ON THE DEVIL’S STAIRCASE
I had not walked three hundred yards towards the village when I met the
police agent hurrying stationwards at a pace which would quickly bring
him face to face with Count Peter and his companion.
This must be prevented at any cost, so I stopped him.
“I wish to speak to you.”
“They told me you had gone to the station.”
This was all right, for it showed he was following me. “Our interview
ended hastily this morning because I thought you doubted my word and I
was angry. I see now that you were doing your duty. Come back with me
to the inn, and let us talk things over.”
“You can say what you have to say here,” he answered. He was a surly
dog: but I dared not let him pass me.
“Scarcely that; because I can adopt your suggestion and prove to you,
by letters and so forth, that I am what I told you; an Englishman and
not a spy.”
“Why do you change like this?” His suspicious tone again.
“The reason is simple. I have decided to leave here to-morrow probably,
and don’t wish to be bothered by your spies meanwhile. It is simpler to
convince you with proofs.” I linked my arm in his. “Come along, we must
understand one another better. I am not the suspicious individual you
think and you are no doubt a better fellow than I deemed.”
He was a little beast, only fit to be kicked; but I thought of the girl
and smothered my natural inclinations.
By the time we reached my rooms I had worked some of his suspicions
loose; and when I laid before him letters from my sister and friends at
home, and showed him such things as my cheque book, letter of credit,
and so on, he was sufficiently satisfied to have a bottle of wine with
me.
Over this his tongue was loosened and we discussed the conspiracy,
which he admitted was widespread and in some respects more dangerous
than any which had threatened the Empire for years. Its especial
danger lay in the skill with which the leaders had attempted to blend
industrial discontent with political intrigue; and so form a union
among vast masses of the population in many industrial cities.
The practical grievances of the workers and the many wrongs of the
rural population were being used by the democratic theorists, the
dreamers and the political agitators to foment discontent; and I knew
enough of Russia to be aware that such highly inflammable materials
as these might easily be heaped together and then fanned into one huge
simultaneous explosion all over the Empire, terrible enough to startle
the world.
In Russian Poland the cause was the old one--national independence; and
it was in this that Count Peter Valdemar had taken a part and that my
friend Ladislas was involved.
I repeated my surprise that my friend should be regarded as dangerous.
“He is a leader; and at such times any man may be a source of danger,”
was the reply.
“And this Count Peter--where is he?” I asked casually.
“He is probably making for the German frontier, with the intention of
flying to England. He was at Warsaw; but disappeared. Your country has
much to answer for in harbouring all these plotters.”
“If it comes to that we have a few anarchists of our own, and they are
harboured on this side of the Channel.”
“Not in Russia. But I don’t think the Count will escape us this time.
He is well known to so many of us.”
“And if you catch him?” A significant smile answered me and a tilt of
the eyebrows.
“You have a wonderful police system,” said I, admiringly.
“We shall catch him on the frontier, sir. Make no mistake. No man can
get through the net we have spread there.”
I emptied my glass. “Well, here’s luck to all who deserve it. And now,
about myself?”
“I will communicate with Warsaw; and meantime go where you will or stay
here if you prefer.”
I had succeeded in detaining him nearly a couple of hours, and by this
time the Count and his companion ought to be out of the place; so I
ordered my horse, resolved to go for a ride to test the truth of the
little beggar’s assurance that I was not to be watched.
I chose the southern road and as the ground was very hard I went at
a leisurely pace. I was not followed; and as soon as I had satisfied
myself of this, my thoughts slipped back to the incident at the railway
station, and a pair of blue eyes that had looked with such desolate
wistfulness into mine. Would the Count get away? Had they gone already?
Would chance ever bring us together again? Could I not do something on
my own account to help chance? That was more my way; and I set to work
thinking how I could use my friendship with Ladislas to accomplish my
end.
I was still following this train of thought when I reached the hill
known locally as the “Devil’s Staircase.” Bratinsk stands on a plateau;
and about five miles to the south, this hill, one of the most dangerous
I have ever seen on account of its fearful gradient and deadly twists
and turns, leads to the plains below. From the top there is a fine view
over the Batak Levels, a stretch of fertile country extending for
miles to the foot-hills beyond. It was a favourite spot of mine and on
reaching it now I dismounted, tethered my horse near and strolled to
smoke a cigar and continue my reverie.
I was inclined to shake hands with myself at the thought of using
Ladislas. He would surely be able to tell me enough of Count Valdemar
to put me on the track; and I was just thinking how to describe the
girl whose initials I believed to be “V. D.” when I caught the grating
of wheels, followed rapidly by the throbbing sound of horses’ feet.
Some one must be in a deuce of a hurry, I thought, as I looked back
along the road. Some one was, surely enough. Not a couple of hundred
yards from the brink of the hill came a light caleche with two
occupants drawn by a pair of horses at full gallop. What was the fool
of a driver about? To dash down the Devil’s Staircase at that mad pace
meant death. No horses ever foaled could make the sharp turns and
twists of that zigzag, treacherous, deadly incline at a gallop.
I shouted a warning at the top of my voice; and then my heart seemed
to leap in my breast and every vein in my body to chill like ice as
the occupants of the caleche looked up, and I recognized Count Peter
Valdemar and the girl who had been in my thoughts all that day.
As the runaways reached me I leapt down on to the road and I made a
spring for the reins of the horse nearest me. I missed them and was
rolled over and over, while the frightened beasts dashed on, the Count
tearing and tugging and straining at the reins in a futile effort to
stop them.
I jumped up and ran down the hill in pursuit. Just below, the road made
an S-shaped curve, and the horses were round this and out of sight like
a flash; and while I was racing after them round the first bend, I
heard a shout in a man’s voice, a girl’s scream, and then the crashing
sound of a smash.
I reached the scene in a few moments. The wreck had come at a point
where the road turned at less than a right angle; and the sight of it
sickened me with fear.
One horse was down, lying against a bank, bleeding profusely and
kicking spasmodically in what I judged to be a death struggle. The
other was on its feet and was plunging and tugging to free itself from
the reins and harness which had got entangled in the wreck of the
caleche. Under the body of the vehicle lay the Count, and as I did not
for the moment see his companion, I guessed that she must be hidden
under the wreckage too.
With a big effort I hoisted the vehicle sufficiently to drag out the
Count; but the girl was not there.
Then I saw her lying behind a bush by the roadside. I ran to her and
laid my finger on her pulse. With intense relief I found the beat;
feeble it is true, but steady; and I poured some brandy into the cup
of my flask and managed to get a little of it between her lips. A
trembling sigh escaped her; and I returned to the Count.
The police agent was right. The Count would never cross the German
frontier--he had crossed the farther one. I knew enough of first aid
work to ascertain the cause. His neck was broken; and I guessed he had
been thrown sideways on to his head, snapping the vertebrae. I drew the
body to the side of the road and threw one of the rugs over it.
Next I freed the sound horse--thinking he might be needed--soothed him
a bit and tethered him to a tree.
By this time the girl was fast recovering and I went back to her. I was
administering another dose of the brandy when she opened her eyes.
“You!” she said.
“Yes, fortunately. Don’t worry about things. May I help you to sit up
and take this, or can you manage it alone? That’s good,” I smiled as
she sat up unaided.
“What has happened? Oh, I remember. The hill and then----” and she put
her hands before her eyes for a moment.
“You have had a wonderful escape.”
The word confused her. “Did we escape then? Is he not following us? My
uncle thought--oh, I understand; I thought you meant--but is he hurt?”
“Yes, badly.”
I had placed her so that her back was towards the wrecked carriage and
the Count’s body; but at my words she turned and looked round. Her eyes
were wide with horror. “Is he dead?” she asked.
“But for a miracle you would have shared his fate.”
She was silent for a moment and lifted her hands and let them fall with
a sigh. “He would rather have had it so than have been captured; and he
feared that this time. He was a hard, desperate man.”
There was no sign of any strong emotion or great personal grief in this
reference to him. It was far better so under the circumstances. But I
did not quite know what to say.
Then she surprised me. “He told me to come to you if anything happened
to him. You recognized him, he said.”
“Yes, as Count Peter Valdemar. I warned him this morning.”
“He told me. You are a friend of--Count Ladislas Tuleski?” She said
this with just a suspicion of hesitation.
“An intimate friend. Do you know him?”
“Yes--I know him,--oh, yes: I----” she hesitated, glanced at me and
stopped.
“He is one of my most intimate friends and one of the best fellows in
the world,” I said enthusiastically.
She made no reply, but glanced swiftly at me again and lowered her head.
“I think I can walk now,” she said presently; and I helped her to rise.
“I am not hurt, you see. It was only fright and shock.”
“Thank God it was no worse,” I cried. She did not seem to hear this.
“Now, what do you wish to do?”
“I don’t know. What ought I to do? My uncle--do you know the Count was
my uncle?--or, rather, not my own uncle, no real blood relation.”
“No, I had no idea.”
“When the trouble came at Warsaw he had to fly, and he was carrying
certain papers with instructions to friends of the Fraternity to
Cracow. A raid is expected there; and there are papers which threaten
us all. Even my own dear mother is in danger. He told me to carry those
papers through to Cracow at any cost; to get your help if need be, and
to say that your friend, Count Ladislas, was also involved. I was to
tell you this, if you showed any reluctance to help me. But now what
can we do?” and she looked the picture of dismay.
“You were travelling as an English girl?”
“Yes, as Miss Mary Smith. He got passports for me in that name and for
himself as Ivan Grubel, my servant.”
“Where are they?”
“He has them and the rest of the papers. They are sewn into his coat.”
“Why did he make all this methodical preparation?”
“He was recognized, I think, in Bratinsk. That was why we were driving
away. He expected to be pursued.”
“If I get the coat, can you find the papers?”
“Yes, but--he is--dead;” and she shuddered.
“We have to think of the living. Yourself, my friend, and your mother.”
It is not a pleasant thing to strip the coat off a dead man; but it
had to be done. So I went and did it as quickly as I could. I took
it back to her and she was hurriedly searching for the papers when
she gave a little gasp of alarm and shrank close to me as a horseman
appeared, picking his way very gingerly down the hill. It was my
friend, the police agent from Warsaw. In a moment he took in the scene.
He recognized me at once, and my companion a moment later.
“Ah, this is better luck than I expected. A smash, eh? So you didn’t
get far away after all? I knew I should catch you, but didn’t hope to
do it so soon. Where’s Count Peter Valdemar?”
“You again, is it?” I said, with a smile. “This young lady, a
country-woman of mine, Miss Mary Smith, has met with an accident and
her servant, named Ivan Grubel, has been killed. The horses ran away.”
“Killed, eh? That’s his coat then. Give that to me.” My companion
caught her breath and clutched my arm.
“You guessed too fast, my friend; you did so this morning, you know, as
I showed you afterwards. This coat is mine;” and with that I slipped my
arms into it and put it on.
“Yes, it’s easy to see it’s yours by the way it fits you,” he sneered.
My arms were some three inches too long for the sleeves and the body
was ridiculously short. “I know you by this time. You must give me that
coat. I saw the woman there searching the pockets for something.”
“If you want it, you’d better come and take it. I shan’t give it up
unless you do.”
“For your own sake don’t mix up any more with this. If you are an
Englishman, go away and leave me to deal with this woman. But give me
that coat. You know to whom it belonged; and I must have it.”
He dismounted and walked toward me.
“You had better keep your distance,” I said quietly.
“You resist? Then I must do my duty. You are my prisoner.”
The threat of arrest seemed to scare the girl badly, but without a
second’s hesitation she tried to shield me by taking everything on her
own shoulders.
“I alone am responsible,” she cried, stepping forward. “Give up the
coat, Mr. Anstruther. It is I who should be the prisoner.”
She acted pluckily, like the little brick she was, and with the best
intentions in the world. But it was a huge mistake. She had practically
given the whole thing away.
The significant leer of triumph on the police agent’s face made it
plain that he appreciated this.