gorged and unable to move. Then he will go to the cooking-pot--but not
in our time, I think."
Alban remained silent. That "not in our time" seemed so strange a saying
when he recalled the threats and the promises of the fanatics of Union
Street. Was this fine fellow deceiving himself, or was he like the
Russian bureaucracy, simply ignorant? The lad of twenty could not say,
but he made a shrewder guess at the truth than the diplomatist by his
side.
They visited the Lazienki Park, passing many of Warsaw's famous people
as they went, and so affording the Count many opportunities for
delightful little histories in which such men excel. No pretty woman
escaped his observation, few the rigors of his tongue. He could tell you
precisely when Madame Latienski began to receive young Prince Nicolas at
her house and the exact terms in which old Latienski objected to the
visits. Priests, jockeys, politicians, actors--for these he had a
distinguishing gesture of contempt or pity or gracious admiration. The
actresses invariably recognized him with alluring smiles, which he
received condescendingly as who should say--well, you were fortunate.
When they arrived at the Moktowski barracks, a group of officers quickly
surrounded them and conducted them to a place where champagne corks
might pop and cigarettes be lighted. This was but the beginning of a
round of visits which Alban found tiresome to the last degree. How many
glasses of wine he sipped, how many cigarettes he lighted, he could not
have told you for a fortune. It was nearly five o'clock when they
returned to the hotel and the Count proposed an hour's repose "de
travail."
"There is no message from your friend," he said candidly, "no doubt your
telegram has troubled him. Perhaps we shall get it by dinner-time. You
must be very tired and perhaps you would like to lie down."
Alban did not demur and he went to his own room, and taking off his
boots he lay upon his bed and quickly fell fast asleep. Count Sergius,
however, had no intention of doing any such thing. He was closeted with
the Chief of the Police ten minutes after they had returned, and in
twenty he had come to a resolution.
"This young Englishman will meet the girl Lois Boriskoff to-morrow
morning," he said. "Arrest the pair of them and let me know when it is
done. But mind you--treat him as though he were your own son. I have my
reasons."
The Chief merely bowed. He quite understood that such a man as Sergius
Zamoyski would have very good reasons indeed.