THE DEATH OF AN EMPEROR.
One thing, however, Barnwell did not tell Mr. Clark or his daughter; and
that was how he was making use of the vast amount of money that had been
given him by Batavsky. That was always to remain a secret within his own
breast.
He felt that he was simply fulfilling a sacred trust, and gaining
revenge for his own terrible suffering.
He loved his beautiful countrywoman, and as soon as he had finished his
work he would make her his wife, and resume the travels he had set out
upon years before.
Naturally he was much in her company after their reunion, and this again
threw the detectives from the scent, for before long it became known to
them that they were to be married, and start for France and other
countries of Europe.
And yet the Nihilists in Russia and in Poland continued to be more
active and aggressive, and the police authorities made but little, if
any, headway in arresting them.
At length the aristocracy of St. Petersburg, Warsaw, Moscow, and other
large centers became almost panic stricken--not even daring to trust
their oldest servants.
This feeling was increased when the Czar found a note on his
dressing-bureau, which read as follows:
"Alexander.--My life was as good as that of your tyrant father,
Nicholas. He murdered me. My spirit will murder you.--Batavsky."
That the note was placed there by some bold Nihilist, a member of the
emperor's household, there could be no doubt, and although his personal
staff and ministers advised him to take no notice of it, it struck
terror to his heart.
Every member of his household was taken in hand by the police and
questioned, and each one made to give a sample of his handwriting, but
nothing could be found out.
Extra precautions were taken, however, and the Czar never ventured forth
without a double guard, and even the streets were guarded by the police
to insure his safety.
But another warning came, as if to show him that even those who guarded
him needed guards for themselves, when one day the prefect of police was
killed on the steps of his official residence, and no clew of the
assassin could be found, although lying near his body was found a paper
with the simple name of Batavsky written upon it in Russian.
Then the Czar began to question who this Batavsky was, and it was
finally ascertained that an influential man by that name had been
transported to Siberia by the Emperor Nicholas for engaging in a
revolution--in fact, that he was one of the first Nihilists of Russia,
and was supposed to be enormously rich.
But those riches were never found, and the old revolutionist had died in
Siberia, and so nothing came of the inquiry save a deeper mystery.
Two or three attempts upon the Czar's life were made and failed. Those
who were caught or suspected were put to death, but so soon as one was
taken from the work two more were ready to fill his place.
And while in this terror, the Czar and his official household instead of
doing anything towards relieving the burdens under which the people
groaned, and which drove them to these bitter acts of revenge and
reprisal, took all means possible to bind their chains closer yet, and
to stamp out Nihilism with an iron heel.
"Laura, you know I told you of poor old Batavsky in Siberia?" he asked
of Miss Clark one day.
"Yes, Will, I remember," she replied.
"Well, I dreamed of him last night, and have a presentiment that his
presence will soon be felt on earth."
"Oh, Will, you are such a dreamer, you are. Let us talk of something
else:."
"As you please. I merely mentioned it; so let's wait and see have
arranged everything."
"Oh, that will be so nice! You are so good!"
"As I should be, to one who has waited for me so faithfully and so long.
But the dark clouds are rolling by, Laura, and after a little I shall be
my own master again."
"And are you not so now?" she asked.
"Not wholly. I have had a sacred duty to perform, and it will soon be
finished."
Of course both were busy with their preparations for departure, and she
paid but little attention to what he said, as it was upon a subject she
knew nothing of, and yet her woman's wit and insight told her that her
lover was engaged in something of a mysterious nature, and she hailed
with delight the prospect of getting out of Germany and back to America.
The following day the whole world was startled and monarchs trembled at
a dynamite explosion in St. Petersburg.
The Czar Alexander was riding along in a carriage, closely guarded by
soldiers and mounted police, when, without an instant's warning, a
cartridge exploded directly under his carriage, killing everybody and
everything within a radius of fifty yards, producing the greatest havoc
and devastation.
"Quick--the czar!" cried those who had escaped the terrible explosion.
And a rush was made to the scene of the wreck, where lay mangled horses
and human beings, and out of that chaos of desolation they dragged the
mangled body of the Czar of all the Russias!
Panic and consternation seized St. Petersburg, seized all Russia--the
whole world, in fact.
Instant search was made for those who perpetrated the terrible deed.
One or two suspected individuals were put to the sword without judge or
jury, yet they were innocent of the deed.
Detectives and secret service officers took possession of the spot and
examined everything--every shovelful of snow even.
Out of the ruin wrought by the terrific explosion one of the officers
pulled a small metal plate, crooked and bent by the concussion.
The dead emperor had been borne tenderly to the palace, and all Russia
was in tears, either of joy or sorrow.
The officers read an inscription on the plate they had found.
It was graven deep and clear in pure Russian. It read:
"The spirit of Peter Batavsky, raging for revenge, calls for the Czar,
the son of his murderer! Long live the Russian people!"
That was all, but it amazed those who read it, for it bore the same name
that had so terrified the Czar on another occasion.
Never before had such a shock been given to the world, not even the
assassination of Julius Caesar was a comparison to it.
But while the excitement was at its burning height, William Barnwell and
his affianced left Berlin for London.
"Batavsky, you are terribly avenged!" said he, as they sped from German
soil.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
This story naturally ends here.
But a few words more need be said.
Marriage, happiness, wealth became the portion of the Boy Nihilist, and
here falls the curtain on this strange and romantic drama.
THE END.
Read "LUCKY DICK GOLDEN; or, THE BOY MINERS OF PLACER CREEK," by An Old
Scout, which will be the next number (577) of "Pluck and Luck."
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542 Nameless Nat; or, A Millionaire in Rags. By Allyn Draper.
543 The Boy Mail-Carrier; or, Government Service in Minnesota. By An Old
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548 From Bootblack to Broker; or, The Luck of a Wall Street Boy. By a
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559 A Lawyer at 17, and the Fee that Made His Fortune. By Richard R.
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