THE FAITHFUL SPY.
IN asking for an officer to assist in my search for M. de Lambert,
I had hoped to force the czar’s hand, and to obtain some direct
information as to his intentions toward his captive, but I had failed
in this, and the Russian was of no assistance to me; on the contrary,
he became such a burden that after a few hours I signified my readiness
to dispense with his services, and saw him depart with feelings of
deep relief. He left me at the door of my own lodgings, and I went in
to inquire for tidings, only to find that there were none, and that
Pierrot had Tikhon still in custody. I was not willing to let him go
until I had absolute proof of the truth of his information, and so
left him to the tender mercies of my equerry. It was late, but I found
Zénaïde waiting for me with an anxious face, having spent the night
in watching, all her fears alarmed by M. de Lambert’s disappearance,
for, though a brave woman, she was always sensitive to anxieties for my
personal safety, and she understood only too well the intrigues of the
court.
“Where have you been?” she asked as she helped me to lay aside my cloak
and sword. “Have you any good tidings?”
“None,” I replied gloomily, “and I have seen the czar.”
“It is, then, as we feared,” she exclaimed; “he has been arrested?”
I inclined my head. “So Tikhon tells me, and I believe he speaks the
truth. The czar was in an evil humor and determined to baffle me. It
is a sorry affair, and if something does not occur to mend it inside
of twenty-four hours, I must even send a messenger post-haste to
Versailles.”
Zénaïde’s face grew grave, and she stood looking at the fire
thoughtfully. “A sorry matter, indeed,” she said after a moment, “and
it makes me shudder when I think of what may happen to M. de Lambert
before we can do anything for him. Poor Najine!”
“I do not believe that the czar will attempt to harm him,” I replied;
“the King of France is no weak foe, and I have endeavored to impress
them here with the personal importance of Guillaume de Lambert.”
Zénaïde shook her head. “You do not know Russia yet, Philippe,” she
said, “or you would not lay that unction to your soul. I thought
that you understood better the passionate, impulsive nature of Peter
Alexeivitch.”
“Ay, madame,” I said, “I know the Russian, but I know also that
the name of Louis of France is a power, and Peter never forgets
altogether, even in his love fever, his quarrel with Charles of
Sweden. If he affronts the king my master, how can he foresee the
result in Saxony? The German princes are only too anxious to partition
Augustus’ patrimony, and with a new alliance what could not Charles XII
accomplish? Poland would be lost, not only to Augustus, but to Peter,
and with it the Neva. No, no, Madame de Brousson, the czar dare not
openly insult Louis de Bourbon.”
Zénaïde shrugged her shoulders. “You do not understand Peter,” she said
with decision; “he is in love, and he will allow his impulses and his
jealousies to rule him exactly as if he had been born a peasant. The
czar is very genuine, and I believe I admire him for it. If he is a
king, he is also a man, and when the depths of that soul are stirred,
there is a mighty tempest.”
“By Saint Denis, madame!” I exclaimed, “I shall begin to be jealous of
his imperial Majesty. I never knew before how much you admired him.”
She smiled. “Yes,” she said thoughtfully, “I believe I do admire him;
I believe that I am even sorry for him. He was married to an ignorant,
bigoted woman who belongs to a past for which the czar has no sympathy.
There could have been no affection between them, and he can have
little hope in the czarevitch. In a manner, I have been converted to
your opinions. Peter has deep feelings and a certain simplicity; I
believe that he sincerely desires to be loved by Mademoiselle Zotof. I
can see just how her beauty, her wit, her spirit appeal to him. While
I sympathize with her, and while her love for M. de Lambert is natural
and sweet, yet I am not without regret--I confess it--that she cannot
be Czarina of Russia.”
“Upon my word, Zénaïde,” I said dryly, “you should plead the czar’s
cause. To me he seemed without so fine a perception.”
“A violent man, Philippe,” she replied gently, “but with some
magnificent qualities, and, after all, the son of Alexis the most
Debonair and Natalia Kirilovna, a beautiful and ambitious woman and a
generous and benignant man; had he not the birthright to a noble soul?
And how much more lovable than--”
I held up my finger in warning. “Have a care, madame,” I said.
“Nay, Philippe,” she replied, “I will say it--than the king our master.”
“Treason,” I said lightly, “high treason. It will become my duty,
madame, to report you at Versailles.”
As I spoke, Touchet came to the door to announce that a stranger
desired to see me at once on urgent business.
“Bid him come here,” I said, and then added, “Nay, I will go down--”
But Zénaïde interrupted me.
“No, no,” she exclaimed, “let him come here. If his errand is honest,
he can face the light, and we have had too much of conspiracy. The next
move will be against you, and I will not be put off--I understand my
own people better than you do, and I am your best defence.”
“He asked me to give this token to your Excellency,” Touchet said,
handing me a ring.
It was my own which I had given to the Swede, and I bade Touchet bring
him in at once.
“Your fears were groundless, Zénaïde,” I remarked, smiling; “you are
over-anxious.”
“It may be, but I cannot let you run any risks,” she replied gently,
laying her hand upon my arm. “There are but two Philippes in the world
for me, you and my boy, and I cannot afford to lose either of them.”
Looking down upon her fair and anxious face, I kissed her.
“We are a couple of fools, madame,” I said, “and I hear the feet of
Touchet and the Swede upon the stair.”
“By your leave I will stay,” she said, retiring to the alcove by the
chimney, as the door opened to admit my visitor.
It was Lenk, and I was anxious to hear his tidings, for I was confident
that he had found some means to locate M. de Lambert, and my surmise
proved correct.
“You are welcome, Lenk,” I said, “for I doubt not that you have some
information.”
“I have, M. de Brousson,” he replied gravely; “it is as I thought. He
was betrayed by Apraxin into the hands of the czar’s officers, and is
imprisoned in the Kremlin.”
“That is what Tikhon, Prince Dolgoruky’s equerry, has already
confessed,” I said; “but where is he confined?”
“In a cell behind the old torture-room.”
I started. It was a grim place in which to incarcerate an innocent man
and a Frenchman. I felt the blood burn in my veins; it was an insult to
France.
“Is it possible to communicate with him?” I asked quickly.
Lenk shook his head. “No, it was only by accident that I was enabled to
locate him, your Excellency,” he replied, “and no one else would have
been so fortunate.”
I looked at him curiously. “You have honeycombed the court secrets, I
see,” I remarked quietly; “how is it that you obtain such information
and yet go about unsuspected and unapprehended?”
He smiled. “Is it possible that you have been so long in the courts
of Europe, monsieur,” he replied, “and yet do not know that treachery
is common, that no man is safe in the hands of his friends? There are
many, too, who betray through folly. The brain of a fool is like an
egg: you can draw out the contents, without breaking the shell.”
I looked at him attentively. I saw that I had been deceived in him, and
that there was a shrewd nature behind that broad blunt countenance, and
that those small light eyes were keen with intelligence. His face was
like a mask, and served his purpose well.
“Tell me,” I said after a pause, “how is this cell situated in which M.
de Lambert is confined? Can it be reached? Can a rescue be planned?”
“Impossible, your Excellency,” he replied at once; “it is an
interior cell, and is in charge of the Preobrazhensky guards, alike
incorruptible and indomitable. We must devise some other way.”
I paced the floor in silence. I was at a loss what to do or say. The
situation was gloomy, and I began to entertain serious fears for my
unfortunate friend.
“Where is Apraxin?” I asked at last.
“At the house of Zotof,” the Swede replied promptly. “I traced him
there. It was his messenger who induced M. de Lambert to leave your
quarters in the morning.”
I could not myself imagine what had induced M. Guillaume to be again
deceived by the villain, but for the time thought little of it, only
endeavoring to find a way to unravel the difficulty.
“We must have Apraxin,” I said decidedly, “and at once.”
“That will be no easy matter,” the Swede remarked calmly; “he is a
miserable knave, and on the constant outlook for trouble.”
“Nevertheless we must have him,” I exclaimed; “we must find a way to
secure him without bloodshed.”
“I am willing to undertake the errand, M. de Brousson,” the spy said
quietly; “but I cannot hit upon a way to catch him as readily as I
would like.”
Zénaïde came suddenly out of her retirement. She had understood my plan
at once.
“I have it,” she said eagerly; “we must use his own methods. We must
decoy him into an ambush.”
“Of course,” I retorted with a shrug; “but how, madame?”
“Wait but a moment,” she replied quickly, “and I will show you the
way;” and she hurried from the room, her face flushed with excitement.
I looked after her in surprise. “I cannot see the way so easily,” I
said.
“Madame will show us,” the Swede replied calmly; “a woman’s wit has
often cut the knot when all else failed.”
“I trust that it will be so in this case,” I said, although I could not
imagine what was my wife’s plan.
In a moment she came back with something in her hand.
“Behold the key to the difficulty,” she said triumphantly, holding out
a bit of pale blue ribbon.
I stared at the ribbon and at her in silence, and, seeing my
bewilderment, she laughed merrily.
“You grow dull, Philippe,” she said chidingly; “it is mademoiselle’s
favorite color. It fell from her robe upon my floor, and I saved it
with some inspiration that it would serve a good turn. Send it to M.
Apraxin with a message. They know not yet where to find Najine, and are
eager for tidings. Trust me, he will fall into the snare as easily as
did M. de Lambert.”
“Madame is right,” the Swede declared with sparkling eyes; “he will
jump at a token from mademoiselle, and I know a lad who can take it
unsuspected and get into Zotof’s house.”
“Apraxin is a greater fool than I think him, if he follows that bit of
ribbon,” I remarked grimly; “however, it is worth the trial, and we
have no time to lose. Therefore, Lenk, send your messenger with speed;
but stay--where shall we bid the fellow come?”
We all stood thinking for a moment, and then, again, madame found a
solution for the problem.
“Bid him come to that quiet street behind the palace of Mentchikof,”
she said; “then he will think, quite naturally, that Mentchikof has
been trying to abduct mademoiselle, and that she sends to her relative
to rescue her, despairing of other aid.”
“Your wit is excellent, madame,” I said; “this may prove a clever
trick. As for you, Lenk, send the message, and Pierrot and Touchet
shall help you to secure him; but it must be without bloodshed.”
The Swede smiled. “Have no fear, your Excellency,” he replied;
“assassins do not love an open fight, and it will be three to one.”
“He may come reinforced,” Zénaïde said; “he would scarcely come alone.”
“I differ from you,” I rejoined. “Zotof will not commit himself to
open support of Apraxin while the czar feels as he does toward the
scapegrace,--for not even his share in securing M. de Lambert will
excuse his rash offence in his Majesty’s eyes.”
I went on to give Lenk some specific instructions, and to thank him for
his aid, which was indispensable, although dangerous, for the help of a
Swedish spy would ruin us if it were discovered; but a desperate game
must be desperately played.
The Swede had just left the room when there was a sound of voices in
the hall, and Madame de Brousson, who had been listening at the door,
turned to me with a startled face.
“I cannot be mistaken,” she exclaimed; “it is Najine!”