THE PRINCE WHO PLANNED
Few people knew or know how powerful a man Prince Serganoff really was
in these bad old days. He waved his hand and thousands of men and women
disappeared. He beckoned and he had a thousand sycophantic suppliants.
In the days before he became Chief of the Police to the entourage, he
went upon a diplomatic mission to High Macedonia, the dark and sinister
state. He was sent by none, but he had a reason, for Dimitrius, his
sometime friend, had fled to the capital of the higher Balkan state and
Serganoff went down without authority to terrify his sometime confidant
into returning for trial. In High Macedonia the exquisite young man was
led by sheer curiosity to make certain inquiries into the domestic
administration of the country, and learnt things.
He had hardly made himself master of these before he was sent for by the
Foreign Minister.
"Highness," said the suave man, stroking his long, brown beard, "how
long have you been in the capital?"
"Some four days, Excellency," said the Prince.
"That is ninety-six hours too long," said the minister. "There is a
train for the north in forty minutes. You will catch that, and God be
with you!"
Prince Serganoff did not argue but went out from the ornate office, and
the Minister called a man who was waiting.
"If his Highness does not leave by the four o'clock train, cut his
throat and carry the body to one of the common houses of the
town--preferably that of the man Domopolo, the Greek, who is a bad
character, and well deserving of death."
"Excellency," said the man gravely, and saluted his way out.
They knew Serganoff in High Macedonia and were a little anxious. Had
they known him better they would have feared him less. He did not leave
by the four o'clock train, but by a special which was across the
frontier by four. He sat in a cold sweat till the frontier post was
past.
This man was a mass of contradictions. He liked the good things of life.
He bought his hosiery in Paris, his shoes in Vienna, his suits and
cravats in New York; and it is said of him that he made a special
pilgrimage to London--the Mecca of those who love good leather
work--for the characteristic attache cases which were so indispensable
to the Chief of Gendarmerie of the Marsh Town.
He carried with him the irrepressible trimness and buoyancy of youth,
with his smooth, sallow face, his neat black moustache and his
shapeliness of outline. An exquisite of exquisites, he had never felt
the draughts of life or experienced its rude buffetings.
His perfectly-appointed flat in the Morskaya had been modelled to his
taste and fancy. It was a suite wherein you pressed buttons and
comfortable things happened. You opened windows and boiled water, or
summoned a valet to your bedside by the gentle pressure you applied to a
mother-of-pearl stud set in silver plate which, by some miracle, was
always within reach.
He had an entire suite converted to bath-rooms, where his masseur, his
manicurist and his barber attended him daily. He had conscripted modern
science to his service, he had so cunningly disguised its application,
that you might never guess the motive power of the old English clock
which ticked in the spacious hall, or realize that the soft light which
came from the many branched candelabra which hung from the centre of his
drawing-room was due to anything more up to date than the hundred most
life-like candles which filled the sockets.
Yet this suave gentleman with his elegant manners and his pretty taste
in old china, this genius who was the finest judge in the capital of
Pekinese dogs, and had been known to give a thousand-rouble fee to the
veterinary surgeon who performed a minor operation on his favourite
Borzoi, had another aspect. He who shivered at the first chill winds of
winter and wrapped himself in sables whenever he drove abroad after the
last days of September, and had sent men and women to the bleakness of
Alexandrowski without a qualm; he who had to fortify himself to face an
American dentist (his fees for missed appointments would have kept the
average middle-class family in comfort for a year), was ruthless in his
dealings with the half-crazed men and women who strayed across the
frontier which divided conviction from propaganda.
Physical human suffering left him unmoved--he hanged the murderer
Palatoff with his own hands. Yet in that operation someone saw him turn
very pale and shrink back from his victim. Afterwards the reason was
discovered. The condemned man had had the front of his rough shirt
fastened with a safety-pin which had worked loose. The point had ripped
a little gash in the inexperienced finger of the amateur hangman.
He brought Dr. Von Krauss from Berlin, because von Krauss was an
authority upon blood infection and spent a week of intense mental agony
until he was pronounced out of danger.
He sat before a long mirror in his bedroom, that gave on Horridge's
Hotel, and surveyed himself thoughtfully. He was looking at the only man
he trusted, for it was not vanity, but a love of agreeable company that
explained the passion for mirrors which was the jest of St. Petersburg.
It was his fourth day in London and a little table near the window was
covered with patterns of cloth; he had spent an exciting afternoon with
the representative of his tailor. But it was not of sartorial
magnificence that he was thinking.
He stretched out his legs comfortably towards his reflection, and
smiled.
"Yes," he said, as though answering some secret thought, and he and the
reflection nodded to one another as though they had reached a complete
understanding.
Presently he pushed the bell and his valet appeared.
"Has the Grand Duke gone?" he asked.
"Yes, Excellency," replied the man.
"And the Grand Duchess?"
"Yes, Excellency."
"Good!" Serganoff nodded.
"Is your Excellency's headache better?" asked the man.
"Much better," replied the Chief of Police. "Go to their Highness's
suite, and tell their servant--what is the man's name?"
"Boolba, Excellency," said the valet.
"Yes, that is the fellow. Ask him to come to me. The Grand Duke
mentioned a matter which I forgot to tell Boolba."
Boolba made his appearance, a suave domestic, wearing the inconspicuous
livery of an English butler rather than the ornate uniform which
accompanied his office in Kieff.
"That will do." Serganoff dismissed his valet. "Boolba, come here."
The man approached him and Serganoff lowered his voice.
"You have made a fool of me again, Boolba."
"Excellency," pleaded the man urgently, "I have done all that was
possible."
"You have placed my fortune and my life in the hands of an American
criminal. If that is your idea of doing all that is possible, I agree
with you," said Serganoff. "Be careful, Boolba! The arm of the Bureau is
a very long one, and greater men than you have disappeared from their
homes."
"Illustrious Excellency," said the agitated man, "I swear to you I did
all that you requested. There were many reasons why I should not entrust
this matter to the men of the secret society."
"I should like to hear a few," said Serganoff, cleaning his nails
delicately.
"Excellency, the Grand Duke stands well with the society. He had never
oppressed them, and he is the only popular member of the Imperial House
with our--their society."
"Our society, eh?" said Serganoff, noticing the slip. "Go on."
"Besides, Excellency," said Boolba, "it was necessary not only to kill
the Grand Duke, but to shoot down his assassin. Our plan was to get this
American to shoot him in the park, where he walks in the morning, and
then for one of the society to shoot the American. That was a good plan,
because it meant that the man who could talk would talk no more, and
that the comrade who shot down the murderer would stand well with the
Government."
Serganoff nodded.
"And your plan has failed," he said, "failed miserably at the outset.
You dog!"
He leapt to his feet, his eyes blazing, and Boolba stepped back.
"Highness, wait, wait!" he cried. "I have something else in my mind! I
could have helped Highness better if I had known more. But I could only
guess. I had to grope in the dark all the time."
"Do you imagine I am going to take you into my confidence?" asked
Serganoff. "What manner of fool am I? Tell me what you have guessed. You
may sit down; nobody will come in, and if they do you can be buttoning
my boots."
Boolba wiped his damp face with a handkerchief and leaned nearer to the
man.
"If the Grand Duke dies, a certain illustrious person succeeds to his
estates," he said, "but not to his title."
Serganoff looked at him sharply. The man had put into words the one
difficulty which had occupied the mind of the Chief of Police for
months.
"Well?" he said.
"The title is in the gift of the Czar," said Boolba. "He alone can
create a Grand Duke who succeeds but is not in the direct line.
Therefore, the killing of Yaroslav would bring little but the property
to the illustrious person. Only if His Imperial Majesty decided upon a
worthier holder, or if the Grand Duke fell under a cloud at Court, could
it pass to the illustrious person."
"That I know," said Serganoff. "Well?"
"Well, Highness, would it not be better if the Grand Duke were
disgraced, if he were brought to St. Petersburg to answer certain
charges which the illustrious person formulated? After, the Grand Duke
might die--that is a simple matter. Russia would think that he had been
put to death by the Court party as a matter of policy. Yaroslav is not
in favour at the Court," he added significantly; but Serganoff shook his
head.
"He is not sufficiently out of favour yet," he said. "Go on, man, you
have something in your mind."
Boolba edged closer.
"Suppose the Grand Duke or the Grand Duchess were involved in some
conspiracy against the Imperial House?" he said, speaking rapidly.
"Suppose, on evidence which could not be disputed, such as the evidence
of the London police, it was proved that either the Grand Duke or his
daughter was in league with an anarchist society, or was attending their
meetings--does your Excellency see?"
"I see," said Serganoff, "but they do not attend meetings."
Boolba hesitated.
"Yet," he said, speaking slowly, "I would guarantee that I could bring
the Grand Duchess Irene to such a meeting, and that I could arrange for
the place to be raided whilst she was there."
Serganoff put down his orange stick and eyed the other keenly.
"You have brains, Boolba," he said. "Some day I shall bring you to St.
Petersburg and place you on my staff--if you do not know too much."
He paced the apartment, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Suppose you get in touch with this American again, bring him to the
meeting, unless he's afraid to come, and then boldly suggest to him that
he goes to St. Petersburg to make an attempt upon the life of the Czar
himself."
"He would reject it," said Boolba, shaking his head.
"What if he did--that doesn't matter," said Serganoff impatiently. "It
is sufficient that the suggestion is made. Suppose this man is amongst
these infamous fellows when the London police raid and arrest them, and
he makes a statement that he was approached to destroy the Imperial
life, and the Grand Duchess Irene is arrested at the same time?"
Boolba's eyes brightened.
"That is a wonderful idea, Highness," he said admiringly.
Serganoff continued his pacing, and presently stopped.
"I will arrange the police raid," he said. "I am in communication with
Scotland Yard, and it will be better if I am present when the raid is
conducted. It is necessary that I should identify myself with this
chapter," he said, "but how will you induce the Grand Duchess to come?"
"Leave that to me, Highness," replied the man, and gave some details of
his scheme.