Jennie had promised Professor Seigfried not to communicate with the
Director of Police, and she now wondered whether it would be breaking
her word, or not, if she let that official know the result of her
investigation, when it would make no difference, one way or the other,
to the Professor. If Professor Seigfried could have foreseen his own
sudden death, would he not, she asked herself, have preferred her to
make public all she knew of him? for had he not constantly reiterated
that fame, and the consequent transmission of his name to posterity, was
what he worked for? Then there was this consideration: if the Chief of
Police was not told how the explosion had been caused, his fruitless
search would go futilely on, and, doubtless, in the course of police
inquiry, many innocent persons would be arrested, put to inconvenience
and expense, and there was even a chance that one or more, who had
absolutely nothing to do with the affair, might be imprisoned for life.
She resolved, therefore, to tell the Director of the Police all she
knew, which she would not have done had Professor Seigfried been alive.
She accordingly sent a messenger for the great official, and just as she
had begun to relate to the impatient Princess what had happened, he was
announced. The three of them held convention in Jennie’s drawing-room
with locked doors.
“I am in a position,” began Jennie, “to tell you how the explosion in
the Treasury was caused and who caused it; but before doing so you must
promise to grant me two favours, each of which is in your power to
bestow without inconvenience.”
“What are they?” asked the Director of Police cautiously.
“To tell what they are is to tell part of my story. You must first
promise blindly, and afterwards keep your promise faithfully.”
“Those are rather unusual terms, Miss Baxter,” said the Chief; “but I
accede to them, the more willingly as we have found that all the gold is
still in the Treasury, as you said it was.”
“Very well, then, the first favour is that I shall not be called to
give testimony when an inquest is held on the body of Professor Carl
Seigfried.”
“You amaze me!” cried the Director; “how did you know he was dead? I had
news of it only a moment before I left my office.”
“I was with him when he died,” said Jennie simply, which statement
drew forth an exclamation of surprise from both the Princess and the
Director. “My next request is that you destroy utterly a machine which
stands on a table near the centre of the Professor’s room. Perhaps the
instrument is already disabled--I believe it is--but, nevertheless, I
shall not rest content until you have seen that every vestige of it is
made away with, because the study of what is left of it may enable some
other scientist to put it in working order again. I entreat you to
attend to this matter yourself. I will go with you, if you wish me
to, and point out the instrument in case it has been moved from its
position.”
“The room is sealed,” said the Director, “and nothing will be
touched until I arrive there. What is the nature of this instrument?”
“It is of a nature so deadly and destructive that, if it got into the
hands of an anarchist, he could, alone, lay the city of Vienna in
ruins.”
“Good heavens!” cried the horrified official, whose bane was the
anarchist, and Jennie, in mentioning this particular type of criminal,
had builded better than she knew. If she had told him that the
Professor’s invention might enable Austria to conquer all the
surrounding nations, there is every chance that the machine would have
been carefully preserved.
“The explosion in the Treasury vaults,” continued Jennie, “was
accidentally caused by this instrument, although the machine at the
moment was in a garret half a mile away. You saw the terrible effect of
that explosion; imagine, then, the destruction it would cause in the
hands of one of those anarchists who are so reckless of consequences.”
“I shall destroy the instrument with my own hands,” asserted the
Director fervently, mopping his pallid brow.
Jennie then went on, to the increasing astonishment of the Princess and
the Director, and related every detail of her interview with the late
professor Carl Seigfried.
“I shall go at once and annihilate that machine,” said the Director,
rising when the recital was finished. “I shall see to that myself. Then,
after the inquest, I shall give an order that everything in the attic
is to be destroyed. I wish that every scientific man on the face of the
earth could be safely placed behind prison bars.”
“I am afraid that wouldn’t do much good,” replied Jennie, “unless you
could prevent chemicals being smuggled in. The scientists would probably
reduce your prison to powder, and walk calmly out through the dust.”
Mr. Hardwick had told Jennie that if she solved the Vienna mystery she
would make a European reputation for the _Daily Bugle_. Jennie did more
than was expected of her, yet the European reputation which the _Bugle_
established was not one to be envied. It is true that the account
printed of the cause of the explosion, dramatically completed with the
Professor’s tragically sudden death, caused a great sensation in London.
The comic papers of the week were full of illustrations showing the uses
to which the Professor’s instrument might be put. To say that any sane
man in England believed a word of the article would be to cast an
undeserved slight upon the intelligence of the British public. No one
paused to think that if a newspaper had published an account of what
could be done by the Röentgen rays, without being able to demonstrate
practically the truth of the assertions made, the contribution would
have been laughed at. If some years ago a newspaper had stated that a
man in York listened to the voice of a friend at that moment standing in
London, and was not only able to hear what his friend said, but could
actually recognize the voice speaking in an ordinary tone, and then
if the paper had added that, unfortunately, the instrument which
accomplished this had been destroyed, people would have denounced the
sensational nature of modern journalism.
Letters poured in upon the editor, saying that while, as a general rule,
the writers were willing to stand the ordinary lie of commerce daily
printed in the sheet, there was a limit to their credulity and they
objected to be taken for drivelling imbeciles. To complete the
discomfiture of the _Daily Bugle_, the Government of Austria
published an official statement, which Reuter and the special
correspondents scattered broadcast over the earth. The statement was
written in that calm, serious, and consistent tone which diplomatists
use when uttering a falsehood of more than ordinary dimensions.
Irresponsible rumours had been floating about (the official proclamation
began) to the effect that there had been an explosion in the Treasury
at Vienna. It had been stated that a large quantity of gold had been
stolen, and that a disaster of some kind had occurred in the Treasury
vaults. Then a ridiculous story had been printed which asserted that
Professor Seigfried, one of Austria’s honoured dead, had in some manner
that savoured of the Black Art, encompassed this wholesale destruction.
The Government now begged to make the following declarations: First,
not a penny had been stolen out of the Treasury; second, the so-called
war-chest was intact; third, the two hundred million florins reposed
securely within the bolted doors of the Treasury vaults; fourth,
the coins were not, as had been alleged, those belonging to various
countries, which was a covert intimation that Austria had hostile intent
against one or the other of those friendly nations. The whole coinage
in this falsely named war-chest, which was not a war-chest at all, but
merely the receptacle of a reserve fund which Austria possessed, was
entirely in Austrian coinage; fifth, in order that these sensational and
disquieting scandals should be set at rest, the Government announced
that it intended to weigh this gold upon a certain date, and it invited
representatives of the Press, from Russia, Germany, France, and England
to witness this weighing.
The day after this troy-weight function had taken place in Vienna, long
telegraphic accounts of it appeared in the English press, and several
solemn leading articles were put forward in the editorial columns,
which, without mentioning the name of the _Daily Bugle_, deplored the
voracity of the sensational editor, who respected neither the amity
which should exist between friendly nations, nor the good name of the
honoured and respected dead, in his wolfish hunt for the daily scandal.
Nothing was too high-spiced or improbable for him to print. He traded on
the supposed gullibility of a fickle public. But, fortunately, in the
long run, these staid sheets asserted, such actions recoiled upon the
head of him who promulgated them. Sensational journals merited and
received the scathing contempt of all honest men. Later on, one of the
reviews had an article entitled “Some Aspects of Modern Journalism,”
which battered in the head of the _Daily Bugle_ as with a sledge hammer,
and in one of the quarterlies a professor at Cambridge showed the
absurdity of the alleged invention from a scientific point of view.
“I swear,” cried Mr. Hardwick, as he paced up and down his room, “that I
shall be more careful after this in the handling of truth; it is a most
dangerous thing to meddle with. If you tell the truth about a man, you
are mulcted in a libel suit, and if you tell the truth about a nation,
the united Press of the country are down upon you. Ah, well, it makes
the battle of life all the more interesting, and we are baffled to fight
better, as Browning says.”
The editor had sent for Miss Baxter, and she now sat by his desk while
he paced nervously to and fro. The doors were closed and locked so that
they might not be interrupted, and she knew by the editor’s manner that
something important was on hand. Jennie had returned to London after
a month’s stay in Vienna, and had been occupied for a week at her old
routine work in the office.
“Now, Miss Baxter,” said the editor, when he had proclaimed his distrust
of the truth as a workable material in journalism, “I have a plan to set
before you, and when you know what it is, I am quite prepared to hear
you refuse to have anything to do with it. And, remember, if you _do_
undertake it, there is but one chance in a million of your succeeding.
It is on this one chance that I propose now to send you to St.
Petersburg--”
“To St. Petersburg!” echoed the girl in dismay.
“Yes,” said the editor, mistaking the purport of her ejaculation, “it is
a very long trip, but you can travel there in great comfort, and I want
you to spare no expense in obtaining for yourself every luxury that the
various railway lines afford during your journey to St. Petersburg and
back.”
“And what am I to go to St. Petersburg for?” murmured Jennie faintly.
“Merely for a letter. Here is what has happened, and what is happening.
I shall mention no names, but at present a high and mighty personage in
Russia, who is friendly to Great Britain, has written a private letter,
making some proposals to a certain high and mighty personage in England,
who is friendly to Russia. This communication is entirely unofficial;
neither Government is supposed to know anything at all about it. As a
matter of fact, the Russian Government have a suspicion, and the British
Government have a certainty, that such a document will shortly be in
transit. Nothing may come of it, or great things may come of it. Now
on the night of the 21st, in one of the sleeping cars leaving St.
Petersburg by the Nord Express for Berlin, there will travel a special
messenger having this letter in his possession. I want you to take
passage by that same train and secure a compartment near the messenger,
if possible. This messenger will be a man in whom the respective parties
to the negotiation have implicit confidence. I wish I knew his name,
but I don’t; still, the chances are that he is leaving London for St.
Petersburg about this time, and so you might keep your eyes open on your
journey there, for, if you discovered him to be your fellow-passenger,
it might perhaps make the business that comes after easier. You see this
letter,” continued the editor, taking from a drawer in his desk a large
envelope, the flap of which was secured by a great piece of stamped
sealing-wax. “This merely contains a humble ordinary copy of to-day’s
issue of the _Bugle_, but in outside appearance it might be taken for a
duplicate of the letter which is to leave St. Petersburg on the 21st.
Now, what I would like you to do is to take this envelope in your
hand-bag, and if, on the journey back to London, you have an opportunity
of securing the real letter, and leaving this in its place, you will
have accomplished the greatest service you have yet done for the paper.”
“Oh!” cried Jennie, rising, “I couldn’t think of that, Mr. Hardwick--I
couldn’t _think_ of doing it. It is nothing short of highway robbery!”
“I know it looks like that,” pleaded Hardwick; “but listen to me. If
I were going to open the letter and use its contents, then you might
charge me with instigating theft. The fact is, the letter will not be
delayed; it will reach the hands of the high and mighty personage in
England quite intact. The only difference is that you will be its bearer
instead of the messenger they send for it.”
“You expect to open the letter, then, in some surreptitious way--some
way that will not be noticed afterwards? Oh, I couldn’t do it,
Mr. Hardwick.”
“My dear girl, you are jumping at conclusions. I shall amaze you when
I tell you that I know already practically what the contents of that
letter are.”
“Then what is the use of going to all this expense and trouble trying to
steal it?”
“Don’t say ‘steal it,’ Miss Baxter. I’ll tell you what my motive is.
There is an official in England who has gone out of his way to throw
obstacles in mine. This is needless and irritating, for generally I
manage to get the news I am in quest of; but in several instances, owing
to his opposition, I have not only not got the news, but other papers
have. Now, since the general raking we have had over this Austrian
business, quite aside from the fact that we published the exact truth,
this stupid old official duffer has taken it upon himself to be
exceedingly sneering and obnoxious to me, and I confess I want to take
him down a peg. He hasn’t any idea that I know as much about this
business as I do--in fact, he thinks it is an absolute secret; yet, if
I liked, I could to-morrow nullify all the arrangements by simply
publishing what is already in my possession, which action on my part
would create a _furore_ in this country, and no less of a _furore_ in
Russia. For the sake of amity between nations, which I am accused of
disregarding, I hold my hand.
“Now, if you get possession of that communication, I want you to
telegraph to me while you are _en route_ for London, and I will meet you
at the terminus; then I shall take the document direct to this official,
even before the regular messenger has time to reach him. I shall say to
the official, ‘There is the message from the high personage in Russia to
the high personage in England. If you want the document, I will give
it to you, but it must be understood that you are to be a little less
friendly to certain other newspapers, and a little more friendly to
mine, in future.’”
“And suppose he refuses your terms?”
“He won’t refuse them; but if he does I shall hand him the envelope just
the same.”
“Well, honestly, Mr. Hardwick, I don’t think your scheme worth the
amount of money it will cost, and, besides, the chance of my getting
hold of the packet, which will doubtless be locked safely within a
despatch box, and constantly under the eye of the messenger, is most
remote.”
“I am more than willing to risk all that if you will undertake the
journey. You speak lightly of my scheme, but that is merely because you
do not understand the situation. Everything you have heretofore done has
been of temporary advantage to the paper; but if you carry this off, I
expect the benefit to the _Bugle_ will be lasting. It will give me a
standing with certain officials that I have never before succeeded in
getting. In the first place, it will make them afraid of me, and that of
itself is a powerful lever when we are trying to get information which
they are anxious to give to some other paper.”
“Very well, Mr. Hardwick, I will try; though I warn you to expect
nothing but failure. In everything else I have endeavoured to do, I have
felt confident of success from the beginning. In this instance I am
as sure I shall fail.”
“As I told you, Miss Baxter, the project is so difficult that your
failure, if you _do_ fail, will merely prove it to have been
impossible, because I am sure that if anyone on earth could
carry the project to success, you are that person; and, furthermore, I
am very much obliged to you for consenting to attempt such a mission.”
And thus it was that Jennie Baxter found herself in due time in the
great capital of the north, with a room in the Hotel de l’Europe
overlooking the Nevski Prospect. In ordinary circumstances she would
have enjoyed a visit to St. Petersburg; but now she was afraid to
venture out, being under the apprehension that at any moment she might
meet Lord Donal Stirling face to face, and that he would recognize her;
therefore she remained discreetly in her room, watching the strange
street scenes from her window. She found herself scrutinizing everyone
who had the appearance of being an Englishman, and she had to confess to
a little qualm of disappointment when the person in question proved to
be some other than Lord Donal; in fact, during her short stay at St.
Petersburg she saw nothing of the young man.
Jennie went, on the evening of her arrival, to the offices of the
Sleeping Car Company, to secure a place in one of the carriages that
left at six o’clock on the evening of the 21st. Her initial difficulty
met her when she learned there were several sleeping cars on that
train, and she was puzzled to know which to select. She stood there,
hesitating, with the plans of the carriages on the table before her.
“You have ample choice,” said the clerk; “seats are not usually booked
so long in advance, and only two places have been taken in the train, so
far.”
“I should like to be in a carriage containing some English people,” said
the girl, not knowing what excuse to give for her hesitation.
“Then let me recommend this car, for one compartment has been taken by
the British Embassy--Room C, near the centre, marked with a cross.”
“Ah, well, I will take the compartment next to it--Room D, isn’t it?”
said Jennie.
“Oh, I am sorry to say that also has been taken. Those are the two
which are bespoken. I will see under what name Room D has been booked.
Probably its occupant is English also. But I can give you Room B, on the
other side of the one reserved by the Embassy. It is a two-berth room,
Nos. 5 and 6.”
“That will do quite as well,” said Jennie.
The clerk looked up the order book, and then said,--
“It is not recorded here by whom Room D was reserved. As a usual thing,”
he continued, lowering his voice almost to a whisper and looking
furtively over his shoulder, “when no name is marked down, that means
the Russian police. So, you see, by taking the third room you will not
only be under the shadow of the British Embassy, but also under the
protection of Russia. Do you wish one berth only, or the whole room? It
is a two-berth compartment.”
“I desire the whole room, if you please.”
She paid the price and departed, wondering if the other room had really
been taken by the police, and whether the authorities were so anxious
for the safety of the special messenger that they considered it
necessary to protect him to the frontier. If, in addition to the natural
precautions of the messenger, there was added the watchfulness of one or
two suspicious Russian policemen, then would her difficult enterprise
become indeed impossible. On the other hand, the ill-paid policemen
might be amenable to the influence of money, and as she was well
supplied with the coin of the realm, their presence might be a help
rather than a hindrance. All in all, she had little liking for the
task she had undertaken, and the more she thought of it, the less it
commended itself to her. Nevertheless, having pledged her word to the
editor, if failure came it would be through no fault of hers.