BLACK MONDAY IN WARSAW
“I was almost afraid I shouldn’t catch you up,” said Burski.
“I thought you couldn’t get away?” I growled.
“Oh, I managed it all right. I thought it would be a pity for you to
miss anything I could shew you on your last day in the city; and such
a day; so I hurried after you. Nearly lost you in that crowd, though.
Going to the Church of St. Paul, are you? That’ll make a capital
starting point. Jump in.”
But it was not in my programme to take him to meet Volna. “No, I think
as you’re with me, we shall see more if we walk,” I replied, and I
tossed the driver a rouble and dismissed him.
Burski laughed. “That illustrates one of my pet theories,” he said;
“that you English are sometimes a most changeable and impulsive people.”
“I am not interested in your theories about my countrymen.”
“Oh, I won’t force them on you. I hate a man who is always cramming his
views down your throat. He’s a bore--the poorest sort of creature in
the world. Which way shall we walk?”
“All ways are the same to me.”
“Let us stroll on then. It will take us to the Church of St. Paul.”
I was so angry, so perplexed how to shake him off, and at the same
time so anxious to get to Volna that I would not trust myself to
speak. Every minute of delay increased the risk that she might tire
of waiting--or jump to the conclusion that I could not keep the
appointment--and go back to the house where I knew Bremenhof’s men
might already be waiting for her.
Burski acted as though he saw nothing of my uneasiness. He chatted away
quite unconcernedly, calling my attention now to a church and again to
some public building; and accepting my monosyllabic surly replies with
unruffled complacency.
Once chance offered of getting away. A great crowd of strikers came
marching past, filling the roadway, and as the accompanying mob of
stragglers surged on to the footpath, I was about to plunge into the
midst of their ranks when he slipped his arm into mine and drew me back
into a doorway.
“For Heaven’s sake be careful,” he cried. “The scum of the city is
there, and your very life might be in danger.”
It appeared as though he might well be right; but I could have cursed
him for his forethought all the same.
The strikers themselves looked formidable enough. There were several
hundred of them, stem-faced men all; resolute, silent, determined,
dogged, as though moved by a common deep-set purpose, they maintained
a rough order of march, leaders at the head and on the flank of each
band.
The mob hanging on their skirts were of a very different class,
however; ill-clad, dirty, unkempt tatter-de-malions, the dregs of the
alleys and by-ways of the city, ripe for any mischief or devilment.
Evil men and worse women, they shuffled and scrambled and hustled
along, with occasional cheers for the strikers, hoarse cries and
oaths to one another, and execrations for the government: a towsled,
disorderly rabble, unquestionably dangerous, and high-charged with
thoughts and hopes of violence. It would not be their fault if the day
ended without open resistance, looting and bloodshed.
For many minutes precious to me they filled the streets and made
progress impossible; and before they had passed, a clock near by struck
twelve.
An hour past the time at which I was to have met Volna. She would
surely have given me up and in all probability had already gone back to
the house to which in my fatuous confidence in my own cleverness I had
been reckless enough to send Bremenhof.
“Where have the strikers come from?” I asked Burski, as a sudden
thought chilled me.
“From where we are going, the Square in front of the Church of St.
Paul. They have an ugly look and we shall have Petersburg over again,
if they don’t shake themselves free from the rabble. And it may be even
worse here, for the Fraternity have brought in arms and are prepared to
resist. There will be fighting before night.”
“Spoken very much like a police agent that,” I exclaimed.
He shrugged his shoulders. “One gets the habit, I suppose. I was a
police agent long before I joined the Fraternity; and one judges of
things from that standpoint at times. See, they have swept the Square
clear,” he added, as we reached the Church.
“And at this point we’ll part company, please.”
He assumed great surprise. “Part company? Why we have seen scarcely
anything yet.”
“I mean what I say.”
He paused and then his manner changed. “I am really sorry for this, Mr.
Anstruther.”
“Sorry for what?”
“Of course, I have seen that I was not wanted, but the fact is I myself
am being watched. I am compelled to keep with you for an hour or so.”
“You suggested just now that you came because I had asked you,” I
rapped back.
“Well, you did ask me, didn’t you? And you put it so naturally that I
really thought you were in earnest.”
“I wasn’t. I don’t wish to be seen by our friends to-day in the company
of so well known a police agent as yourself.”
“Let us see then how we can manage it? The simplest way will be for
me to drop behind. The friends won’t know we are together, and my
superiors will see I am obeying orders.”
“But I don’t wish to be shadowed either.”
He spread out his hands with an air of bewilderment. “For the sake of
the Fraternity I must not lose my position in the Police. You see that?”
“I see one thing which is enough for me. I am not going to be shadowed.
You may as well understand that.”
“But we are not going to quarrel, surely.”
“If necessary we are.”
He sighed as though I were most unreasonable. “It has always been one
of my pet theories----”
“Hang your theories. Are you going to persist in following me?”
“No, I am not.”
“Then go your way and leave me to go mine.”
“Yes, I will do that.”
But he kept at my side. “Then go back.”
“Very well. I am sorry I have annoyed you.”
“I shan’t be annoyed if you leave me now.”
“I am glad to hear that.”
“But you are still coming on.”
“I am thinking.”
The Square was nearly deserted and I looked everywhere for Volna. The
clock chimed the quarter past the hour. She was not there.
I pulled up. “I have had enough of this. What are you going to do?”
“I have a suggestion. Let us go to Colonel Bremenhof and tell him. He
is close here.”
“Where?”
“The Place of St. John, No. 17.”
I turned on him so angrily in my surprise that he drew back a pace and
his right hand went to his pocket, where I guessed he had a revolver.
But he forced a look of indifference, and keeping his eyes on mine
jerked his head in the direction.
“It is only a short distance across the Square there.”
It was now quite clear my scheme had gone wrong. Either Volna had been
prevented from coming to meet me; or, having come had been scared away
by the mob, or had given me up. If she had returned home, she was
already in Bremenhof’s power; and the sooner I knew of it the better.
On the other hand, if she was not there, and he or his men were, I
could confront him with the proof of his double dealing.
“I don’t see why we shouldn’t adopt the suggestion,” I said,
indifferently. “If Colonel Bremenhof has ordered me to be shadowed, I
may as well know why. We’ll go there.”
“This way then,” he replied, adding after a pause, “I trust you won’t
misunderstand my position, Mr. Anstruther.”
“Why are you so anxious about it?”
“You have been so badly treated by the Department, for one thing; and
of course, as a fellow member of the Fraternity, I am bound to help you
all I can. But you don’t seem to trust me.”
“How did you know Colonel Bremenhof was at this address, the Place of
St. John?”
“He sent me word this morning.” He told the lie very plausibly and
without the slightest hesitation.
“You know his affairs pretty closely--what do you suppose he is doing
there?”
“I should know well enough but, you see, I haven’t been either at
headquarters or at his house since last night, when I left to see you
at the _Hotel Vladimir_.”
“I should find it easier to believe you if I had not myself sent the
address to him this morning at a time which made it impossible for him
to have communicated it to you.”
“He has a hundred secret sources of information. He must have known
this long before.”
“Why?”
He spread out his hand. “How otherwise could he have sent it to me?”
“If he did send it,” I retorted drily.
He stopped abruptly as though an idea had just occurred to him. “Wait.
Wait. How did you send it to him?”
“By my servant, Felsen.”
“Then that is it,” he cried. “I suspected that fellow. It was he who
told me the address, declaring the chief had sent the message by him.
He is a traitor, that servant of yours. The scoundrel.” He was quite
hot in his indignation.
“But you said he was suspect,” I reminded him.
“I wished to warn you. I told you he talked. I wish I had spoken more
plainly. But you are so quick, I thought you would understand.”
“I am beginning to now,” I replied, as we hurried on.
As we reached the Place of St. John the noise of a great tumult reached
us from the direction in which we had seen the strikers marching; the
subdued roar of thousands of hoarse voices, followed first by some
desultory shots and then by the rattle of musketry firing.
The people about us paused, and then began to run in the direction of
the sound.
“It has begun,” said Burski. “The troops are stationed by the
Government Buildings and the strikers have come in conflict with them.”
It was to the accompaniment of this ominous music of revolt that we
approached the house. A small force of police were gathered before it,
and I scanned the windows eagerly for some sign of Volna’s presence. I
saw nothing.
There was a short delay before we were admitted. Burski drew aside two
of the men and during the short discussion, curious looks were cast at
me. In the end way was made for us and we were allowed to pass.
The moment we were inside Burski said: “We must wait here;” and another
man who was in the passage placed himself by my side.
It looked very, very much as though I had walked into a trap and was
once more under arrest.
I glanced at Burski. “What does this mean?”
For answer he shrugged his shoulders and threw up his hands as though
he was as perplexed as I. “Simply the orders, that’s all.”