Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




The Price of Power
Being Chapters from the Secret History of the Imperial Court of
Russia By William Le Queux
Published by Hurst and Blackett, Ltd.
This edition dated 1913.

The Price of Power, by William Le Queux.

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THE PRICE OF POWER, BY WILLIAM LE QUEUX.

CHAPTER ONE.

THE MADCAP.

"M'sieur Colin Trewinnard?"

"That is my name, Captain Stoyanovitch," I replied in surprise.  "You
know it quite well."

"The usual formality, _mon cher ami_!"

And the tall, handsome equerry in the white uniform of the Imperial
Guard laughed lightly, clicked his heels together, and handed me a
letter which I saw bore the Imperial cipher upon its black seal.

"From His Imperial Majesty the Emperor," he added in Russian.

I held my breath.  Had the blow fallen?

With eager, trembling fingers I tore open the envelope and found therein
a note in French, merely the words:

"_His Imperial Majesty the Emperor commands Mr Colin Trewinnard to
private audience to-day at 3:30 p.m_.

"_St Petersburg, June 28th_."

"Very well," I managed to reply.  "Tell Colonel Polivanoff that--that I
shall be there.  Have a cigarette?" and I handed him the silver box of
Bogdanoffs which were the common property of the staff of the Embassy.

Having flung himself into a big easy chair, he stretched out his long
legs and lit up.

"Well," I said, leaning against the edge of the writing-table, "I
suppose the Emperor returned from Odessa early this morning--eh?"

"Yes," replied the elegant officer, in English.  "Thank Heaven, the
journey is at last over.  Ah! what a tour of the Empire!  At Orel we
held the great review, then on to Saratov, where there were more
manoeuvres and a review.  Afterwards we went down the Volga to Astrakhan
to unveil the new statue to Peter the Great; then Kertch, more
manoeuvres, and into the Crimea for a week's rest.  Afterwards across to
Odessa, and then, by a three nights' journey, back here to Petersburg.
Faugh!  How we all hate that armoured train!"

"But it is surely highly necessary, my dear Stoyanovitch," I said.
"With this abominable wave of anarchism which has spread over Europe, it
behoves the Secret Police to take every precaution for His Majesty's
safety!"

"Ah! my dear friend," laughed the equerry.  "I tell you it is not at all
pleasant to travel when one expects every moment that the train will be
blown up.  One's sleeping-berth, though covered with a down quilt, is
but a bed of torture in such conditions."

"Yes," I said.  "But His Majesty--how does he bear it?"

"The Emperor has nerves of iron.  He is the least concerned of any of
us.  But, _mon Dieu_!  I would not be in his shoes for the wealth of all
the Russias."

"What--more conspiracies?"  I exclaimed.

"Conspiracies!" sighed the Captain.  "_Mon Dieu_!  A fresh one is
discovered by the political police every week.  Only the day before the
Emperor left for the country he found among the Ministers' daily reports
upon the table in his private cabinet an anonymous letter telling him
that he will meet with a tragic end on the sixth of the present month.
How this letter got there nobody knows.  His Majesty is seldom out of
temper, but I never saw him so furiously angry before."

"It is unfortunate," I said.  "Apparently he cannot trust even his
immediate _entourage_."

"Exactly," answered the dark-haired handsome man.  "The constant reports
of General Markoff regarding the revolutionists must be most alarming.
And yet he preserves an outward calm that is truly remarkable.  But, by
the way," he added, "His Majesty, before I left the Palace with that
letter, summoned me and gave me a message for you--a verbal one."

"Oh!  What was that?"

"He told me to say that he sent to you a word--let me see, I wrote it
down lest I should forget," and pulling down his left shirt cuff, he
spelt:

"B-a-t-h-i-l-d-i-s."

"Thank you," I replied briefly.

"What does it mean?  Is it some password?"  Ivan Stoyanovitch asked with
considerable curiosity.

"That's scarcely a fair question," I said in rebuke.

"Ah! of course," he replied, with a touch of sarcasm.  "I ought not to
have asked you.  Pardon me, my friend.  I forgot that you enjoy His
Majesty's confidence--that--"

"Not at all," I protested.  "I am but a humble attache of a foreign
Embassy.  It is not likely that I am entrusted with the secrets of
Russia."

"Not with those of Russia, but those of the Emperor personally.
Dachkoff was discussing you at the Turf Club one night not long ago."

"That's interesting," I laughed.  "And what had the old man to say?"

"Oh, nothing of a very friendly nature.  But, you know, he never has a
good word to say for anybody."

"Gamblers seldom have.  I hear he lost ten thousand roubles to Prince
Savinski at the Union the night before last."

"I heard it was more," and the long-legged equerry leaned back his head
and watched the blue rings of cigarette smoke slowly ascend to the
ceiling of the room, through the long window of which was a view across
the Neva, with the grim Fortress of Peter and Paul opposite.  "But," he
went on, "we were speaking of these constant conspiracies.  Though we
have been back in Petersburg only a few hours, Markoff has already
reported a desperate plot.  The conspirators, it seems, had bored a
tunnel and placed a mine under the Nevski, close to the corner of the
Pushkinskaya, and it was arranged to explode it as the Emperor's
carriage passed early this morning on the way from the Nicholas station.
But Markoff--the ever-watchful Markoff--discovered the projected
attempt only at eleven o'clock last night--two hours before we passed.
There have been thirty-three arrests up to the present, including a
number of girl students."

"Markoff is really a marvel," I declared.  "He scents a conspiracy
anywhere."

"And his spies are everywhere.  Markoff takes a good deal of the credit,
but it is his agents who do the real work.  He has saved the Emperor's
life on at least a dozen occasions."

I said nothing.  I was thinking over the word--a very significant word--
which the Emperor had sent me by his equerry.  To me, that word meant a
very great deal.

Our Ambassador, Sir Harding Lowe, being at home in England on leave, the
Honourable Claude Saunderson, our Councillor of Embassy, was acting as
Charge d'Affaires.  As far as we knew the political horizon was calm
enough, save the dark little war cloud which perpetually hovers over the
Balkans and grows darker each winter.  The German negotiations with
Russia had been concluded, and the foreign outlook appeared more serene
than it had been for many months.

Yet within the great Winter Palace there was unrest and trouble.
Jealousy, hatred and all uncharitableness were rife amid the Tzar's
immediate _entourage_, while the spirit of revolution was spreading
daily with greater significance.

Within the past twelve months the two Prime Ministers, Semenoff and
Mouravieff, had been assassinated by bombs, five governors of provinces
had met with violent deaths, and eight chiefs of police of various
cities had fallen victims of the revolutionists, who had frankly and
openly vowed to take the life of the Tzar himself.

Was it any wonder, then, that the Emperor lived in bomb-proof rooms both
in Petersburg and Tzarskoie-Selo, as well as at Gatchina; that he never
slept in the same bed twice, that all food served to him was previously
tasted, that he never gave audience without a loaded revolver lying upon
the table before him, and that he surrounded himself by hordes of
police-agents and spies?  Surely none could envy him such a life of
constant apprehension and daily terror; for twice in a month had bombs
been thrown at his carriage, while five weeks before he had had both
horses killed by an explosion in Moscow and only escaped death by a
sheer miracle.

True, the revolutionists were unusually active at that moment, and the
throne of Russia had become seriously menaced.  Any other but a man of
iron constitution and nerves of steel would surely have been driven to
lunacy by the constant terror in which he was forced to exist.  Yet,
though he took ample precaution, he never betrayed the slightest
anxiety, a fact which held everyone amazed.  He was a true Russian, an
autocrat of dogged courage, quick decision, always forceful and
impelling, a faithful friend, but a bitter and revengeful enemy; a born
ruler and a manly Emperor in every sense of the word.

"The Grand Duchess Natalia has been with the Emperor.  Did she return
with you this morning?"  I inquired.

"Yes," drawled the equerry.  "She's been admired everywhere, as usual,
and half our staff are over head and ears in love with her.  She's been
flirting outrageously."

"Then half your staff are fools," I exclaimed bluntly.

"Ah, my dear Trewinnard, she is so sweet, so very charming, so
exquisite, so entirely unlike the other girls at Court--so delightfully
unconventional."

"A little too unconventional to suit some--if all I hear be true," I
remarked with a smile.

"You know her, of course.  She's an intimate friend of yours.  I
overheard her one day telling the Emperor what an excellent tennis
player you were."

"Well, I don't fancy His Majesty interests himself very much in tennis,"
I laughed.  "He has other, and far more important, matters to occupy his
time--the affairs of his great nation."

"Natalia, or Tattie, as they call her in the Imperial circle, is his
favourite niece.  Nowadays she goes everywhere with him, and does quite
a lot of his most private correspondence--that which he does not even
trust to Calitzine."

"Then the Emperor is more friendly towards Her Imperial Highness than
before--eh?"  I asked, for truth to tell I was very anxious to satisfy
myself upon this point.

"Yes.  She has been forgiven for that little escapade in Moscow."

"What escapade?"  I asked, feigning surprise.

"What escapade?" my friend echoed.  "Why, you know well enough!  I've
heard it whispered that it was owing to your cleverness as a diplomat
that the matter was so successfully hushed up--and an ugly affair it
was, too.  The suicide of her lover."

"That's a confounded lie!"  I said quickly.  "He did not commit suicide
at all.  At most, he left Russia with a broken heart, and that is not
usually a fatal malady."

"Well, you needn't get angry about it, my dear fellow," complained my
friend.  "The affair is successfully hushed up, and I fancy she's got a
lot to thank you for."

"Not at all," I declared.  "I know that you fellows have coupled my name
with hers, just because I've danced with her a few times at the Court
balls, and I've been shooting at her father's castle away in Samara.
But I assure you my reputation as the little Grand Duchess's intimate
friend is entirely a mythical one."  Captain Stoyanovitch only smiled
incredulously, stretched out his long legs and shrugged his shoulders.

"Well," I went on, "has she been very terrified about all these reports
of conspiracies?"

"Frightened out of her life, poor child!  And who would not be?" he
asked.  "We didn't know from one hour to another that we might not all
be blown into the air.  Everywhere the railway was lined by Cossacks, of
course.  Such a demonstration is apt to lend an air of security, but,
alas! there is no security with the very Ministry undermined by
revolution, as it is."

I sighed.  What he said was, alas! too true.  Russia, at that moment,
was in very evil case, and none knew it better than we, the impartial
onlookers at the British Embassy.

The warm June sun fell across the rather faded carpet of that sombre
old-fashioned room with its heavy furniture, which was my own sanctum,
and as the smart captain of the Imperial Guard lolled back picturesquely
in the big armchair I looked at him reflectively.

They were strange thoughts which flooded my brain at that moment--
thoughts concerning that pretty, high-born young lady whom we had just
been discussing, the girl to whom, he declared, His Majesty entrusted
the greatest secrets of the throne.

Stoyanovitch was an extremely elegant and somewhat irresponsible person,
and the fact that the Emperor had allowed the Grand Duchess Natalia to
write his private letters did not strike me as the actual truth.  The
Tzar was far too cautious to entrust the secrets of a nation to a mere
girl who was certainly known to be greatly addicted to the gentle
pastime of flirtation.

Whatever the equerry told us, we at the Embassy usually added the
proverbial grain of salt.  Indeed, the diplomat at any post abroad
learns to believe nothing which he hears, and only half he actually
sees.

But the Emperor had sent me, by the mouth of that smart young officer,
the word "Bathildis"--which was an ancient woman's Christian name--and
to me it conveyed a secret message, an announcement which held me in
surprise and apprehension.

What could have happened?

I dreaded to think.

CHAPTER TWO.

AN AUDIENCE OF THE EMPEROR.

"You understand, Trewinnard.  There must be no scandal.  What I have
just revealed to you is in strictest confidence--an inviolable secret--a
personal secret of my own."

"I understand Your Majesty's commands perfectly."

"There is already a lot of uncharitable chatter in the Court circle
regarding the other matter, I hear.  Has anything reached you at the
Embassy?"

"Not a whisper, as far as I am aware.  Indeed, Your Majesty's words have
greatly surprised me.  I did not believe the affair to be so very
serious."

"Serious!" echoed the Emperor Alexander, speaking in English, his dark,
deep-set eyes fixed upon me.  "I tell you it is all too serious, now
that I find myself completely isolated--oh! yes, Trewinnard, isolated--
with scarce one single friend.  God knows!  I have done my best for the
nation, but, alas! everyone's hand is raised against me."  And his firm
mouth hardened behind his full, dark beard, and he drew his hand wearily
across his broad, white brow.

The room in the Winter Palace in which we sat was cosy and luxuriantly
furnished, the two windows looking forth upon a grey, cheerless
quadrangle whence came the tramp of soldiers at drill.

Where we sat we could hear the sharp words of command in Russian, and
the clang of the rifle-butts striking the stones.

The room was essentially English in its aspect, with its rich china-blue
Axminster carpet, and silk upholstery with curtains to match, while the
panelling from floor to ceiling was enamelled dead white, against which
the fine water-colour drawings of naval scenes stood out in vivid
relief.  Upon a buhl table was a great silver bowl filled with Marshal
Niel roses--for His Majesty was passionately fond of flowers--and beside
it, large framed panel photographs of the Tzarina and his children.  And
yet those dead white walls and the shape of those square windows struck
a curious incongruous note, for if the actual truth be told, those walls
were of steel, and that private cabinet of the Emperor had been
constructed by the Admiralty Department with armour-plates which were
bomb-proof.

That apartment in the west angle of the Palace quadrangle was well-known
to me, for in it His Majesty had given me private audience many times.
That long white door which had been so silently closed upon me by the
Cossack sentry when I entered was, I knew, of armour-plate, four inches
in thickness, while beside the windows were revolving shutters of
chilled steel.

There, at that great littered roll-top writing-table, upon which was the
reading-lamp with its shade of salmon-pink silk with the loaded revolver
beside it, the Emperor worked, attending to affairs of State.  And in
his padded chair, leaning back easily as he spoke to me, was His Majesty
himself, a broad-shouldered, handsome man just past middle-age, dressed
in a suit of navy blue serge.  He was a big-faced, big-limbed,
big-handed man of colossal physique and marvellous intelligence.  Though
haunted by the terror of violent death, he was yet an autocrat to the
finger-tips, whose bearing was ever that of a sovereign; yet his eyes
had a calm, sympathetic, kindly look, and those who knew him intimately
were well aware that he was not the monster of oppression which his
traducers had made him out to be before the eyes of Europe.

True, with a stroke of that grey quill pen lying there upon his
blotting-pad he had sent many a man and woman without trial to their
unrecorded doom, either in the frozen wastes of Northern Siberia, to the
terrible mines of Nerchinsk, to the horrors of the penal island of
Sakhalin, or to those fearful subterranean _oubliettes_ at Schusselburg,
whence no prisoner has ever returned.  But, as an autocrat, he dealt
with his revolutionary enemies as they would deal with him.  They
conspired to kill him, and he retaliated by consigning them to a
lingering death.

On the other hand, I myself knew how constant was his endeavour to
ferret out abuses of administration, to alleviate the sufferings of the
poor, to give the peasantry education and all the benefits of modern
civilisation as we in England know them, and how desperate, alas! were
his constant struggles with that unscrupulous camarilla which ever
surrounded him, constantly preventing him from learning the truth
concerning any particular matter.

Thus, though striving to do his best for his subjects and for his
nation, yet, surrounded as he was by a corrupt Ministry and a more
corrupt Court, this big, striking man in blue serge was, perhaps, next
to the Sultan of Turkey, the best-hated man in all Europe.

My own position was a somewhat singular one.  A few months after my
appointment to Petersburg from Brussels I had been able to render His
Majesty a slight personal service.  In fact, I had, when out one evening
with two other attaches of the German Embassy, learned by mere accident
of a desperate plot which was to be put into execution on the following
day.  My informant was a dancer at the Opera, who had taken too much
champagne at supper.  I sought audience of the Emperor early next day,
and was fortunately just in time to prevent him from passing a certain
spot near the Michailovski Palace, where six men were stationed with
bombs of picric acid, ready to hurl.  For that service His Majesty had
been graciously pleased to take me into his confidence--a confidence
which, I hope, I never abused.  From me he was always eager to ascertain
what was really happening beyond that high wall of untruth which the
camarilla had so cleverly built up and preserved, and more than once had
he entrusted me with certain secret missions.

I was not in uniform, as that audience was a private one; but as His
Majesty, ruler of one hundred and thirty millions of people, passed me
his finely-chased golden box full of cigarettes--and we both lit one, as
was our habit--his brow clouded, and with a sigh he said:

"To tell the truth, Trewinnard, I am also very anxious indeed concerning
the second matter--concerning the little rebel."

"I know that Your Majesty must be," I replied.  "But, after all, Her
Imperial Highness is a girl of exceptional beauty and highest spirits;
and even if she indulges in--well, in a little harmless flirtation, she
surely may be forgiven."

"Other girls may be forgiven, but not those of the blood-royal," he said
in mild rebuke.  "The Empress is quite as concerned about her as I am.
Why, even upon this last journey of ours I found her more than once
flirting with Stoyanovitch, my equerry.  True, he's a good-looking young
fellow, and of excellent family, yet she ought to know that such a thing
is quite unwarrantable; she ought to know that to those of the
blood-royal love is, alas! forbidden."

I was surprised at this.  I had no idea that she and Ivan Stoyanovitch
had become friends.  He had never hinted at it.

"The fact is, Trewinnard," the Emperor went on, blowing a cloud of
cigarette smoke from his lips, "if this continues I shall be reluctantly
compelled to banish her to the Caucasus, or somewhere where she will be
kept out of mischief."

"But permit me, Sire, to query whether flirting is really mischief," I
exclaimed with a smile.  "Every girl of her age--and she is hardly
nineteen--fancies herself in love, mostly with men much older than
herself."

"Our women, Trewinnard, are, alas! not like women of the people," was
the Sovereign's calm reply, his deep, earnest eyes upon mine.  "It is
their misfortune that they are not.  They can never enjoy the same
freedom as those fortunate ones of the middle-class; they seldom are
permitted to marry the man they love, and though they may live in
palaces and move amid the gay society of Court, yet their ideas are
warped from birth, and broken hearts, alas! beat beneath their
diamonds."

"Yes, I suppose what Your Majesty says is, alas! too true.  Ladies of
the blood-royal are forbidden freedom, love and happiness.  And when one
of them happens to break the iron bonds of conventionality, then scandal
quickly results; the Press overflows with it."

"In this case scandal would already have resulted had you not acted as
promptly as you did," His Majesty said.  "Where is that lad Geoffrey
Hamborough now?" asked the autocrat suddenly.

"Living on his father's estate in Yorkshire," I replied.  "I hope I have
been able to put an end to that fatal folly; but with a girl of the
Grand Duchess's type one can never be too certain."

"Ah! the mischievous little minx!" exclaimed the Emperor with a kindly
smile.  "I've watched, and seen how cunning she is--and how she has
cleverly misled even me.  Well, she must alter, Trewinnard, she must
alter--or she must be sent away to the Caucasus."

"Where she would have her freedom, and probably flirt more outrageously
than ever," I ventured to remark.

"You seem to regard her as hopeless," he said, looking sharply into my
eyes as he leaned back in his chair.

"Not entirely hopeless, Sire, only as a most interesting character
study."

"I have been speaking to her father this morning, and I have suggested
sending her to Paris, or, perhaps, to London; there to live _incognito_
under the guardianship of some responsible middle-aged person, until she
can settle down.  At present she flirts with every man she meets, and I
am greatly concerned about her."

"Every man is ready to flirt with Her Imperial Highness--first, because
of her position, and, secondly, because of her remarkable beauty," I
assured him.

"You think her beautiful--eh, Trewinnard?"

"I merely echo the popular judgment," I replied.  "It is said she is one
of the most beautiful girls in all Russia."

"Ah!" he laughed.  "Next we shall have her flirting with you,
Trewinnard.  You are a bachelor.  Do beware of the little dark-eyed
witch, I beg of you!"

"No fear of such _contretemps_, Sire," I assured him with a smile.  "I
am double her age, and, moreover, a confirmed bachelor.  The Embassy is
expensive, and I cannot afford the luxury of a wife--and especially an
Imperial Grand Duchess."

"Who knows--eh, Trewinnard?  Who knows?" exclaimed the Sovereign
good-naturedly.  "But let's return to the point.  Am I to understand
that you are ready and willing to execute this secret commission for me?
You are well aware how highly I value the confidential services you
have already rendered to me.  But for you, remember, I should to-day
have been a dead man."

"No, Sire," I protested.  "Please do not speak of that.  It was the
intervention of Providence for your protection."

"Ah, yes!" he said in a low, fervent tone, his brows contracting.  "I
thank God constantly for sparing me for yet another day from the hands
of my unscrupulous enemies, so that I may work for the good of the
beloved nation over which I am called to rule."

There, in that room, wherein I had so often listened to his words of
wisdom, I sat fully recognising that though an Emperor and an autocrat,
he was, above all, a Man.

With all the heavy burden of affairs of State--and not even a road could
be made anywhere in the Russian Empire, or a bridge built, or a gas-pipe
laid, without his signature--with all the onus of the autocratic
Sovereign-power upon his shoulders, and with that constant wariness
which he was compelled to exercise against that cunning camarilla of
Ministers, yet one of his chief concerns was with that pretty little
madcap Natalia, daughter of his brother, the Grand Duke Nicholas.

He wished to suppress her superabundance of high spirits and stamp out
her tomboy instincts.

"I am reading your thoughts, Trewinnard," the Emperor remarked at last,
pressing his cigarette-end slowly into the silver ashtray to extinguish
it.  "My request has placed you in a rather awkward position--eh?"

"What Your Majesty has revealed to me this afternoon has utterly amazed
me.  I feel bewildered, for I see how dire must be the result if the
truth were ever betrayed."

"It will never be.  You are the only person who has suspicion of it
besides myself."

"And I shall never speak--never!"  I assured him gravely.

"I know that you are entirely loyal to me.  I am Emperor, it is true,
but I am, nevertheless, a man of my word, just as you are," he replied,
his intelligent face dark and grave.  "Yes.  I thought you would realise
the seriousness of the present situation, and I know that you alone I
can trust.  I have not even told the Empress."

"Why not?"

"For obvious reasons."

I was silent.  I only then realised the motive of his hesitation.

"I admit that Your Majesty's request has placed me in a somewhat awkward
position," I said at last, bending forward in my chair.  "Truth to tell,
I--well, I'm hardly hopeful of success, for the mission with which I am
entrusted is so extremely difficult, and so--"

"I am fully aware of that," he interrupted.  "Yet I feel confident that
you, who have saved my life on one occasion, will not hesitate to
undertake this service to the best of your ability.  Use the utmost
discretion, and you may get at the truth.  I do not disguise from you
the fact that upon certain contingencies, dependent on the success of
your mission, depends the throne of Russia--the dynasty.  Do you
follow?"  And he looked me straight in the face with those big, round
brown eyes, an open, straight, honest look, as became a man who was
fearless--an Emperor.

"I regret that I do not exactly understand," I ventured to exclaim,
whereat he rose, tall, handsome and muscular, and strode to the window.
The band of the Imperial Guard was playing below in the great paved
quadrangle, as it always did each day at four o'clock when the Emperor
was in residence.  For a few seconds he stood peering forth critically
at the long lines of soldiers drawn up across the square.  Then the man
whose word was law turned back to me with a sigh, saying:

"No, Trewinnard, I suppose you do not follow me.  It is all a mystery to
you, of course,"--and he paused--"as mysterious as the sudden
disappearance of Madame de Rosen and her daughter Luba from Petersburg."

"Disappearance?"  I echoed, amazed.  "They are still in Petersburg.  I
dined with them only last night!"

"They are not now in Petersburg," replied the Emperor very quietly.
"They left at nine o'clock this morning on a long journey--to Siberia."

My heart gave a great bound.

"To Siberia!"  I gasped, staring at him.  "Are they exiled?  Who has
done this?"

"I have done it," was his hard reply.  "They are revolutionists--
implicated in the attempt that was to be made upon me early this morning
as I drove up the Nevski."

"Markoff has denounced them?"

"He has.  See, here is a full list of names of the conspirators," and he
took a slip of paper from his desk.

"And General Markoff told Your Majesty of my friendliness with Madame
and her daughter?"

"Certainly."

"Markoff lied when he denounced them as revolutionists!"  I cried
angrily.  "They were my friends, and I know them very intimately.  Let
me here declare, Sire, that no subject of Your Majesty was more loyal
than those two ladies.  Surely the _agent-provocateur_ has been at work
again."

"Unfortunately I am bound to believe the word of the head of my
political police," he said rather briefly.

I knew, alas! how fierce and bitter was the Emperor's hatred of those
who plotted against his life.  A single word against man or woman was
sufficient to cause them to be arrested and sent to the other side of
Asia, never again to return.

"And where have the ladies been sent?"  I inquired.  The Emperor
consulted a slip of paper, and then replied:

"To Parotovsk."

"The most far-distant and dreaded of all the Arctic penal settlements!"
I cried.  "It is cruel and unjust!  It is death to send a woman there,
where it is winter for nine months in the year, and where darkness
reigns five months out of the twelve."

"I regret," replied the Emperor, with a slight gesture of the hand.
"But they were conspirators."

"With all respect to Your Majesty, I beg to express an entirely
different opinion.  Markoff has long been Madame de Rosen's enemy."

His Majesty made a quick imperious gesture of impatience and said:

"Please do not let us discuss the matter further--at least, until you
are in a position to prove your allegation."

"I will," I cried.  "I know that your Majesty will never allow such
injustice to be done to two innocent, delicate ladies."

"If injustice has really been done, then those responsible shall suffer.
Discover the truth, and report to me later," he said.

"I will do my very utmost," was my reply.

"And at the same time, Trewinnard, I trust you will endeavour to carry
out the confidential mission which I have entrusted to you," he said.
"Recollect that I treat you, not as a foreign diplomat, but as a loyal
and true personal friend of myself and my house.  Ah!" he sighed again;
"Heaven knows, I have but few trustworthy ones about me."

"I am profoundly honoured by Your Majesty's confidence," I assured him,
bowing low.  "I certainly shall respect it, and act exactly as you
desire."

"The Court dislikes confidence being placed in any foreigner, even
though he be an Englishman," the Emperor said in a changed voice;
"therefore, remain discreet always, and disclaim that I have ever
treated you other than with the formal courtesy which is expected by all
diplomats."

"I quite understand," I said.

"You will see Natalia at the Court ball to-night, and you can speak to
her diplomatically, if opportunity occurs.  But recollect that she must
know nothing of what I have said.  I believe you know Hartwig, chief of
the criminal detective force."

"Quite well," was my reply.

"Then I will give him orders.  Use him as you wish, but tell him
nothing."

"I shall remain silent."

"And you are entitled to leave of absence--eh?  You can return to
England without arousing suspicion?"

"Yes.  I have eight weeks due to me."

"Excellent.  I can do nothing more--except to thank you, Trewinnard, to
thank you most sincerely for assisting me, and to await word from you.
Sign it with `Bathildis,' and I shall know."  And the great burly,
bearded man held out his big, strong hand--the iron hand--as sign that
my audience was at an end.

I bowed low over it, and next moment the heavy white door of enamelled
steel swung open and I backed out of the Imperial presence, the bearer
of a secret as strange and grim as it has ever been the lot of any man
to lock within his breast.

What the Emperor had revealed to me was undreamed of by that gay,
reckless and intriguing circle which comprised the Russian Court--
undreamed of by the chancelleries of Europe.

The merest whisper of it would, I knew, stagger the world.  And yet he
had, in sheer desperation, confided in me a most amazing truth.  As I
descended that broad, handsome flight of thickly-carpeted marble steps,
where flunkeys in brilliant grey and purple livery bowed at every turn,
and equerries and officials in smart uniforms came and went, my brain
was awhirl at the magnitude of the affair, and the terrible scandal
which must result if ever the secret were betrayed--the secret of a
throne.

A thought flashed across my mind--the knowledge of my own personal
peril.  I had enemies--bitter enemies.  My heart sank within me as I
stepped into the great gilded hall, for I had given a promise which I
much feared I would never be permitted to live and fulfil.

CHAPTER THREE.

CONTAINS CERTAIN CONFIDENCES.

Six hours later, accompanied by Saunderson, our tall, thin Charge
d'Affaires, and the Embassy staff, all in our uniforms and decorations,
I entered the huge white-and-gold ballroom of the Winter Palace, where
the Russian Court, the representatives of exclusive Society, the
bureaucracy of the Empire and the _corps diplomatique_ had assembled.

The scene was perhaps the most brilliant and picturesque that could be
witnessed anywhere in the world.  Beneath the myriad lights of those
huge cut-glass chandeliers, and reflected by the gigantic mirrors upon
the walls, were hundreds of gold-laced uniforms of every shade and every
style.  Across the breasts of many of the men were gay-coloured scarves
of the various orders, with diamond stars, while others wore around
their necks parti-coloured ribbons with enamelled crosses at their
throat, or rows of decorations across their breasts.

And to this phantasmagoria of colour, as all stood in little groups
chattering and awaiting Their Majesties, was added that of the splendid
long-trained dresses of the women, nearly all of whom wore their diamond
tiaras, or diamond ornaments in their corsage.

It was indeed, a cosmopolitan gathering, half of Russians and half of
the diplomatic set, and around me, as I bowed over the hand of a
well-known Baroness, wife of the Minister of War, I heard animated
chatter in half a dozen tongues.  The Emperor had returned, and there
would now be a month of gaiety before he retired for the summer to
Gatchina.  The spring season in Petersburg had been cut short--first by
the indisposition of the Empress, and afterwards by reason of the
Emperor's tour to the distant shore of the Caspian.

Therefore at this, the delayed Court ball, everybody who was anybody in
Russia was present.

In one end of the huge Renaissance salon, with its wonderful painted
ceiling and gilded cupids, was a great semicircular alcove, with a
slightly raised dais, whereon sat the Dowager-Empress, the Grand
Duchesses and those of the blood-royal, with their attendant ladies,
while the male members of the Court lounged behind.

The opposite end of the great ballroom led to another salon with parquet
floor, decorated in similar style, and with many mirrors, and almost as
large, while beyond was a somewhat smaller room, the whole effect being
one of gorgeous grandeur and immensity.

I had paused to chat with a stout lady in cream, who wore a beautiful
tiara.  Princess Lovovski, wife of the Governor-General of Finland, and
she had commenced to tell me the latest tit-bit of scandal concerning
the wife of a certain War Office official, a matter which did not
interest me in the least, when suddenly there came three loud taps--the
taps of the Grand Chamberlain--announcing the entrance of His Majesty.
As by enchantment a wide door in the side of the ballroom flew open, and
the glittering throng, bejewelled and perfumed, flashing colours amid
plumes, aigrettes and flowers, laughing and murmuring to the clink of
gala swords and sabres, was struck to silence.

His Majesty passed--a tall, commanding figure in a white uniform covered
with the stars, crosses and many-coloured ribbons of the various
European orders.  Beneath the thousand lights the bare shoulders of the
beautiful women inclined profoundly.

Then again the loud chatter recommenced.

The Emperor's presence, tall, erect, muscular, was indeed a regal one.
He looked every inch a ruler and an autocrat as he advanced to the
alcove, where the whole Court had risen to receive him, and with a quick
gesture he gave the signal for dancing to commence.

I retreated to the wall, being in no humour to dance, and stood gazing
at him.  He seemed, indeed, a different person to that deep-eyed,
earnest man in dark-blue serge who had sat chatting with me so affably
six hours ago.  He was in that hour a man, but now the centre of that
gay patrician throng, he was ruler, the autocrat who by a stroke of the
grey quill could banish to the mines or the _oubliettes_ any of those of
his subjects who bowed before him--sweep them out of existence as
completely as though the grave had claimed them; for every exile lost
his identity and became a mere number; his estate was administered as
though he were dead, and apportioned, with the usual forfeiture to the
State, among his heirs.  So that it was impossible for an exile to be
traced.

I thought of Madame Marya de Rosen and of poor little Luba.  Ah!  I
wondered how many delicate women and handsome, intelligent men who had
danced over that polished floor were now dragging out their weary lives
in those squalid, filthy Yakut yaurtas of Eastern Siberia.  How many,
alas! had, in innocence, fallen victims to that corrupt bureaucracy
which always concealed the truth from His Majesty.

To the camarilla, a dozen or so men who were present there in brilliant
uniforms and wearing the Cross of St Andrew, with the pale-blue ribbon,
the highest Order of the Empire, bestowed upon them for their
"fidelity," that present reign of terror was solely due.  It was to the
interests of those men that the Emperor should be perpetually
terrorised.  Half those so-called conspiracies were the work of the
Secret Police themselves and their _agents-provocateurs_; and hundreds
of innocent persons were being spirited away without trial to the frozen
wastes of Northern and Eastern Siberia, upon no other charge than the
trivial one that they were "dangerous" persons!

Madame de Rosen and her pretty daughter had fallen victims of the bitter
unscrupulousness of that short, stout, grey-moustached man, who at that
moment was bowing so obsequiously before his Sovereign, the man who was
one of the greatest powers in the Empire, General Serge Markoff, Chief
of Secret Police.

The first dance was in progress.  Pretty women, with their smart,
good-looking cavaliers, were whirling about me to the slow, tuneful
strains of one of the latest of Strauss's waltzes, when Colonel Mellini,
the Italian military attache, halted before me to chat.  He had just
returned from leave, and had much Embassy gossip to relate to me from
the Eternal City, where I had served for two years.

"I hear," he remarked at last, "that another plot was discovered early
this morning--a desperate one in the Nevski.  Markoff really seems
ubiquitous."

I looked into his dark eyes and smiled.

"Ah!  I see, _caro mio_," he laughed.  "Your thoughts are similar to
mine--eh?  These plots are a little too frequent to be genuine," and,
lowering his voice to a whisper, he added: "I can't understand how His
Majesty does not see through the transparency of it.  They are
terrorising him every day--every hour.  A man of less robust physique or
mental balance would surely be driven out of his mind."

"I agree with you entirely, my dear friend.  But," I added, "this is not
the place to discuss affairs of State.  Ah, Madame!" and turning, I bent
over the gloved hand of old Madame Neilidoff, one of the leaders of
Society in Moscow, with whom I stood chatting for a long time, and who
kindly invited me for a week out at her great country estate at Sukova
in Tver.

Captain Stoyanovitch, gay with decorations, hurried past me on some
errand for the Emperor, and gave me a nod as he went on, while young
Bertram Tucker, our third secretary, came up and began to chat with the
yellow-toothed old lady, who was such a power in the Russian social
circle.

I suppose it must have been nearly two o'clock, when, after wandering
through the _salons_, greeting many men and women I knew, I suddenly
heard a voice behind me exclaim in English:

"Hulloa, old Uncle Colin!  Am I too small to be recognised?"

I turned quickly and confronted the pretty laughing girl of nineteen of
whom I had been in search all the night--Her Imperial Highness the Grand
Duchess Natalia Olga Nicolaievna.

Tall, slim, with a perfect figure, she was dressed in cream, a light
simple gown which suited her youth and extreme beauty admirably.  Across
her dark, well-dressed hair she wore a narrow band of forget-me-nots; at
her throat was a large single emerald of great value, suspended by a
fine chain of platinum, a present from His Majesty, while on the edge of
her low-cut corsage she wore a bow of pale-blue ribbon embroidered in
silver with a Russian motto, and from it was suspended a medallion set
with diamonds and bearing in the centre the enamelled figure of Saint
Catherine--the exclusive Order of Saint Catherine bestowed upon the
Grand Duchesses.

"How miserable you look, Uncle Colin!" exclaimed the dark-eyed girl
before I could reply.  "Whatever is the matter?  Is the British Lion
sick--or what?"

"I really must apologise to Your Imperial Highness," I said, bowing.  "I
was quite unaware that I looked miserable.  I surely could never look
miserable in your presence."

We both laughed, while standing erect and defiant, before me she held up
a little ivory fan, threatening to chastise me with it.

"Well," I said, "and so you are safely back again in Petersburg, after
all your travels!  Why, it's surely eight weeks since we were at the
ball at the Palace of your uncle, the Grand Duke Serge."

"Where you danced with me.  Do you remember how we laughed?  You said
some nasty sarcastic things, so I punished you.  I told Captain
Stoyanovitch and some of the others that you had flirted with me and
kissed me.  So there!"

I looked at her in stern reproach.

"Ah!"  I said.  "So that is the source of all those rumours--eh?  You're
a very wicked girl," I added, "even though you are a Grand Duchess."

"Well, I suppose Grand Duchesses are in no way different to other
girls--eh?" she pouted.  "Sometimes I wish I were back again at school
at Eastbourne.  Ah! what grand times I used to have in those days--
hockey and tennis and gym, and I was not compelled to perform all sorts
of horrible, irksome etiquette, and be surrounded by this crowd of silly
dressed-up apes.  Why, Uncle Colin, these are not men--all these
tight-uniformed popinjays at Court."

"Hush, my child!"  I said.  "Hush!  You will be overheard."

"And I don't care if I am.  Surely a girl can speak out what she
thinks!"

"In England, yes, in certain circumstances, but in Russia--and
especially at Court--never!"

"Oh, you are so horribly old-fashioned, Uncle Colin.  When shall I bring
you up-to-date?" cried the petted and spoiled young lady, whose two
distinctions were that she was one of the most beautiful girls in all
Russia, and the favourite niece of the Tzar Alexander.  She had
nicknamed me "Uncle," on account of my superior age, long ago.

"And you are utterly incorrigible," I said, trying to assume an angry
look.

"Ah!  You're going to lecture me!" she exclaimed with another pout.  "I
suppose I ought never to dance at all--eh?  It's wicked in your eyes,
isn't it?  You are perhaps, one of those exemplary people that I heard
so much of when in England--such an expressive name--the Kill-joys!"

"No, Your Highness," I protested.  "I really don't think I'm a killjoy.
If I were, I couldn't very well be a diplomat.  I--"

"But all diplomats are trained liars," she asserted with abrupt
frankness.  "The Emperor told me so only the other day.  He said they
were men one should never trust."

"I admit that, without the lie _artistique_, diplomacy would really be
non-existent," I said, with a laugh.  "But is not the whole political
world everywhere in Europe a world of vain promise, intrigue and shame?"

"Just as our social world seems to me," she admitted.

"Ah!  Then you are beginning to realise the hollow unreality of the
world about you--eh?"  I said.

"Dear me!" she exclaimed, "you talk just like a bishop!  I really don't
know what has come to my dear old Uncle Colin.  You must be ill, or
something.  You never used to be like this," she added, with a sigh and
a well-feigned look of regret that was really most amusing, while at the
same time she made eyes at me.

Truly, she was a most charming little madcap, this Imperial Grand
Duchess--the most charming in all Europe, as the diplomatic circle had
long ago agreed.

So she had taken revenge upon me for uttering words of wisdom by telling
people that I had flirted with and kissed her!  She herself was
responsible for the chatter which had gone round, with many
embellishments, concerning myself, and how deeply I was in love with
her.  I wondered if it had reached the Emperor's ears?

I felt annoyed, I here confess.  And yet so sweet and irresponsible was
she, so intelligent and quick at repartee, that next moment I had
forgiven her.

And I frankly told her so.

"My dear Uncle Colin, it would have been all the same," she declared
airily.  "You shouldn't have lectured me.  I assure you I have had
enough of that at home.  Ever since I came back from England everybody
seems to have conspired to tell me that I'm the most terrible girl in
Russia.  Father holds up his hands; why, I really don't know."

"Because you are so extremely unconventional," I said.  "A girl of the
people can act just as she likes; but you are a Grand Duchess--and you
can't."

"Bother my birth.  That's my misfortune.  I wish I were a shopgirl, or a
typist, or something.  Then I should be free!" she exclaimed
impatiently.  "As it is, I can't utter a word or move a little finger
without the whole of Russia lifting up their hands in pious horror.  I
tell you, Uncle Colin," she added, her fine, big, dark eyes fixed upon
me, "I'm sick of it all.  It is simply unbearable.  Ah! how I wish I
were back at dear old Southdene College.  I hate Russia and all her
works!"

"Hush!"  I cried again.  "You really must not say that.  Remember your
position--the niece of His Majesty."

"I repeat it!" she cried in desperation, her well-formed little mouth
set firmly.  "And I don't care who hears me--even if it's Uncle
Alexander himself!"

CHAPTER FOUR.

CONCERNS MADAME DE ROSEN.

At Her Highness's side I had strolled through the smaller salon and
along the several great corridors to the splendid winter garden, on the
opposite side of the palace.  It was one of the smaller courtyards which
had been covered in with glass and filled with high palms and tropical
flowers ablaze with bloom.  There, in that northern latitude, Asiatic
and African plants flourished and flowered, with little electric lights
cunningly concealed amid the leaves.

Several other couples were seated there, away from the whirl and glitter
of the Court; but taking no notice, we halted at two wicker chairs set
invitingly in a corner.  Into one of these she flung herself with a
little sigh, and, bowing, I took the other.

I sat and watched her.  Her beauty was, indeed, exquisite.  She had the
long, tender, fluent lines of body and limb, the round waist, the deep
chest and small bust, the sturdy throat of those ancient virgins that
the greatest sculptors of the world worshipped and wrought into
imperishable stone.  She was not very tall, though she appeared so.  It
was something in pose and movement that did it.  A beautiful soul looked
from Her Highness's beautiful eyes whenever she smiled upon me.

I found myself examining every line and turn and contour of the
prettily-poised head.  She was dark, with that lovely complexion like
pure alabaster tinted with rose sometimes seen in Russian women.  Her
eyes, under the sweeping lashes, seemed capable of untold depths of
tenderness.  Hers was the perfect oval of a young face across whose
innocent girlishness experience had written no line, passion cast no
shadow.

"One thing I've heard to-day has greatly pained me," I said presently to
my dainty little companion.  "You'll forgive me for speaking quite
frankly--won't you?"

"Certainly, Uncle Colin," she replied, opening her big eyes in surprise.
"But I thought you had brought me here to flirt with me--not to talk
seriously."

"I must talk seriously for a moment," I said apologetically.  "It is in
Your Highness's interests.  Listen.  I heard something to-day at which I
know that you yourself will be greatly annoyed.  I heard it whispered
that Geoffrey Hamborough had killed himself because of you."

"Geoffrey dead!" she gasped, starting up and staring at me, her face
blanched in an instant.

"No.  He is not dead," I replied calmly, "for as soon as I heard the
report I sent him a wire to Yorkshire and to the Travellers', in London.
He replied from the club half an hour before I came here."

"But who could have spread such a report?" the girl asked.  "It could
only be done to cast opprobrium upon me--to show that because--because
we parted--he had taken his life.  It's really too cruel," she declared,
and I saw hot tears welling in her beautiful eyes.

"I agree.  But you must deny the report."

"Who told you?"

"I regret that I must not say.  It was, however, a friend of yours."

"A man?"

I nodded in the affirmative.

"Ah!" she cried impatiently.  "You diplomats are always so full of
secrets.  Really you must tell me.  Uncle Colin."

"I can't," was my brief reply.  "I only ask you to refute the untruth."

"I will--at once.  Poor Geoffrey."

"Have you heard from him lately?"  I asked.

"You're very inquisitive.  I have not."

"I'm very glad of that," I answered her.  "You know how greatly the
affair annoyed the Emperor.  You were awfully injudicious.  It's a good
job that I chanced to meet you both at the station in Moscow."

"Well," she laughed, "I was going to England with him, and we had
arranged to be married at a registrar's office in London.  Only you
stopped us--you nasty old thing!"

"And you ought to be very glad that I recognised you just in the nick of
time.  Ten minutes later and you would have left Moscow.  Think of the
scandal--the elopement of a young Imperial Grand Duchess of Russia with
an English commoner."

"Well, and isn't an English commoner as good, and perhaps better, than
one of these uniformed and decorated Russian aristocrats?  I am
Russian," she added frankly, "but I have no love for the Muscovite man."

"It was a foolish escapade," I declared; "but it's all over now.  The
one consolation is that nobody knows the actual truth."

"Except His Majesty.  I told him everything; how I had met Geoffrey in
Hampshire when I went to stay with Lady Hexworthy; how we used to meet
in secret, and all that," she said.

"Well now," I exclaimed, looking straight into her face, "I want to ask
you a plain open question.  I have a motive in doing so--one which I
will explain to you after you have answered me honestly and truthfully.
I--"

"At it again!" cried the pretty madcap.  "You're really not yourself
to-night, Uncle Colin.  What is the matter with you?"

"Simply I want to know the truth--whether there is still any love
between Geoffrey and yourself?"

"Ah! no," she sighed, pulling a grimace.  "It's all over between us.  It
broke his heart, poor fellow, but some kind friend, at your Embassy, I
think, wrote and told him about Paul Urusoff and--well, he wrote me a
hasty letter.  Then I replied, a couple of telegrams, and we agreed to
be strangers for ever.  And so ends the story.  Like a novel, isn't it?"
she laughed merrily.

My eyes were fixed upon her.  I was wondering if she were really telling
me the truth.  As the Emperor had most justly said, she was an artful
little minx where her love-affairs were concerned.

Colonel Polivanoff, the Grand Chamberlain of the Court, crossed the
great palm-garden at that moment, and bowed to my pretty companion.

"But," she added, turning back to me, "people ought not to say that he's
been foolish enough to do away with himself on my account.  It only
shows that I must have made some enemies of whom I'm quite unaware."

"Everyone has enemies," I answered her.  "You are no exception.  But, is
it really true that Geoffrey is no longer in your thoughts?"  I asked
her very seriously.

"Truth and honour," she declared, with equal gravity.

"Then who is the fortunate young man at present--eh?"

"That's my own secret.  Uncle Colin," she declared, drawing herself up.
"I'll ask you the same question.  Who is the lady you are in love with
at the present moment?"

"Shall I tell you?"

"Yes.  It would be interesting."

"I'm in love with you."

"Ah?" she cried, nodding her head and laughing.  "I thought as much.
You've brought me out here to flirt with me.  I wonder if you'll kiss
me--eh?" she asked mischievously.

"I will, if you tempt me too much," I said threateningly.  "And then the
report you've spread about will be the truth."

She laughed merrily and tapped my hand with her fan.

"I never can get the better of you, dear old uncle," she declared.  "You
always have the last word, and you're such a delightfully old-fashioned
person.  Now let's try and be serious."  And she settled herself and,
turning to me, added: "Why do you wish to know about Geoffrey
Hamborough?"

"For several reasons," I said.  "First, I think Your Highness knows me
quite well enough to be aware that I am your very sincere friend."

"My best friend," she declared quickly; her manner changed in an instant
from merry irresponsibility to deep earnestness.  "That night on the
railway platform at Moscow you saved me making a silly fool of myself.
It was most generous of the Emperor to forgive me.  I know how you
pleaded for me.  He told me so."

"I am your friend," I replied.  "Now, as to the future.  You tell me
that you find all the Court etiquette irksome, and that you are
antagonistic to this host of young men about you.  You are, in brief,
sorry that you are back in Russia.  Is that so?"

"It is so exactly."

"And how about Prince Urusoff--eh?"

"I haven't seen him for fully three months, and I don't even know where
he is.  I believe he's with his regiment, the 21st Dragoons of White
Russia, somewhere away in the Urals.  I heard that the Emperor sent him
there.  But he certainly need not have done so.  I found him only a
foolish young boy."

Her Imperial Highness was a young lady of very keen intelligence.  After
several governesses at home, she had been sent to Paris, and afterwards
to a college at Eastbourne--where she was known as Miss Natalia Gottorp,
the latter being one of the family names of the Imperial Romanoffs--and
there she had completed her education.  From her childhood she had
always had an English governess, Miss West, consequently, with a
Russian's adaptability, she spoke English almost without a trace of
accent.  Though so full of fun and frolic, and so ready to carry on a
violent flirtation, yet she was, on the other hand, very thoughtful and
level-headed, with a keen sense of humour, and a nature extremely
sympathetic with any person in distress, no matter whom they might be.
Hers was a bright, pleasant nature, a smiling face, and ever-twinkling
eye full of mischief and merriment.

"Well," I said, looking into her face, "I've been thinking about you a
good deal since you've been away--and wondering."

"Wondering what?"

"Whether, as you have no love for Russia, you might not like to go back
to England?"  I said slowly.

"To England!" she cried in delight.  "Ah!  If I only could!  I love
England, and especially Eastbourne, with the sea and the promenade, the
golf, and the concerts at the Devonshire Park, and all that.  Ah!  I
only wish I could go."

"But if you went you'd fall in love with some young fellow, and then we
should have another scandal at Court," I said.

"I wouldn't.  Believe me, I wouldn't, really, Uncle Colin," she pleaded,
looking up into my face with almost childish simplicity.

I shook my head dubiously.

"All I've told you is the real truth," she assured me.  "I've only
amused myself.  Every girl likes men to make love to her.  Why should I
be so bitterly condemned?"

"Because you are not a commoner."

"That's just it.  But if I went to England and lived again as Miss
Natalia Gottorp, nobody would know who I am, and I could have a really
splendid time.  Here," she cried, "all the glitter and etiquette of
Court life stifle me.  I've been bored to death on the tour round the
Empire, but couldn't you try and induce the Emperor to let me go back to
England?  Do, Uncle Colin, there's a dear.  A word from the Emperor, and
father would let me go in a moment.  I wish poor mother were alive.  She
would soon let me go, I know."

"And what would you do in England if you went back?"

"Why, I'd have my old governess, Miss West--the one I had at Strelna--to
live with me, and I'd be ever so happy.  I'd take a house on the
sea-front at Eastbourne, so as to be near the old college, and see the
girls.  Try what you can do with Uncle Alexander, won't you? there's a
dear old uncle," she added, in her most persuasive tones.

"Well," I said, with some show of reluctance, "if I succeed, you will be
responsible to me, remember.  No flirtations."

"I promise," she said.  "Here's my hand," and she put her tiny
white-gloved hand into mine.

"And if I heard of any affectionate meetings I should put down my foot
at once."

"Yes, that's agreed," she exclaimed, with enthusiasm.  "At once."

"And I should, perhaps, want you to help me in England," I added slowly,
looking into her pretty face the while.

"Help you, in what way?" she asked.

"At present, I hardly know.  But if I wanted assistance might I count on
you?"

"Count on me, Uncle Colin!" she echoed.  "Why, of course, you can!  Look
at my indebtedness to you, and it will be increased if you can secure me
permission to go back to England."

"Well," I said, "I'll do what I can.  But you have told me no untruths
to-night, not one--?"  I asked very seriously.  "If so, admit it."

"Not one.  I swear I haven't."

"Very well," I said.  "Then I'll do my best."

"Ah! you are a real dear!" cried the girl enthusiastically.  "I almost
feel as though I could hug and kiss you!"

"Better not," I laughed.  "There are some people sitting over there, and
they would talk--"

"Yes," she said slowly.  "I suppose really one ought to be a bit
careful, after all.  When will you see the Emperor?"

"Perhaps to-morrow--if he gives me audience."  Then I related to her the
story of the attempt in the Nevski on the previous morning, and the
intention of assassinating the Emperor as he drove from the Nicholas
station to the Palace.

"Ah, yes!" she cried.  "It is all too dreadful.  For seven weeks we have
lived in constant terror of explosions.  I could not go through it again
for all the world.  Those days in that stuffy armoured train were simply
awful.  His Majesty only undertook the journey in order to defy those
who declared that some terrible catastrophe would happen.  The Empress
knew nothing of the danger until we had started."

"And yet the only danger lay within half a mile of the Palace on your
return," I said.  "There have, I hear, been thirty-three arrested
to-day, including my friends Madame de Rosen and Luba.  You knew them."

"Marya de Rosen!" gasped the Grand Duchess, staring at me.  "She is not
under arrest?"

"Alas! she is already on her way, with her daughter, to Eastern
Siberia."

"But that is impossible.  She was no revolutionist.  I knew them both
very intimately."

"General Markoff was her enemy," I said in a whisper.  "Ah, yes!  I hate
that man!" cried Her Highness.  "He is a clever liar who has wormed
himself completely into the Emperor's confidence, and now, in order to
sustain a reputation as a discoverer of plots, he is compelled to first
manufacture them.  Hundreds of innocent men and women have been exiled
by administrative order during the past twelve months for complicity in
conspiracies which have never had any existence save in the wicked
imagination of that brutal official.  I know it--_I can prove it_!"

"Hush!"  I said.  "You may be overheard.  You surely do not wish the man
to become your enemy.  Remember, he is all-powerful here--in Russia."

"I will speak the truth when the time comes," she said vehemently.  "I
will show the Emperor certain papers which have come into my own hands
which will prove how His Majesty has been misled, tricked and terrorised
by this Markoff, and certain of his bosom friends in the Cabinet."

"It is really most unwise to speak so loudly," I declared.  "Somebody
may overhear."

"Let them overhear!" cried the girl angrily.  "I do not fear Markoff in
the least.  I will, before long, open the Emperor's eyes, never fear--
and justice shall be done.  These poor wretches shall not be sent to the
dungeons beneath the lake at Schusselburg, or to the frozen wastes of
Yakutsk, in order that Markoff shall remain in power.  Ah! he little
dreams how much I know!" she laughed harshly.

"It would hardly be wise of you to take any such action.  You might
fail--and--then--"

"I cannot fail to establish at least the innocence of Madame de Rosen
and of Luba.  The reason why they have been sent to Siberia is simple.
Into Madame de Rosen's possession there recently came certain
compromising letters concerning General Markoff.  He discovered this,
and hence her swift exile without trial.  But, Uncle Colin," she added,
"those letters are in my possession!  Madame de Rosen gave them to me
the night before I went south with the Emperor, because she feared they
might be stolen by some police-spy.  And I have kept them in a place of
safety until such convenient time when I can place them before His
Majesty.  The latter will surely see that justice is done, and then the
disgraceful career of this arch-enemy of Russian peace and liberty will
be at an end."

"Hush!"  I cried anxiously, for at that moment a tall man, in the bright
green uniform of the Lithuanian Hussars, whose face I could not see,
passed close by us, with a handsome middle-aged woman upon his arm.
"Hush!  Do, for heaven's sake, be careful, I beg of you!"  I exclaimed.
"Such intention should not even be whispered.  These Palace walls have
ears, for spies are everywhere!"

CHAPTER FIVE.

THE MAN IN PINCE-NEZ.

Next day was Wednesday.

At half-past five in the afternoon I was seated in my room at the
Embassy, busy copying out the last of my despatches which were to be
sent that week by Foreign Office messenger to London.

The messenger himself, in the person of my friend Captain Hubert Taylor,
a thin, long-limbed, dark-haired cosmopolitan, was stretched lazily in
my chair smoking a cigarette, impatient for me to finish, so that the
white canvas bag could be sealed and he could get away.

The homeward Nord express to Ostend was due to leave at six o'clock;
therefore he had not much time to spare.

"Do hurry up, old man," he urged, glancing at his watch.  "If it isn't
important, keep it over until Wednesday week.  Despatches are like wine,
they improve with keeping."

"Shut up!"  I exclaimed, for I saw I had a good deal yet to copy--the
result of an important inquiry regarding affairs south of the Caspian,
which was urgently required at Downing Street.  Our Consul in Baku had
been travelling for three months in order to supply the information.

"Well, if I miss the train I really don't mind, my dear Colin.  I can do
quite well with a few days' rest.  I was down in Rome ten days ago; and,
besides, I only got here the night before last."

"I do wish you'd be quiet, Taylor," I cried.  "I can't write while you
chatter."

So he lit a fresh cigarette and repossessed himself in patience until at
last I had finished my work, stuck down the long envelope with the
printed address, and placed it with thirty or forty other letters into
the canvas bag; this I carefully sealed with wax with the Embassy seal.

"There you are!"  I exclaimed at last.  "You've plenty of time for the
train--and to spare."

"I shouldn't have had if I hadn't hurried you up, my dear boy.  Everyone
seems asleep here.  It shows your chief's away on leave.  You should put
in a day in Paris.  They're active there.  It would be an eye-opener for
you."

"Paris isn't Petersburg," I laughed.

"And an attache isn't a foreign service messenger," he declared.
"Government pays you fellows to look ornamental, while we messengers
have to travel in hot haste and live in those rocking sleeping-cars of
the wagon-lits."

"Horribly hard work to spend one's days travelling from capital to
capital," I said, well knowing that this remark to a foreign service
messenger is as a red rag to a bull.

"Work, my dear fellow.  You try it for a month and see," Taylor snapped.

"Well," I asked with a laugh, "any particular news in London?" for the
messengers are bearers of all the diplomatic gossip from embassy to
embassy.

"Oh, well--old Petheridge, in the Treaty Department, is retiring this
month, and Jack Scrutton is going to be transferred from Rome to Lima.
Some old fool in the Commons has, I hear, got wind of that bit of
scandal in Madrid--you know the story, Councillor of Embassy and Spanish
Countess--and threatens to put down a question concerning it.  I hear
there's a dickens of a row over it.  The Chief is furious.  Oh!--and I
saw your Chief in the St James's Club the day I left London.  He'd just
come from Windsor--been kissing hands, or something.  Well," he added,
"I suppose I may as well have some cigarettes before I go, even though
you don't ask me.  But they are always _pro bono_, I know.  The Embassy
at Petersburg is always noted for its hospitality and its cigarettes!"
And he emptied the contents of my cigarette-box into the capacious case
he took from his pocket.

"Here you are," I said, taking from my table another sealed despatch
bearing a large blue cross upon it, showing that it was a confidential
document in cipher upon affairs of State.

"Oh, hang!" he cried.  "I didn't know you had one of those."

And then, unbuttoning his waistcoat, he fumbled about his waist, and at
last placed it carefully in the narrow pocket of the belt he wore
beneath his clothes, buttoning the flap over the pocket.

"Well," he said at last, putting on his overcoat, "so long, old man.
I'll just have time.  I wonder what old Ivanoff, in the restaurant-car,
will have for dinner to-night?  Borstch, of course, and caviare."

"You fellows have nothing else to think about but your food," I laughed.

"Food--yes, it's railway-food with a vengeance in this God-forgotten
country.  Lots to drink, but nothing decent to eat."

And taking the little canvas bag he shook my hand heartily and strode
out.

I stood for some time gazing through the open window out upon the sunlit
Neva across to the grim fortress on the opposite bank--the prison of
many terrible tales.

My thoughts were running, just as they had run all day, upon that
strange suspicion which the Emperor had confided to me.  It seemed too
remarkable, too strange, too amazing to be true.

And again before my vision there arose the faces of those two refined
and innocent ladies, Madame de Rosen and her daughter, who had been so
suddenly hurried away to a living tomb in that far-off Arctic region.  I
remembered what the little Grand Duchess had told me, and wondered
whether her allegations were really true.

I was wondering if she would permit me to see those incriminating
letters which Madame had given to her for safe-keeping, for at all costs
I felt that, for the safety of the Emperor and the peace and prosperity
of Russia, the country should be rid of General Serge Markoff.

And yet the difficulties were, I knew, insurmountable.  His Majesty,
hearing of these constant plots being discovered and ever listening to
highly-coloured stories of the desperate attempts of revolutionists,
naturally believed his personal safety to be due to this man whom he had
appointed as head of the police of the Empire.  To any word said against
Serge Markoff he turned a deaf ear, and put it down to jealousy, or to
some ingenious plot to withdraw from his person the constant vigilance
which his beloved Markoff had established.  More than once I had been
bold enough to venture to hint that all those plots might not be genuine
ones; but I had quickly understood that such suggestion was regarded by
the Emperor as a slur cast upon his favourite official and personal
friend.

The more I reflected, the more unwise seemed that sudden outburst of my
pretty little companion in the winter garden on the night before.  If
anyone had overheard her threat, then no doubt it would reach the ears
of that man who daily swept so many innocent persons into the prisons
and _etapes_ beyond the Urals.  I knew, too well, of those lists of
names which he placed before the Emperor, and to which he asked the
Imperial signature, without even giving His Majesty an opportunity to
glance at them.

Truly, those were dark days.  Life in Russia at that moment was a most
uncertain existence, for anyone incurring the displeasure of General
Markoff, or any of his friends, was as quickly and effectively removed
as though death's sword had struck them.

Much perturbed, and not knowing how to act in face of what the Emperor
had revealed to me, I was turning from the window back to my
writing-table, when one of the English footmen entered with a card.

"Oh, show him up, Green.  And bring some cigarettes," I said.

My visitor was Ivan Hartwig, the famous chief of the Russian Criminal
Detective Service--an entirely distinct department from the Secret
Police.

A few moments later he was ushered in by Green, and, bowing, took the
hand I offered him.

A lean, bony-faced man, of average height, alert, clean-shaven, and aged
about forty-five.  His hair was slightly streaked with grey, and his
eyes, small and shrewd, beamed behind a pair of round gold-rimmed
pince-nez.  I had never seen him in glasses before, but I only supposed
that he had suddenly developed myopia for some specific purpose.  As he
smiled in greeting me, his narrow jaws widened, displaying an even row
of white teeth, while the English he spoke was as perfect as my own.  At
that moment, in his glasses, his black morning-coat and grey trousers,
he looked more like a grave family physician than a police officer whose
career was world-famous.

And yet he was a man of striking appearance.  His broad white forehead,
his deep-set eyes so full of fire and expression, his high, protruding
cheek-bones, and his narrowing chin were all characteristics of a man of
remarkable power and intelligence.  His, indeed, was a face that would
arrest attention anywhere; hence the hundred and one disguises which he
so constantly adopted.

"I have had private audience of His Majesty this afternoon, Mr
Trewinnard," he said, as he took the chair I offered him.  "He has sent
me to you.  You wish to see me."

"Yes," I said.  "I need your assistance."

"So His Majesty has told me, but he explained nothing of the affair.  He
commanded me to place myself entirely at your disposal," replied the
man, who, in himself, was a man of mystery.

His nationality was obscure to most people, yet we at the Embassy knew
that he was in reality a British subject, and that Ivan Hartwig was
merely the Russian equivalent of Evan Hardwicke.

I handed him the box of cigarettes which Green had replenished, and took
one myself.

As he slowly lit his, I recollected what a strange career he had had.
Graduating from Scotland Yard, where on account of his knowledge of
German and Russian he had been mainly employed in the arrest of alien
criminals in England, he had for several years served under Monsieur
Goron, Prefet of Police of Paris, and after being attached to the Tzar
on one of his visits to the French capital, had been personally invited
by the Emperor to become head of the Criminal Investigation Department
of Russia.

He was a quiet-spoken, alert, elusive, but very conscientious man, who
had made a study of crime from a psychological standpoint, his many
successes being no doubt due to his marvellously minute examination of
motives and his methodical reasoning upon the most abstruse clues.
There was nothing of the ordinary blunt official detective about him.
He was a man of extreme refinement, an omnivorous reader and a diligent
student of men.  He was a passionate collector of coins, a bachelor, and
an amateur player of the violin.  I believe that he had never
experienced what fear was, and certainly within my own knowledge, he had
had a dozen narrow escapes from the vengeance of the Terrorists.  Once a
bomb was purposely exploded in a room into which he and his men went to
arrest two students in Moscow, and not one present escaped death except
Hartwig himself.

And as he now sat there before me, so quiet and attentive, blinking at
me through those gold-rimmed pince-nez, none would certainly take him
for the man whose hairbreadth escapes, constant disguises, exciting
adventures and marvellous successes in the tracking of criminals all
over Europe had so often amazed the readers of newspapers the world
over.

"Well, Mr Hartwig," I said in a low voice, after I had risen and
satisfied myself that Green had closed the door, "the matter is one of
strictest confidence--a suspicion which I may at once tell you is the
Emperor's own personal affair.  To myself alone he has confided it, and
I requested that you might be allowed to assist me in finding a solution
of the problem."

"I'm much gratified," he said.  "As an Englishman, you know, I believe,
that I am ever ready to serve an Englishman, especially if I am serving
the Emperor at the same time."

"The inquiry will take us far afield, I expect--first to England."

"To England!" he exclaimed.  "For how long do you anticipate?"

"Who knows?"  I asked.  "I can only say that it will be a very difficult
and perhaps a long inquiry."

"And how will the department proceed here?"

"Your next in command will be appointed in your place until your return.
The Emperor arranged for this with me yesterday.  Therefore, from
to-morrow you will be free to place yourself at my service."

"I quite understand," he said.  "And now, perhaps, you will in
confidence explain exactly the situation, and the problem which is
presented," and he settled himself in his chair in an attitude of
attention.

"Ah! that, I regret, is unfortunately impossible.  The Emperor has
entrusted the affair to me, and to me alone.  I must direct the inquiry,
and you will, I fear, remain in ignorance--at least, for the present."

"In other words, you will direct and I must act blindly--eh?" he said in
a rather dubious voice.  "That's hardly satisfactory to me, Mr
Trewinnard, is it?--hardly fair, I mean."

"I openly admit that such an attitude as I am compelled to adopt is not
fair to you, Hartwig.  But I feel sure you will respect the Emperor's
confidence, and view the matter in its true light.  The matter is a
personal one of His Majesty's, and may not be divulged.  He has asked me
to tell you this frankly and plainly, and also that he relies upon you
to assist him."

My words convinced the great detective, and he nodded at last in the
affirmative.

"The problem I alone know," I went on.  "His Majesty has compelled me to
swear secrecy.  Therefore I am forbidden to tell you.  You understand?"

"But I am not forbidden to discover it for myself?" replied the keen,
wary official.

"If you do, I cannot help it," was my reply.

"If I do," he said, "I promise you faithfully, Mr Trewinnard, that His
Majesty's secret, whatever it is, shall never pass my lips."

CHAPTER SIX.

RELATES A SENSATION.

Ten days had gone by.  I had applied to Downing Street for leave of
absence, and was awaiting permission.

One afternoon I had again been commanded to private audience at the
Palace, and in uniform, had spent nearly two hours with the Emperor,
listening to certain confidential instructions which he had given me--
instructions for the fulfilment of a somewhat difficult task.

Twice during our chat I had referred to the case of my friends Madame
and Mademoiselle de Rosen, hoping that he would extend to them the
Imperial clemency, and by a stroke of that well-worn quill upon the big
writing-table recall them from that long and weary journey upon which
they had been sent.

But His Majesty, who was wearing the undress uniform of a general with a
single cross at his throat, uttered an expression of regret that I had
been friendly with them.

"In Russia, in these days, a foreigner should exercise the greatest
caution in choosing his friends," he said.  "Only the day before
yesterday Markoff reported it was to those two women that the attempt in
the Nevski was entirely due.  The others, thirty or so, were merely
tools of those clever women."

"Forgive me, Your Majesty, when I say that General Markoff lies," I
replied boldly.

"Enough!  Our opinions differ, Trewinnard," he snapped, with a shrug of
his broad shoulders.

It was on the tip of my tongue to make a direct charge against his
favourite official, but what was the use when I held no actual proof.
Twice recently I had seen Natalia, but she refused to allow me sight of
the letters, telling me that she intended herself to show up the General
in her own way--and at her own time.

So the subject had dropped, for I saw that mention of it only aroused
the Emperor's displeasure.  And surely the other matter which we were
discussing with closed doors was weighty enough.

At last His Majesty tossed his cigarette-end away, and, his jewelled
cross glittering at his throat, rose with outstretched hand, as sign
that my audience was at an end.

That eternal military band was playing in the grey courtyard below, and
the Emperor had slammed-to the window impatiently to keep out the sound.
He was in no mood for musical comedy that afternoon.  Indeed, I knew
that the military music often irritated him, but Court etiquette--those
iron-bound, unwritten laws which even an Emperor cannot break--demanded
it.  Those same laws decreed that no Emperor of Russia may travel
_incognito_, as do all other European sovereigns; that at dinner at the
Winter Palace there must always be eight guests; and that the service of
gold plate of Catherine the Great must always be used.  At the Russian
Court there are a thousand such laws, the breach of a single one being
an unpardonable offence, even in the case of the autocratic ruler
himself.

"Then you understand my wishes--eh, Trewinnard?"  His Majesty said at
last in English, gripping my hand warmly.

"Perfectly, Sire."

"I need not impress upon you the need for absolute and entire
discretion.  I trust you implicitly."

"I hope Your Majesty's trust will never be betrayed," I answered
fervently, bowing over the strong outstretched hand.

And then, backing out of the door, I bowed and withdrew.

Through the long corridor with its soft red carpet I went, passing
Calitzine, a short, dark man in funereal black, the Emperor's private
secretary, to whom I passed the time of day.

Then, reaching the grand staircase with its wonderful marble and gold
balustrades and great chandeliers of crystal, I descended to the huge
hall, where the echoes were constantly aroused by hurrying footsteps of
ministers, officials, chamberlains, courtiers and servants--all of them
sycophants.

The two gigantic sentries at the foot of the stairs held their rifles at
the salute as I passed between them, when of a sudden I caught sight of
the Grand Duchess Natalia in a pretty summer gown of pale-blue, standing
with a tall, full-bearded elderly man in the brilliant uniform of the
15th Regiment of Grenadiers of Tiflis, of which he was chief, and
wearing many decorations.  It was her father, the Grand Duke Nicholas.

"Why, here's old Uncle Colin!" cried my incorrigible little friend in
pleased surprise.  "Have you been up with the Emperor?"

I replied in the affirmative, and, bowing, greeted His Imperial
Highness, her father, with whom I had long been on friendly terms.

"Where are you going?" asked the vivacious young lady quickly as she
rebuttoned her long white glove, for they had, it seemed, been on a
visit to the Empress.

"I have to go to the opening of the new wing of the Naval Hospital," I
said.  "And I haven't much time to spare."

"We are going there, too.  I have to perform the opening ceremony in
place of the Emperor," replied the Grand Duke.  "So drive with us."

"That's it, Uncle Colin!" exclaimed his daughter.  "Come out for an
airing.  It's a beautiful afternoon."

So we went forth into the great courtyard, where one of the Imperial
state carriages, an open one, was in waiting, drawn by four fine,
long-tailed Caucasian horses.

Behind it was a troop of mounted Cossacks to act as escort.

We entered, and the instant the bare-headed flunkeys had closed the door
the horses started off, and we swung out of the handsome gateway into
the wide Place, in the centre of which stood the grey column of Peter
the Great.

Turning to the left we went past the Alexander Gardens, now parched and
dusty with summer heat, and skirted the long facade of the War Office.

"I wonder what tales you've been telling the Emperor about me, Uncle
Colin?" asked the impudent little lady, laughing as we drove along, I
being seated opposite the Grand Duke and his daughter.

"About you?"  I echoed with a smile.  "Oh, nothing, I assure you--or, at
least, nothing that was not nice."

"You're a dear, I know," declared the girl, her father laughing amusedly
the while.  "But you are so dreadfully proper.  You're worse about
etiquette than father is--and he's simply horrid.  He won't ever let me
go out shopping alone, and I'm surely old enough to do that!"

"You're quite old enough to get into mischief, Tattie," replied her
father, speaking in French.

"I love mischief.  That's the worst of it," and she pouted prettily.

"Yes, quite true--the worst of it, for me," declared His Imperial
Highness.  "I thought that when you went to school in England they would
teach you manners."

"Ordinary manners are not Court manners," the girl argued, trying to
rebutton one of her gloves which had come unfastened.

"Let me do it," I suggested, and quickly fastened it.

"Thank you," she laughed with mock dignity.  "How charming it is to have
such a polished diplomat as Mr Colin Trewinnard to do nice things for
one.  Now, isn't that a pretty speech?  I suppose I ought to study smart
things to say, and practise them on the dog--as father does sometimes."

"Really, Tattie, you forget yourself, my dear," exclaimed her father,
with distinct disapproval.

"Well, that's nothing," declared my charming little companion.  "Don't
parsons practise preaching their sermons, and lawyers and statesmen
practise their clever untruths?  You can't expect a woman's mouth to be
full of sugar-plums of speech, can you?"

My eyes met those of the Grand Duke, and we both burst out laughing at
the girl's quaint philosophy.

"Why, even the Emperor has his speeches composed and written for him by
silly old Calitzine," she went on.  "And at Astrakhan the other day I
composed a most telling and patriotic speech for His Majesty, which he
delivered when addressing the officers of the Army of the Volga.  I sat
on my horse and listened.  The old generals and colonels, and all the
rest of them, applauded vociferously, and the men threw their caps in
the air.  I wonder if they would have done this had they known that I
had written those well-turned patriotic sentences, I--a mere chit of a
girl, as father sometimes tells me!"

"And the terror of the Imperial family," I ventured to add.

"Thank you for your compliment.  Uncle Colin," she laughed.  "I know
father endorses your sentiments.  I see it in his face."

"Oh, do try and be serious, Tattie," he urged.  "See all those people!
Salute them, and don't laugh so vulgarly."  And he raised his
white-gloved hand to his shining helmet in recognition of the shouts of
welcome rising from those assembled along our route.

Whereat she bowed gracefully again with that slight and rather frigid
smile which she had been taught to assume on public occasions.

"If I put up my sunshade they won't see me, and it will avoid such a lot
of trouble," she exclaimed suddenly, and she put up her pretty parasol,
which matched her gown and softened the light upon her pretty face.

"Oh, no, Uncle Colin!" she exclaimed suddenly, as we turned the corner
into the Yosnesenskaya, a long, straight street where the throng,
becoming greater, was kept back by lines of police in their grey coats,
peaked caps and revolvers.  "I know what you are thinking.  But it isn't
so.  I'm not in the least afraid of spoiling my complexion."

"Then perhaps it is a pity you are not," I replied.  "Complexions, like
all shining things, tarnish quickly."

"Just like reputations, I suppose," she remarked, whereupon her father
could not restrain another laugh.

Then again, at word in an undertone from the Grand Duke, both he and his
daughter saluted the crowd, our horses galloping, as they always do in
Russia, and our Cossack-escort clattering behind.

There were a good many people just at this point, for it was believed
that the Emperor would pass on his way to perform the opening ceremony,
and his loyal subjects were waiting to cheer him.

On every hand, the people, recognising the popular Grand Duke and his
daughter, set up hurrahs, and while His Imperial Highness saluted, his
pretty daughter, the most admired girl in Russia, bowed, and I, in
accordance with etiquette, made no sign of acknowledgment.

As we came to the narrow bridge which spans the canal, the road was
flanked on the left by the Alexander Market, and here was another huge
crowd.

Loud shouts of welcome in Russian broke forth from those assembled, for
the Grand Duke and his daughter were everywhere greeted most warmly.

But as we passed the market, the police keeping back the crowd, I saw a
thin, middle-aged man in dark clothes lift his hand high above his head.
Something came in our direction, yet before I had time to realise his
action a blood-red flash blinded me, my ears were deafened by a terrific
report, a hot, scorching breath swept across my face, and I felt myself
hurled far into space amid the mass of falling debris.

It all occurred in a single instant, and I knew no more.  I had a
distinct feeling that some terrific explosion had knocked the breath
clean out of my body.  I recollect seeing the carriage rent into a
thousand fragments just at the same instant that black unconsciousness
fell upon me.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

TELLS TRAGIC TRUTHS.

When, with extreme difficulty, I slowly struggled back to a knowledge of
things about me, I found myself, to my great surprise, in a narrow
hospital-bed, with a holy _ikon_ upon the whitewashed wall before me,
and a Red Cross sister bending tenderly over me.

Beside her stood two Russian doctors regarding me very gravely, and at
their side was Saunderson, our Councillor of Embassy.

"Well, how are you feeling now, Colin, old man?" the latter whispered
cheerfully.

"I--I don't know.  Where am I?"  I asked.  "What's happened?"

"My dear fellow, you can thank your lucky stirs that you've escaped from
the bomb," he said.

"The bomb!"  I gasped, and then in a flash all the horrors of that
sudden explosion crowded upon me.  "What happened?"  I inquired, trying
to raise myself, and finding my head entirely enveloped in surgical
bandages.  "What happened to the others?"

"The Grand Duke was, alas! killed, but his daughter fortunately escaped
only with a scratch on her arm," was his reply.  "The carriage was blown
to atoms, the two horses and their driver and footman were killed, while
three Cossacks of the escort were also killed and two injured."

"Then--then she--she is alive!"  I managed to gasp, dazed at the tragic
truth he had related to me.

"Yes--it was a desperate attempt.  Fifteen arrests have been made up to
the present."

And while he was speaking, Captain Stoyanovitch advanced to my bedside,
and leaning over, asked in a low voice:

"How are you, Trewinnard?  The Emperor has sent me to inquire."

"Tell His Majesty that I--I thank him.  I'm getting round--I--I hope
I'll soon be well.  I--I--"

"That's right.  Take great care of yourself, _mon cher_," he urged.

And then the doctors ordered my visitors away, and I sank among my
pillows into a state of semi-consciousness.

How long I lay thus I do not know.  I remember seeing soldiers come and
go, and at length discovered that I was in the hospital attached to the
artillery barracks on the road to Warsaw Station.  Beside me always sat
a grave-eyed nursing sister, silent and watchful, while ever and anon
one or other of the doctors would approach, bend over me, and inquire of
her my condition.

Saunderson came again some hours later.  It was then night.  And from
him, now that I was completely conscious, I learnt how, after the
explosion, the police had in the confusion shot down two men, afterwards
proved to be innocent spectators, and made wholesale indiscriminate
arrests.  It was believed, however, that the man I had seen, the
perpetrator of the dastardly act, had escaped scot-free.

Dozens of windows in the market-hall opposite where the outrage was
committed had been smashed, and many people besides the killed and
injured had been thrown down by the terrific force of the explosion.

"The poor Grand Duke Nicholas has, alas! been shattered out of
recognition," he told me.  "His body was taken at once to his palace,
where it now lies, while you were brought here together with the Grand
Duchess Natalia.  But her wound being quite a slight one, was dressed,
and she was driven at once to the Winter Palace, at the order of the
Emperor.  Poor child!  I hear that she is utterly prostrated by the
fearful sight which her father presented to her eyes."

I drew a long breath.

"I suppose I was struck on the head by some of the debris and knocked
insensible--eh?"  I asked.

"Yes, probably," he replied.  "But the doctors say the wound is only a
superficial one, and in a week's time you'll be quite right again.  So
cheer up, old chap.  You'll get the long leave which you put in for the
other day, and a bit more added to it, no doubt."

"But this state of things is terrible," I declared, shifting myself upon
my side so that I could better look into his face.  "Surely the
revolutionists could have had no antagonism towards the Grand Duke
Nicholas!  He was most popular everywhere."

"My dear fellow, who can gauge the state of the Russian mind at this
moment?  Plots seem to be of daily occurrence."

"If you believe the reports of the Secret Police.  But I, for one,
don't," I declared frankly.

"No, no," he said reprovingly.  "Don't excite yourself.  Be thankful
that you've escaped.  You might have shared the same fate as those poor
Cossacks."

"I know," I said.  "I thank God that I was spared.  But it will be in
the London papers, no doubt.  Reuter's man will send it; therefore, will
you wire to my mother at once.  You know her address--Hayford Manor,
near Newquay, Cornwall.  Wire in my name, and tell her that the affair
is greatly exaggerated, and that I'm all right, will you?"

He promised.

I knew with what eagerness my aged mother always followed all my
movements, for I made it a practice to write to her twice every week
with a full report of my doings.  I was as devoted to her as she was to
me.  And perhaps that accounted for the fact that I had never married.
My father, the Honourable Colin Trewinnard, had been one of the largest
landowners in Cornwall, and my family was probably one of the oldest in
the county.  But evil times had fallen upon the estate in the last years
of my father's life; depreciation in the value of agricultural land,
failing crops and foreign competition had ruined farming, and now the
income was not one-half that it had been fifty years before.  Yet it was
sufficient to keep my mother and myself in comfort; and this, in
addition to my pay from the Foreign Office, rendered me better off than
a great many other men in our Service.

Through Stoyanovitch, on the following morning, I received a message
from Natalia.  He said:

"Her Highness, whom I saw in the Palace an hour ago, told me to say that
she sent you her best wishes for a speedy recovery.  She is greatly
grieved over the death of her father, and, of course, the Court has gone
into mourning for sixty days.  She told me to tell you that as soon as
you are able to return to the Embassy she wishes to see you on a very
important matter."

"Tell her that I am equally anxious to see her, and that she has all my
sympathy in her sad bereavement," I replied.

"Terrible, wasn't it?" the Imperial equerry exclaimed.  "The poor girl
looks white, haggard and entirely changed."

"No wonder--after such an awful experience."

"There were, I hear, twenty more arrests to-day.  Markoff had audience
with His Majesty at ten o'clock this morning, and eight of the prisoners
of yesterday have been sent to Schusselburg."

"From which they will never emerge," I said, with a shudder at the
thought of that living tomb as full of horrors as was the Bastille
itself.

"Well, I don't see why they should, my dear friend," the Captain
replied.  "If I had had such an experience as yours, I shouldn't feel
very lenient towards them--as you apparently do."

"I am not thinking of the culprit," I said.  "He certainly deserves a
death-sentence.  It is the innocents who, here in Russia, suffer for the
guilty, with whom I deeply sympathise.  Every day unoffending men and
women are arrested wholesale in this drastic, unrelenting sweeping away
of prisoners to Siberia.  I tell you that half of them are loyal,
law-abiding subjects of the Tzar."

The elegant equerry-in-waiting only grinned and shrugged his shoulders.
He was too good a Russian to adopt such an argument.  As personal
attendant upon His Majesty, he, of course, supported the Imperial
autocracy.

"This accursed system of police-spies and _agents-provocateurs_
manufactures criminals.  Can a man wrongly arrested and sent to the
mines remain a loyal subject?"

"The many have to suffer for the few.  It is the same in all lands," was
his reply.  "But really the matter doesn't concern me, my dear
Trewinnard."

"It will concern you one day when you are blown up as I have been," I
exclaimed savagely.

Shortly afterwards he left, and for hours I lay thinking, my eyes upon
that square gilt holy picture before me, the _ikon_ placed before the
eyes of every patient in the hospital.  Nurses in grey and soldiers in
white cotton tunics passed and repassed through the small ward of which
I was the only occupant.

The pains in my head were excruciating.  I felt as though my skull had
been filled with boiling water.  Sometimes my thoughts were perfectly
normal, yet at others my mind seemed full of strange, almost ridiculous
phantasies.  My whole career, from the days when I had been a clerk in
that sombre old-fashioned room at Downing Street, through my service at
Madrid, Brussels, Berlin and Rome to Petersburg--all went before me,
like a cinema-picture.  I looked upon myself as others saw me--as a man
never sees himself in normal circumstances--a mere struggling entity
upon the tide of that sea of life called To-day.

We are so very apt to think ourselves indispensable to the world.  Yet
we have only to think again, and remember that the unknown to-morrow may
bring, us death, and with it everlasting oblivion, as far as this world
is concerned.  Queen Victoria and Pope Leo XIII were the two greatest
figures of our time; yet a month after their deaths people had to recall
who they were, and what they had actually done to earn distinction.

These modern days of rush and hurry are forgetful, irresponsible days,
when public opinion is manufactured by those who rule the halfpenny
press, and when the worst and most baneful commodities may be foisted
upon the public by means of efficient advertisement.

The cleverest swindler may by payment become a baronet of England, even
a peer of the realm, providing he subscribes sufficient to Somebody's
Newspaper Publicity Agency; and any blackguard with money or influence
may become a Justice of the Peace and sentence his fellows to fourteen
days' imprisonment.

But the reader will forgive me.  Perhaps remarks such as these ill
become a diplomat--one who is supposed to hold no personal opinions.
Yet I assert that to-day there is no diplomat serving Great Britain in a
foreign country who is not tired and disgusted with his country's
antiquated methods and her transparent weaknesses.

The papers speak vigorously of Britain's power, but men in my service--
those who know real international truths--smile at the defiant and
well-balanced sentences of the modern journalist, whose blissful
ignorance of the truth is ofttimes so pathetic.  Yes, it is only the
diplomat serving at a foreign Court who can view Great Britain from
afar, and accurately gauge her position among modern nations.

For ten days I remained in that whitewashed ward, many of my friends
visiting me, and Stoyanovitch coming daily with a pleasant message from
His Majesty.  Then one bright morning the doctors declared me to be fit
enough to drive back to the Embassy.

An hour later, with my head still bandaged, I was seated in my own room,
in my own big leather armchair, with the July sun streaming in from
across the Neva.

Saunderson was sitting with me, describing the great pomp of the funeral
of the Grand Duke Nicholas, and the service at the Isaac Church, at
which the Tzar, the Court, and all the _corps diplomatique_ had
attended.

"By the way," he added, "a note came for you this morning," and he
handed me a black-edged letter, bearing on the envelope the Imperial
arms embossed in black.

I tore it open and found it to be a neatly-written little letter from
the Grand Duchess Natalia, asking me to allow her to call and see me as
soon as ever I returned to the Embassy.

"I must see you, Uncle Colin," she wrote.  "It is most pressing.  So do
please let me come.  Send me word, and I will come instantly.  I cannot
write anything here.  _I must see you at once_!"

CHAPTER EIGHT.

DESCRIBES A MYSTERIOUS INCIDENT.

Two days later, the ugly bandages having been removed from my head,
Natalia was seated in the afternoon in my den.

Exquisitely neat in her dead black, with the long crape veil, she
presented an altogether different appearance to the radiant girl who had
sat before me on that fatal drive.  Her sweet face was now pale and
drawn, and by the dark rings about her eyes I saw how full of poignant
grief her heart had lately been.

She had taken off her long, black gloves and settled herself cosily in
my big armchair, her tiny patent-leather shoe, encasing a shapely
silk-clad ankle, set forth beneath the hem of her black skirt.

"I was so terrified.  Uncle Colin, that you were also dead!" the girl
was saying in a low, sympathetic voice, after I had expressed my deepest
regret regarding the unfortunate death of her father, to whom she had
been so devoted.

"I suppose I had a very narrow escape," I said cheerfully.  "You came
out best of all."

"By an absolute miracle.  The Emperor is furious.  Twenty of those
arrested have already been sent to Schusselburg," she said.  "Only
yesterday, he told me that he hoped you would be well enough in a day or
two to go to the Palace.  I was to tell you how extremely anxious he is
to see you as soon as possible."

"I will obey the command at the earliest moment I am able," I replied.
"But how horribly unfortunate all this is," I went on.  "I fully
expected that you would be in England by this time."

"As soon as you are ready, Uncle Colin, I can go.  The Emperor has
already told me that he has placed me under your guardianship.  That you
are to be my equerry.  Isn't it fun?" she cried, her pretty face
suddenly brightening with pleasure.  "Fancy you! dear old uncle, being
put in charge of me--your naughty niece!"

"His Majesty wished it," I said.  "He thinks you will be better away
from Court for a time.  Therefore, I have promised to accept the
responsibility.  For one year you are to live _incognito_ in England,
and I have been appointed your equerry and guardian--and," I added very
seriously, "I hope that my naughty niece will really behave herself, and
do nothing which will cause me either annoyance or distress."

"I'll really try and be very good, Uncle Colin," declared the girl with
mock demureness, and laughing mischievously.  "Believe me, I will."

"It all remains with you," I said.  "Remember I do not wish it to be
necessary that I should furnish any unfavourable report to the Emperor.
I want us to understand each other perfectly from the outset.  Recollect
one point always.  Though you may be known in England as Miss Gottorp,
yet remember that you are of the Imperial family of Russia, and niece of
the Emperor.  Hence, there must be no flirtations, no clandestine
meetings or love-letters, and such-like, as in the case of young
Hamborough."

"Please don't bring up that affair," urged the little madcap.  "It is
all dead, buried and forgotten long ago."

"Very well," I said, looking straight into her big, velvety eyes so full
of expression.  "But remember that your affection is absolutely
forbidden except towards a man of your own birth and station."

"I know," she cried, with a quick impatience.  "I'm unlike any other
girl.  I am forbidden to speak to a commoner."

"Not in England.  Preserve your _incognito_, and nobody will know.  At
His Majesty's desire, I have obtained leave of absence from the service
for twelve months, in order to become your guardian."

"Well, dear old Uncle Colin, you are the only person I would have
chosen.  Isn't that nice of me to say so?" she asked, with a tantalising
smile.

"But I tell you I shall show you no leniency if you break any of the
rules which must, of necessity, be laid down," I declared severely.  "As
soon as I find myself well enough, you will take Miss West, your old
governess, and Davey, your English maid, to England, and I will come and
render you assistance in settling down somewhere in comfort."

"At Eastbourne?" she cried in enthusiasm.  "We'll go there.  Do let us
go there?"

"Probably at Brighton," I said quietly.  "It would be gayer for you,
and--well, I will be quite frank--I think there are one or two young men
whom you know in Eastbourne.  Hence it is not quite to your advantage to
return there."

She pouted prettily in displeasure.

"Brighton is within an hour of London, as you know," I went on,
extolling the praises of the place.

"Oh, yes, I know it.  We often went over from Eastbourne, to concerts
and things.  There's an aquarium there, and a seaside railway, and lots
of trippers.  I remember the place perfectly.  I love to see your
English trippers.  They are such fun, and they seem to enjoy themselves
so much more than we ever do.  I wonder how it is--they enjoy their
freedom, I suppose, while we have no freedom."

"Well," I said cheerfully, "in a week or ten days I hope I shall be
quite fit to travel, and then we will set out for England."

"Yes.  Let us go.  The Emperor leaves for Peterhof on Saturday.  He will
not return to Petersburg until the winter, and the Court moves to
Tzarskoie-Selo on Monday."

"Then I will see His Majesty before Saturday," I said.  "But, tell me,
why did Your Highness write to me so urgently three days ago?  You said
you wished to see me at once."

The girl sprang from her chair, crossed to the door, and made certain it
was closed.

Then, glancing around as though apprehensive of eavesdroppers, she said:

"I wanted to tell you, Uncle Colin, of something very, very curious
which happened the other evening.  About ten o'clock at night I was with
Miss West in the blue boudoir--you know the room in our palace, you've
been in it."

"I remember it perfectly," I said.

"Well, I went upstairs to Davey for my smelling-salts as Miss West felt
faint, and as I passed along the corridor I saw, in the moonlight, in my
own room a dark figure moving by the window.  It was a man.  I saw him
searching the drawers of my little writing-table, examining the contents
by means of an electric-torch.  I made no sound, but out of curiosity,
drew back and watched him.  He was reading all my letters--searching for
something which he apparently could not find.  My first impulse was to
ring and give the alarm, for though I could not see the individual's
face, I knew he must be a thief.  Still, I watched, perhaps rather
amused at the methodical examination of my letters which he was making,
all unconscious that he was being observed, until suddenly at a noise
made by a servant approaching from the other end of the corridor, he
started, flung back the letters into the drawer, and mounting to the
open window, got out and disappeared.  I shouted and rushed after him to
the window, but he had gone.  He must have dropped about twelve feet on
to the roof of the ballroom and thus got away.

"Several servants rushed in, and the sentries were alarmed," she went
on.  "But when I told my story, it was apparent that I was not believed.
The drawer in the writing-table had been reclosed, and as far as we
could see all was in perfect order.  So I believe they all put it down
to my imagination."

"But you are quite certain that you saw the man there?"  I said, much
interested in her story.

"Quite.  He was of middle height, dressed in dark clothes, and wore a
cloth peaked cap, like men wear when golfing in England," she replied.
"He was evidently in search of something I had in my writing-table, but
he did not find it.  Nevertheless, he read a quantity of my letters
mostly from school-friends."

"And your love-letters?"  I asked, with a smile.

"Well, if the fellow read any of them," she laughed, "I hope he was very
much edified.  One point is quite plain.  He knew English, for my
letters were nearly all in English."

"Some spy or other, I suppose."

"Without a doubt," she said, clasping her white hands before her and
raising her wonderful eyes to mine.  "And do you know, Uncle Colin, the
affair has since troubled me very considerably.  I wanted to see you and
hear your opinion regarding it."

"My opinion is that your window ought not to have been left open."

"It had not been.  The maid whose duty it is to close the windows on
that floor one hour before sunset every day has been closely questioned,
and declares that she closed and fastened it at seven o'clock."

"Servants are not always truthful," I remarked dubiously.

"But the intruder was there with some distinct purpose.  Don't you think
so?"

"Without a doubt.  He was endeavouring to learn some secret which Your
Highness possesses.  Cannot you form any theory what it can be?  Try and
reflect."

"Secret!" she echoed, opening her eyes wide.  "I have no secrets.
Everybody tells me I am far too outspoken."

"Here, in Russia, everyone seems to hold secrets of some character or
other, social or political, and spies are everywhere," I said.  "Are you
quite certain you have never before seen the intruder?"

"I could only catch the silhouette of his figure against the moonlight,
yet, to tell the truth, it struck me at that moment that I had seen him
somewhere before.  But where, I could not recollect.  He read each
letter through, so he must have known English very well, or he could not
have read so quickly."

"But did you not tell me in the winter garden of the Palace, on the
night of the last Court ball, that Marya de Rosen had given you certain
letters--letters which reflected upon General Markoff?"  I asked.

She sat erect, staring at me open-mouthed in sudden recollection.  "Why,
I never thought of that!" she gasped.  "Of course!  It was for those
letters the fellow must have been searching."

"I certainly think so--without the shadow of a doubt."

"Madame de Rosen feared lest they should be stolen from her, and she
gave them over to me--three of them sealed up in an envelope," declared
my dainty little companion.  "She expressed apprehension lest a
domiciliary visit be made to her house by the police, when the letters
in question might be discovered and seized.  So she asked me to hold
them for her."

"And what did you do with them?"

"I hid them in a place where they will never be found," she said; "at a
spot where nobody would even suspect.  But somebody must be aware that
she gave them to me for safe-keeping.  How could they possibly know?"

"I think Your Highness was--well, just a little indiscreet on the night
of the Court ball," I said.  "Don't you recollect that you spoke aloud
when other people were in the winter garden, and that I queried the
judiciousness of it?"

"Ah!  I remember now!" she exclaimed, her face suddenly pale and
serious.  "I recollect what I said.  Somebody must have overheard me."

"And that somebody told Serge Markoff himself--the man who was poor
Madame de Rosen's enemy, and who has sent both her and Luba to their
graves far away in Eastern Siberia."

"Then you think that he is anxious to regain possession of those
letters?"

"I think that is most probable, in face of your statement that you
intend placing them before the Emperor.  Of course, I do not know their
nature, but I feel that they must reflect very seriously upon His
Majesty's favourite official--the oppressor of Russia.  You still have
them in your possession?"  I asked.

"Yes, Uncle Colin.  I feared lest some spy might find them, so I went up
to my old nursery on the top floor of the Palace--a room which has not
been used for years.  In it stands my old doll's house--a big, dusty
affair as tall as myself.  I opened it and placed the packet in the
little wardrobe in one of the doll's bedrooms.  It is still there.  I
saw it only yesterday."

"Be very careful that no spy watches you going to that disused room.
You cannot exercise too much caution in this affair," I urged seriously.

"I am always cautious," she assured me.  "I distrust more than one of
our servants, for I believe some of them to be in Markoff's pay.  All
that we do at home is carried at once to the Emperor, while I am watched
at every turn."

"True; only we foreign diplomats are exempt from this pestilential
surveillance and the clever plots of the horde of _agents-provocateurs_
controlled by the all-powerful Markoff."

"But what shall I do, Uncle Colin?" asked the girl, her white hands
clasped in her lap.

"If you think it wise to place the letter before the Emperor, I should
certainly lose no time in doing so," I replied.  "It may soon be too
late.  Spies will leave no hole or corner in your father's palace
unexamined."

"You think there really is urgency?" she asked.

I looked my charming companion straight in the face and replied:

"I do.  If you value your life, then I would urge you at once to get rid
of the packet which poor Madame de Rosen entrusted to you."

"But I cannot place it before the Emperor just at present," the girl
exclaimed.  "I promised secrecy to Marya de Rosen."

"Then you knew something of the subject to which those letters refer--
eh?"

"I know something of it."

"Why not pass them on to me?  They will be quite secure here in the
Embassy safe.  Russian spies dire not enter here--upon this bit of
British soil."

"A good idea," she said quickly.  "I will.  I'll go home and bring them
back to you."

And in a few minutes she rose and with a merry laugh left me to descend
to her carriage, which was waiting out upon the quay.

I stood looking out of the window as she drove away.  I was thinking--
thinking seriously over the Emperor's strange apprehension.

Two visitors followed her, the French naval attache, and afterwards old
Madame Neilidoff, the Society leader of Moscow, who called to
congratulate me upon my escape, and to invite me to spend my
convalescence at her country estate at Sukova.  With the stout, ugly old
lady, who spake French with a dreadfully nasal intonation and possessed
a distinct moustache, I chatted for nearly an hour, as we sipped our tea
with lemon, when almost as soon as she had taken her departure the door
was flung open unceremoniously and the Grand Duchess Natalia burst in,
her beautiful face blanched to the lips.

"Uncle Colin!  Something horrible has happened; Those letters have
gone!" she gasped in a hoarse whisper, staring at me.

"Gone!"  I echoed, starting to my feet in dismay.

"Yes.  _They've been stolen--stolen_!"

CHAPTER NINE.

THE LITTLE GRAND DUCHESS.

In the golden September sunset, the long, wide promenade stretching
beside the blue sea from Brighton towards the fashionable suburb of Hove
was agog with visitors.

A cloudless sky, a glassy sea flecked by the white sails of pleasure
yachts, and ashore a crowd of well-dressed promenaders, the majority of
whom were Londoners who, stifled in the dusty streets, were now seeking
the fresh sea air of the Channel.

I had dressed leisurely for dinner in the Hotel Metropole, where I had
taken up my abode, and about seven o'clock descended the steps, and,
crossing the King's Road to the asphalted promenade, set out to walk
westward towards Hove.

Many things had happened since that well-remembered afternoon in July
when Natalia had discovered the clever theft of Madame de Rosen's
letters, and I had, an hour later, ill though I was, sent to His Majesty
that single word "Bathildis" and was granted immediate audience.

When I told him the facts he appeared interested, paced the room, and
then snapped his fingers with a careless gesture.  The little madcap had
certainly annoyed him greatly, and though feigning indifference, he
nevertheless appeared perplexed.

Natalia was called at once and questioned closely; she was the soul of
honour and would reveal nothing of the secret.  Afterwards I returned to
the Embassy and summoned Hartwig, to inform him of the Grand Duchess's
loss.  The renowned police official had since made diligent inquiry;
indeed, the whole complicated machinery of the Russian criminal police
had been put into motion, but all to no avail.

The theft was still an entire mystery.

As I approached the Lawns at Hove, those wide, grassy promenades beside
the sea, I saw that many people were still lingering, enjoying the warm
sunset, although the fashionable hour when women exercise their pet
dogs, and idle men lounge and watch the crowd, had passed and the band
had finished its performance.

My mind was filled by many serious apprehensions, as turning suddenly
from the Lawns, I recrossed the road and entered Brunswick Square, that
wide quadrangle of big, old-fashioned houses around a large railed-in
garden filled with high oaks and beeches.

Before a drab, newly-painted house with a basement and art-green blinds,
I halted, ascended the steps and rang.

A white-whiskered old manservant in funereal black bowed as I entered,
and, casting off my overcoat, I followed the old fellow past a man who
was seated demurely in the hall, to whom I nodded, and up
thickly-carpeted stairs to the big white-enamelled drawing-room, where
Natalia sprang up from a couch of daffodil silk and came forward to meet
me with glad welcome and outstretched hand.

"Well, Uncle Colin!" she cried, "wherever have you been?  I called for
you at the `Metropole' the day before yesterday, and your superb
hall-porter told me that you were in London!"

"Yes.  I had to go up there on some urgent business," I said.  "I only
returned to-day at five o'clock and received your kind invitation to
dine," and then, turning, I greeted Miss West, the rather thin, elderly
woman who for years had acted as English governess to Her Imperial
Highness--or Miss Gottorp, as she was now known at Hove.  Miss West had
been governess in the Emperor's family for six years before she had
entered the service of the Grand Duchess Nicholas, so life at Court,
with all its stiff etiquette, had perhaps imparted to her a slightly
unnatural hauteur.

Natalia looked inexpressibly sweet in an evening gown of fine black
spotted net, the transparency of which about the chest heightened the
almost alabaster whiteness of her skin.  She wore a black aigrette in
her hair, but no jewellery save a single diamond bangle upon her wrist,
an ornament which she always wore.

"Sit down and tell me all the news," she urged, throwing herself into an
armchair and patting a cushion near by as indication where I should sit.

"There is no news," I said.  "This morning I was at the Embassy, and
they were naturally filled with curiosity regarding you--a curiosity
which I did not satisfy."

"Young Isvolski is there, isn't he?" she asked.  "He used to be attached
to my poor father's suite."

"Yes," I replied.  "He's third secretary.  He wanted to know whether you
had police protection, and I told him they had sent you another agent
from Petersburg.  I suppose it is that melancholy man I've just seen
sitting in the hall?"

"Yes.  Isn't it horrid?  He sits there all day long and never moves,"
Miss West exclaimed.  "It is as though the bailiffs are in the house."

"Bailiffs?" repeated the girl.  "What are they?"  I explained to her,
whereupon she laughed heartily.  "Hartwig is due in Brighton to-night or
to-morrow morning," I said.  "I have received a telegram from him,
despatched from Berlin early yesterday morning.  But," I added, "I trust
that you are finding benefit from the change."

"I am," she assured me.  "I love this place.  I feel so free and so
happy here.  Miss West and I go for walks and drives every day, and
though a lot of people stare at me very hard, I don't think they know
who I am.  I hope not."

"They admire your Highness's good looks," I ventured to remark.  But she
made a quick gesture of impatience, and declared that I only intended
sarcasm.

"I suppose Miss West, that all the men turn to look at Her Highness?"  I
said.  "Englishmen at the seaside during the summer are always
impressionable, so they must be forgiven."

"You are quite right, Mr Trewinnard.  It is really something dreadful.
Only to-day a young man--quite a respectable young fellow, who was
probably a clerk in the City--followed us the whole length of the
promenade to the West Pier and kept looking into her Highness's face."

"He was really a very nice-looking boy," the girl declared
mischievously.  "If I'd been alone he would have spoken to me.  And, oh,
I'd have had such ripping fun."

"No doubt you would," I said.  "But you know the rule.  You are never
upon any pretext to go out alone.  Besides, you are always under the
observation of a police-agent.  You would scarcely care to do any
love-making before him, would you?"

"Why not?  Those persons are not men--they're only machines," she
declared.  "The Emperor told me that long ago."

"Well, take my advice," I urged with a laugh, "and don't attempt it."

"Oh, of course, Uncle Colin; you're simply dreadful.  You're a perfect
Saint Anthony.  It's too jolly bad," she declared.

"Yes.  Perhaps I might be a Saint Anthony where you are concerned.
Still, you must not become a temptress," I laughed, when at that moment,
old Igor, the butler, entered to announce that dinner was served.

So we descended the stairs to the big dining-room, where the table at
which she took the head was prettily decorated with Marshal Neil roses,
and, a merry trio, we ate our meal amid much good-humoured banter and
general laughter.

As she sat beneath the pink-shaded electric lamp suspended over the
table, I thought I had never seen her looking so inexpressibly charming.
Little wonder, indeed, that young City men down for a fortnight's
leisure at the seaside, the annual relaxation from their weary
work-a-day world of office and suburban railway, looked upon her in
admiration and followed her in order to feast their eyes upon her
marvellous beauty.  What would they have thought, had they but known
that the girl so quietly and well-dressed in black was of the bluest
blood of Europe, a daughter of the Imperial Romanoffs.

That big, old-fashioned house which I had arranged for her six weeks ago
belonged to the widow of a brewery baronet, a man who had made a great
fortune out of mild dinner-ale.  The somewhat beefy lady--once a
domestic servant--had gone on a voyage around the world and had been
pleased to let it furnished for a year.  With her consent I had had the
whole place repainted and decorated, had caused new carpets to be
provided, and in some instances the rooms had been refurnished in modern
style, while four of the servants, including Igor, the butler, and
Davey, Her Highness's maid, had been brought from her father's palace
beside the Neva.

For a girl not yet nineteen it was, indeed, quite a unique
establishment.  Miss West acting as chaperone, companion and
housekeeper.

Seated at the head of the table, the little Grand Duchess did the
honours as, indeed, she had so often done them at the great table in
that magnificent salon in Petersburg, for being the only child, it had
very often fallen to her lot to help her father to entertain, her mother
having died a month after her birth.

Dinner over, the ladies rose and left, while I sat to smoke my cigarette
alone.  Outside in the hall the undersized, insignificant little man in
black sat upon a chair reading the evening paper, and as old Igor poured
out my glass of port I asked him in French how he liked England.

"Ah! m'sieur," he exclaimed in his thin, squeaky voice.  "Truly it is
most beautiful.  We are all so well here--so much better than in
Petersburg.  Years ago I went to London with my poor master, the Grand
Duke.  We stayed at Claridge's.  M'sieur knows the place--eh?"

"Of course," I said.  "But tell me, Igor, since you've been in
Brighton--over a month now--have you ever met, or seen, anybody you
know?  I mean anyone you have seen before in Petersburg?"

I was anxious to learn whether young Hamborough, Paul Urusoff, or any of
the rest, had been in the vicinity.

The old fellow reflected a few moments.  Then he replied:

"Of course I saw M'sieur Hartwig three weeks ago.  Also His Excellency
the Ambassador when he came down from London to pay his respects to Her
Imperial Highness."

"Nobody else?"  I asked, looking seriously into his grey old face, my
wine-glass poised in my hand.

"Ah, yes!  One evening, three or four days ago, I was walking along
King's Road, towards Ship Street, when I passed a tall, thin,
clean-shaven man in brown, whose face was quite familiar.  I know that
I've seen him many times in Petersburg, but I cannot recall who or what
he is.  He looked inquisitively at me for a moment, and apparently
recognising me, passed on and then hurriedly crossed the road."

"Was he a gentleman?"  I asked with curiosity.

"He was dressed like one, M'sieur.  He had on a dark grey Homburg hat
and a fashionable dark brown suit."

"You only saw him on that one occasion?"

"Only that once.  When I returned home I told Dmitri, the police-agent,
and described him.  You don't anticipate that he is here with any evil
purpose, I suppose?" he added quickly.

"I can't tell, Igor.  I don't know him.  But if I were you I would not
mention it to her Highness.  She's only a girl, remember, and her nerves
have been greatly shaken by that terrible tragedy."

"Rely upon me.  I shall say no word, M'sieur," he promised.

Then I rose and ascended to the drawing-room, where Natalia was seated
alone.

"Miss West will be here in a few minutes," she said.  "Tell me, Uncle
Colin, what have you been doing while you've been away--eh?"

"I had some business in London, and afterwards went on a flying visit to
see my mother down in Cornwall," I said.

"Ah!  How is she?  I hope you told her to come and see me.  I would be
so very delighted if she will come and stay a week or so."

"I gave her Your Highness's kind message, and she is writing to thank
you.  She'll be most delighted to visit you," I said.

"Nothing has been discovered regarding Madame de Rosen's letters, I
suppose?" she asked with a sigh, her face suddenly grown grave.

"Hartwig arrives to-night, or to-morrow," I replied.  "We shall then
know what has transpired.  From his Majesty he received explicit
instructions to spare no effort to solve the mystery of the theft."

"I know.  He told me so when he was here three weeks ago.  He has made
every effort.  Of all the police administration I consider Hartwig the
most honest and straightforward."

"Yes," I agreed.  "He is alert always, marvellously astute, and, above
all, though he has had such an extraordinary career, he is an
Englishman."

"So I have lately heard," replied my pretty companion.  "I know he will
do his best on my behalf, because I feel that I have lost the one piece
of evidence which might have restored poor Marya de Rosen and her
daughter to liberty."

"You have lost the letters, it is true," I said, looking into her
splendid eyes.  "You have lost them because it was plainly in the
interests of General Markoff, the Tzar's favourite, that they should be
lost.  Madame de Rosen herself feared lest they should be stolen, and
yet a few days later she and Luba were spirited away to the Unknown.
Search was, no doubt, made at her house for that incriminating
correspondence.  It could not be found; but, alas! you let out the
secret when sitting out with me at the Court ball.  Somebody must have
overheard.  Your father's palace was searched very thoroughly, and the
packet at last found."

"The Emperor appeared to be most concerned about it before I left
Russia.  When I last saw him at Tzarskoie-Selo he seemed very pale,
agitated and upset."

"Yes," I said.  Then, very slowly, for I confess I was much perturbed,
knowing how we were at that moment hemmed in by our enemies, I added:
"This theft conveyed more to His Majesty than at present appears to your
Highness.  It is a startling coup of those opposed to the monarchy--the
confirmation of a suspicion which the Emperor believed to be his--and
his alone."

"A suspicion!" she exclaimed.  "What suspicion?  Tell me."

Next moment Miss West, thin-faced and rather angular, entered the room,
and we dropped our confidences.  Then, at my invitation, my dainty
little hostess went to the piano, and running her white fingers over the
keys, commenced to sing in her clear, well-trained contralto "L'Heure
Exquise" of Paul Verlaine:

  La lune blanche
      Luit dans les bois;
  De chaque branche
      Part une voix
  Sous la ramee...
      O bien-aimee.

CHAPTER TEN.

REVEALS TWO FACTS.

When I entered my bedroom at the Hotel Metropole it wanted half an hour
to midnight.  But scarce had I closed the door when a waiter tapped at
it and handed me a card.

"Show the gentleman up," I said in eager anticipation, and a few
minutes later there entered a tall, thin, clean-shaven, rather
aristocratic-looking man in a dark brown suit--the same person whom old
Igor had evidently recognised walking along King's Road.

"Well, Tack?  So you are here with your report--eh?"  I asked.

"Yes, sir," was his reply, as I seated myself on the edge of the bed,
and he took a chair near the dressing-table and settled himself to talk.

Edward Tack was a man of many adventures.  After a good many years at
Scotland Yard, where he rose to be the chief of the Extradition
Department on account of his knowledge of languages, he had been engaged
by the Foreign Office as a member of our Secret Service abroad, mostly
in Germany and Russia.  During the past two years he had, as a blind to
the police, carried on a small insurance agency business in Petersburg;
but the information he gathered from time to time and sent to the
Embassy was of the greatest assistance to us in our diplomatic dealings
with Russia and the Powers.

He never came to the Embassy himself, nor did he ever hold any direct
communication with any of the staff.  He acted as our eyes and ears,
exercising the utmost caution in transmitting to us the knowledge of men
and matters which he so cleverly gained.  He worked with the greatest
secrecy, for though he had lived in Petersburg two whole years, he had
never once been suspected by that unscrupulous spy-department controlled
by General Markoff.

"I've been in Brighton several days," my visitor said.  "The hotel
porter told me here that you were away, so I went to the `Old Ship!' and
waited for you."

"Well--what have you discovered?"  I inquired, handing him my
cigarette-case.  "Anything of interest?"

"Nothing very much, I regret to say," was his reply.  "I've worked for a
whole month, often night and day, but Markoff's men are wary--very wary
birds, sir, as you know."

"Have you discovered the real perpetrator of that bomb outrage?"

"I believe so.  He escaped."

"No doubt he did."

"There have been in all over forty persons arrested," my visitor said.
"About two dozen have been immured in Schusselburg, in those cells under
the waters of Lake Ladoga.  The rest have been sent by administrative
process to the mines."

"And all of them innocent?"

"Every one of them."

"It's outrageous!"  I cried.  "To think that such things can happen
every day in a country whose priests teach Christianity."

"Remove a certain dozen or so of Russia's statesmen and corrupt
officials, put a stop to the exile system, and give every criminal or
suspect a fair trial, and the country would become peaceful to-morrow,"
declared the secret agent.  "I have already reported to the Embassy the
actual truth concerning the present unrest."

"I know.  And we have sent it on to Downing Street, together with the
names of those who form the camarilla.  The Emperor is, alas! merely
their catspaw.  They are the real rulers of Russia--they rule it by a
Reign of Terror."

"Exactly, sir," replied the man Tack.  "I've always contended that.  In
the present case the outrage is not a mystery to the Secret Police."

"You think they know all about it--eh?"  I asked quickly.

"Well, sir.  I will put to you certain facts which I have discovered.
About two years ago a certain Danilo Danilovitch, an intelligent
shoemaker in Kazan, and a member of the revolutionary group in that
city, turned police-spy, and gave evidence of a _coup_ which had been
prepared to poison the Emperor at a banquet given there after the
military manoeuvres last year.  As a result, there were over a hundred
arrests, and as reprisal the chief of police of Kazan was a week later
shot while riding through one of the principal streets.  Next I know of
Danilovitch is that he was transferred to Petersburg, where, though in
the pay of the police, he was known to the Party of the People's Will as
an ardent and daring reformer, and foremost in his fiery condemnation of
the monarchy.  He made many inflammatory speeches at the secret
revolutionary meetings in various parts of the city, and was hailed as a
strong and intrepid leader.  Yet frequently the police made raids upon
these meeting-places and arrested all found there.  After each attempted
outrage they seemed to be provided with lists of everyone who had had
the slightest connection with the affair, and hence they experienced no
difficulty in securing them and packing them off to Siberia.  The police
were all-ubiquitous, the Emperor was greatly pleased, and General
Markoff was given the highest decorations, promotion and an appointment
with rich emoluments.

"But one day, about four months ago," Tack went on, "a remarkable but
unreported tragedy occurred.  Danilovitch, whose wife had long ago been
arrested and died on her way to Siberia, fell in love with a pretty
young tailoress named Marie Garine, who was a very active member of the
revolutionary party, her father and mother having been sent to the mines
of Nerchinsk, though entirely innocent.  Hence she naturally hated the
Secret Police and all their detestable works.  More than once she had
remarked to her lover the extraordinary fact that the police were being
secretly forewarned of every attempt which he suggested, for Danilovitch
had by this time become one of the chief leaders of the subterranean
revolution, and instigator of all sorts of desperate plots against the
Emperor and members of the Imperial Family.  One evening, however, she
went to his rooms and found him out.  Some old shoes were upon a shelf
ready for mending, for he still, as a subterfuge, practised his old
trade.  Among the shoes was a pair of her own.  She took them down, but
she mistook another pair for hers, and from one of them there fell to
her feet a yellow card--the card of identity issued to members of the
Secret Police!  She took it up.  There was no mistake, for her lover's
photograph was pasted upon it.  Her lover was a police-spy!"

"Well, what happened?"  I asked, much interested in the facts.

"The girl, in a frenzy of madness and anger, was about to rush out to
betray the man to her fellow-conspirators, when Danilovitch suddenly
entered.  She had, at that moment, his yellow card in her hand.  In an
instant he knew the truth and realised his own peril.  She intended to
betray him.  It meant her life or his!  Not a dozen words passed between
the pair, for the man, taking up his shoemaker's knife, plunged it
deliberately into the girl's heart, snatched the card from her dying
grasp, and strode out, locking the door behind him.  Then he went
straight to the private bureau of General Markoff and told him what he
had done.  Needless to relate, the police inquiry was a very perfunctory
one.  It was a love tragedy, they said, and as Danilo Danilovitch was
missing, they soon dropped the inquiry.  They did not, of course, wish
to arrest the assassin, for he was far too useful a person to them."

"Then you know the fellow?"

"I have met him often.  At first I had no idea of his connection with
the revolutionists.  It is only quite recently through a woman who is in
the pay of the Secret Police, and whose son has been treated badly, that
I learned the truth.  And she also told me one very curious fact.  She
was present in the crowd when the bomb was thrown at the Grand Duke
Nicholas's carriage, and she declares that Danilo Danilovitch--who has
not been seen in Petersburg since the tragic death of Marie Garine--was
there also."

"Then he may have thrown the bomb?"  I said, amazed.

"Who knows?"

"But I saw a man with his arm uplifted," I exclaimed.  "He looked
respectable, of middle-age, with a grey beard and wore dark clothes."

"That does not tally with Danilovitch's description," he replied.  "But,
of course, the assassin must have been disguised if he had dared to
return to Petersburg."

"But I suppose his fellow-conspirators still entertain no suspicion that
he is a police-spy?"

"None whatever.  The poor girl lost her life through her untoward
discovery.  The police themselves knew the truth, but on action being
withdrawn, the fellow was perfectly free to continue his nefarious
profession of _agent-provocateur_, for the great risk of which he had
evidently been well paid."

"But does not Hartwig know all this?"  I asked quickly, much surprised.

"Probably not.  General Markoff keeps his own secrets well.  Hartwig,
being head of the criminal police, would not be informed."

"But he might find out, just as you have found out," I suggested.

"He might.  But my success, sir, was due to the merest chance,
remember," Tack said.  "Hartwig's work lies in the detection of crime,
and not in the frustration of political plots.  Markoff knows what an
astute official he is, and would therefore strive to keep him apart from
his catspaw Danilovitch."

"Then, in your opinion, many of these so-called plots against the
Emperor are actually the work of the Kazan shoemaker, who arranges the
plot, calls the conspirators together and directs the arrangements."

"Yes.  His brother is a chemist in Moscow and it is he who manufactures
picric acid, nitro-glycerine and other explosives for the use of the
unfortunate conspirators.  Between them, and advised by Markoff, they
form a plot, the more desperate the better; and a dozen or so silly
enthusiasts, ignorant of their leaders' true calling, swear solemnly to
carry it out.  They are secretly provided with the means, and their
leader has in some cases actually secured facilities from the very
police themselves for the _coup_ to be made.  Then, when all is quite
ready, the astute Danilovitch hands over to his employer, Markoff, a
full list of the names of those who have been cleverly enticed into the
plot.  At night a sudden raid is made.  All who are there, or who are
even in the vicinity are arrested, and next morning His Excellency
presents his report to the Emperor, with Danilovitch's list ready for
the Imperial signature which consigns those arrested to a living grave
on the Arctic wastes, or in the mines of Eastern Siberia."

"And so progresses holy Russia of to-day--eh, Tack?"  I remarked with a
sigh.

The secret agent of British diplomacy, shrugging his shoulders and with
a grin, said:

"The scoundrels are terrorising the Emperor and the whole Imperial
family.  The killing of the Grand Duke Nicholas was evidence of that,
and you, too, sir, had a very narrow escape."

"Do you suspect that, if the story of the woman who recognised
Danilovitch be true, it was actually he himself who threw the bomb?"

"At present I can offer no opinion," he answered.  "The woman might, of
course, have been mistaken, and, again, I doubt whether Danilovitch
would dare to show himself so quickly in Petersburg.  To do so would be
to defy the police in the eyes of his fellow-conspirators, and that
might have aroused their suspicion.  But, sir," Tack added, "I feel
certain of two facts--absolutely certain."

"And what are they?"  I inquired eagerly, for his information was always
reliable.

"Well, the first is that the outrage was committed with the full
connivance and knowledge of the police, and secondly, that it was not
the Grand Duke whom they sought to kill, but his daughter, the Grand
Duchess Natalia, and you yourself!"

"Why do you think that?"  I asked.

"Because it was known that the young lady held letters given her by
Madame de Rosen, and intended to hand them over to the Emperor.  There
was but one way to prevent her," he went on very slowly, "to kill her!
And," he added, "be very careful yourself in the near future, Mr
Trewinnard.  Another attempt of an entirely different nature may be
made."

"You mean that Her Highness is still in grave danger--even here--eh?"  I
exclaimed, looking straight at the clean-shaven man seated before me.

"I mean, sir, that Her Highness may be aware of the contents of these
letters handed to her by the lady who is now exiled.  If so, then she is
a source of constant danger to General Markoff's interests.  And you are
fully well aware of the manner in which His Excellency usually treats
his enemies.  Only by a miracle was your life saved a few weeks ago.
Therefore," he added, "I beg of you, sir, to beware.  There may be
pitfalls and dangers--even here, in Brighton!"

"Do you only suspect something, Tack," I demanded very seriously, "or do
you actually know?"

He paused for a few seconds, then, his deep-set eyes fixed upon mine, he
replied.

"I do not suspect, sir, I _know_."

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

HIS EXCELLENCY GENERAL MARKOFF.

What Tack had told me naturally increased my apprehension.  I informed
the two agents of Russian police who in turn guarded the house in
Brunswick Square.

A whole month went by, bright, delightful autumn days beside the sea,
when I often strolled with my charming little companion across the Lawns
at Hove, or sat upon the pier at Brighton listening to the band.

Sometimes I would dine with her and Miss West, or at others they would
take tea with me in that overheated winter garden of the "Metropole"--
where half of the Hebrew portion of the City of London assembles on
Sunday afternoons--or they would dine with me in the big restaurant.  So
frequently was she in and out of the hotel that "Miss Gottorp" soon
became known to all the servants, and by sight to most of the visitors
on account of the neatness of her mourning and the attractiveness of her
pale beauty.

Tack had returned to Petersburg to resume his agency business, and
Hartwig's whereabouts was unknown.

The last-named had been in Brighton three weeks before, but as he had
nothing to report he had disappeared as suddenly as he had come.  He was
ubiquitous--a man of a hundred disguises, and as many subterfuges.  He
never seemed to sleep, and his journeys backwards and forwards across
the face of Europe were amazingly swift and ever-constant.

I was seated at tea with Her Highness and Miss West in the winter
garden--that place of palms and bird-cages at the back of the
"Metropole"--when a waiter handed me a telegram which I found was from
the secretary of the Russian Embassy, at Chesham House, in London,
asking me to call there at the earliest possible moment.

What, I wondered, had occurred?

I said nothing to Natalia, but, recollecting that there was an express
just after six o'clock which would land me at Victoria at half-past
seven, I cut short her visit and duly arrived in London, unaware of the
reason why I was so suddenly summoned.

I crossed the big, walled-in courtyard of the Embassy, and entering the
great sombre hall, where an agent of Secret Police was idling as usual,
the flunkey in green livery showed me along to the secretary's room, a
big, gloomy, smoke-blackened apartment on the ground floor.  The huge
house was dark, sombre and ponderous, a house of grim, mysterious
shadows, where officials and servants flitted up and down the great,
wide staircase which led to His Excellency's room.

"His Excellency left for Paris to-day," the footman informed me, opening
the door of the secretary's room, and telling me that he would send word
at once of my arrival.

It was the usual cold and austere embassy room--differing but little
from my own den in Petersburg.  Count Kourloff, the secretary, was an
old friend of mine.  He had been secretary in Rome when I had been
stationed there, and I had also known him in Vienna--a clever and
intelligent diplomat, but a bureaucrat like all Russians.

The evening was a warm, oppressive one, and the windows being open,
admitted the lively strains of a street piano, played somewhere in the
vicinity.

Suddenly the door opened, and instead of the Count, whom I had expected,
a stout, broad-shouldered, elderly man in black frock-coat and grey
trousers entered, and saluted me gaily in French with the words:

"Ah, my dear Trewinnard!  How are you, my friend--eh?  How are you?  And
how is Her Imperial Highness--eh?"

I started as I recognised him.

It was none other than Serge Markoff.

"I am very well, General," I replied coldly.  "I am awaiting Count
Kourloff."

"He's out.  It was I who telegraphed to you.  I want to have a chat with
you now that you have entered the service of Russia, my dear friend.
Pray be seated."

"Pardon me," I replied, annoyed, "I have not entered the service of
Russia, only the private service of her Sovereign, the Emperor."

"The same thing!  The same thing!" he declared fussily, stroking his
long, grey moustache, and fixing his cunning steel-blue eyes upon mine.

"I think not," I said.  "But we need not discuss that point."

"_Bien_!  I suppose Her Highness is perfectly comfortable and happy in
her _incognito_ at Brighton--eh?  The Emperor was speaking of her to me
only the other day."

"His Majesty receives my report each week," I said briefly.

"I know," replied the brutal remorseless man who was responsible for the
great injustice and suffering of thousands of innocent ones throughout
the Russian Empire.  "I know.  But I have asked you to London because I
wish to speak to you in strictest confidence.  I am here, M'sieur
Trewinnard, because of a certain discovery we have recently made--the
discovery of a very desperate and ingenious plot!"

"Another plot!"  I echoed; "here, in London!"

"It is formed in London, but the _coup_ is to be made at Brighton," he
replied slowly and seriously, "a plot against Her Imperial Highness!"

I looked the man straight in the face, and then burst out laughing.

"You certainly do not appear to have any regard for the personal safety
of your charge," he exclaimed angrily.  "I have warned you.  Therefore,
take every precaution."

I paused for a few seconds, then I said:

"Forgive me for laughing.  General Markoff.  But it is really too
humorous--all this transparency."

"What transparency?"

"The transparency of your attempt to terrify me," I said.  "I know that
the attempt made against the young lady and myself failed--and that His
Imperial Highness the Grand Duke was unfortunately killed.  But I do not
think there will be any second attempt."

"You don't think so!" he cried quickly.  "Why don't you think so?"

"For the simple reason that Danilo Danilovitch--the man who is a
police-spy and at the same time responsible for plots--is just now a
little too well watched."

The man's grey face dropped when I uttered the name of his catspaw.  My
statement, I saw, held him confounded and confused.

"I--I do not understand you," he managed to exclaim.  "What do you
mean?"

"Well, you surely know Danilovitch?"  I said.  "He is your most trusted
and useful _agent-provocateur_.  He is at this moment in England.  I can
take you now to where he is in hiding, if you wish," I added, with a
smile of triumph.

"Danilovitch," he repeated, as though trying to recall the name.

"Yes," I said defiantly, standing with my hands in my trousers pockets
and leaning against the table placed in the centre of the room.
"Danilovitch--the shoemaker of Kazan and murderer of Marie Garine, the
poor little tailoress in Petersburg."

His face dropped.  He saw that I was aware of the man's identity.

"He is now staying with a compatriot in Blurton Road, Lower Clapton," I
went on.

"I don't see why this person should interest me," he interrupted.

"But he is a conspirator.  General Markoff; and I am giving you some
valuable information," I said, with sarcasm.

"You are not a police officer.  What can you know?"

"I know several facts which, when placed before the Revolutionary
Committee--as they probably are by this time--will make matters
exceedingly unpleasant for Danilo Danilovitch, and also for certain of
those who have been employing him," was my quiet response.

"If this man is a dangerous revolutionist, as you allege, he cannot be
arrested while in England," remarked the General, his thick grey
eyebrows contracting slightly, a sign of apprehension.  "This country of
yours gives asylum to all the most desperate characters, and half the
revolutionary plots in Europe are arranged in London."

"I do not dispute that," I said.  "But I was discussing the highly
interesting career of this Danilo Danilovitch.  If there is any attempt
upon Her Imperial Highness the Grand Duchess Natalia, as you fear, it
will be by that individual.  General.  Therefore I would advise your
department to keep close observation upon him.  He is lodging at Number
30B, Blurton Road.  And," I added, "if you should require any further
particulars concerning him, I daresay I shall be in a position to
furnish them."

"Why do you suspect him?"

"Because of information which has reached me--information which shows
that it was his hand which launched the fatal bomb which killed the
Grand Duke Nicholas.  His Imperial Highness was actually killed by an
agent of Secret Police!  When that fact reaches the Emperor's ears there
will, I expect, be searching inquiry."

"Have you actual proof of this?" he asked in a thick, hoarse voice, his
cheeks paler than before.

"Yes.  Or at least my informant has.  The traitor was recognised among
the crowd; he was seen to throw the bomb."

General Markoff remained silent.  He saw himself checkmated.  His secret
was out.  He had intended to raise a false scare of a probable attempt
at Brighton in order to terrify me, but, to his amazement, I had shown
myself conversant with his methods and aware of the truth concerning the
mysterious outrage in which the Grand Duke Nicholas had lost his life.

From his demeanour and the keen cunning look in his steely eyes I
gathered that he was all eagerness to know the exact extent of my
knowledge concerning Danilo Danilovitch.

Therefore, after some further conversation, I said boldly:

"I expect that, ere this, the Central Committee of the People's Will has
learned the truth regarding their betrayer--this man to whose initiative
more than half of the recent plots have been due--and how he was in the
habit of furnishing your department with the lists of suspects and those
chosen to carry out the outrage.  But, of course, General," I added,
with a bitter smile, "you would probably not know of this manufacture of
plots by one in the pay of the Police Department."

"Of course not," the unscrupulous official assured me.  "I surely cannot
be held responsible for the action of underlings.  I only act upon
reports presented to me."

I smiled again.

"And yet you warn me of an outrage which is to be attempted with your
connivance by this fellow Danilovitch--the very man who killed the Grand
Duke--eh?"

"With my connivance!" he cried fiercely.  "What do you insinuate?"

"I mean this, General Markoff," I said boldly; "that the yellow card of
identity found in Danilovitch's rooms by the girl to whom he was engaged
bore your signature.  That card is, I believe, already in the hands of
the Revolutionary Committee!"

"I have all their names.  I shall telegraph to-night ordering their
immediate arrest," he cried, white with anger.

"But that will not save your _agent-provocateur_--the assassin of poor
Marie Garine--from his fate.  The arm of the revolutionist is a very
long one, remember."

"But the arm of the Chief of Secret Police is longer--and stronger," he
declared in a low, hard tone.

"The Emperor, when he learns the truth, will dispense full justice," I
said very quietly.  "His eyes will, ere long, be opened to the base
frauds practised upon him, and the many false plots which have cost
hundreds of innocent persons their lives or their liberty."

"You speak as though you were censor of the police," he exclaimed with a
quick, angry look.

"I speak, General Markoff, as the friend of Russia and of her Sovereign
the Emperor," I replied.  "You warn me of a plot to assassinate the
Grand Duchess Natalia.  Well, I tell you frankly and openly I don't
believe it.  But if it be true, then I, in return, warn you that if any
attempt be made by any of your dastardly hirelings, I will myself go to
the Emperor and place before him proofs of the interesting career of
Danilo Danilovitch.  Your Excellency may be all-powerful as Chief of
Secret Police," I added; "but as surely as the sun will rise to-morrow,
justice will one day be done in Russia!"

And then I turned upon my heel and passed out of the room, leaving him
biting his nether lip in silence at my open defiance.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

WATCHERS IN THE NIGHT.

After Her Highness and Miss West had dined with me at the "Metropole" at
Brighton on the following evening, the trusted old companion complained
of headache and drove home, leaving us alone together.

Therefore we strolled forth into the moonlit night and, crossing the
road, walked out along the pier.  There were many persons in the hall of
the hotel, but though a good many heads were turned to see "Miss
Gottorp" pass in her pretty _decollete_ gown of black, trimmed with
narrow silver, over which was a black satin evening cloak, probably not
one noticed the undersized, insignificant, but rather well-dressed man
who rose from one of the easy chairs where he had been smoking to follow
us out.

Who, indeed, of that crowd would have guessed that the pretty girl by
whose side I walked was an Imperial Princess, or that the man who went
out so aimlessly was Oleg Lobko, the trusty agent of the Russian
Criminal Police charged by the Emperor with her personal protection?

With the man following at a respectable distance, we strolled side by
side upon the pier, looking back upon the fairy-like scene, the long
lines of light along King's Road, and the calm sea shimmering beneath
the clear moon.  There were many people enjoying the cool, refreshing
breezes, as there always are upon an autumn night.

A comedy was in progress in the theatre at the pierhead, and it being
the _entr'acte_, many were promenading--mostly visitors taking their
late vacation by the sea.

My charming little companion had been bright and cheerful all the
evening, but had more than once, by clever questions, endeavoured to
learn what had taken me to the Embassy on the previous night.  I,
however, did not deem it exactly advisable to alarm her unduly, either
by telling her of my defiance of General Markoff, of my discovery of
Danilo Danilovitch, or of the attempt to terrify me by the declaration
that another plot was in progress.

Truth to tell, Tack, before his return to Petersburg, had run
Danilovitch to earth in Lower Clapton, and two private detectives,
engaged by me, were keeping the closest surveillance upon him.

Twice had we circled the theatre at the pierhead, and had twice strolled
amid the seated audience around the bandstand where military music was
being played in the moonlight, when we passed two young men in Homburg
hats, wearing overcoats over their evening clothes.  One of them, a
tall, slim, dark-haired, good-looking, athletic young fellow, of perhaps
twenty-two, raised his hat and smiled at my companion.

She nodded him a merry acknowledgment.  Then, as we passed on, I
exclaimed quickly:

"Hulloa!  Is that some new friend--eh?"

"Oh, it's really all right, Uncle Colin," she assured me.  "I've done
nothing dreadful, now.  You needn't start lecturing me, you know, or be
horrified at all."

"I'm not lecturing," I laughed.  "I'm only consumed by curiosity.
That's all."

"Ah!  You're like all men," she declared.  "And suppose I refuse to
satisfy your curiosity--eh?"

"You won't do that, I think," was my reply, as we halted upon one of the
long benches which ran on either side of the pier.  "Remember, I am
responsible to the Emperor for you, and I'm entitled to know who your
friend is."

"He's an awfully nice boy," was all she replied.

"He looks so.  But who is he?"

"Somebody--well, somebody I knew at Eastbourne."

"And you've met him here?  How long ago?"

"Oh! nearly a month."

"And so it is he whom you've met several times of late--eh?"  I said.
"Let's see--according to the report furnished to me, you were out for
half an hour on the sea-front on Tuesday night; five minutes on
Wednesday night; not at all on Thursday night, and one whole hour on
Friday night--eh?  And with a young man whose name is unknown."

"Oh, I'll tell you his name.  He's Dick Drury."

"And who, pray, is this Mr Richard Drury?"

"A friend of mine, I tell you.  The man with him is his friend--Lance
Ingram, a doctor."

"And what is this Mr Drury's profession?"

"He does nothing, I suppose," she laughed.  "I can't well imagine Dick
doing much."

"Except flirting--eh?"  I said with a smile.

"That's a matter of opinion," she replied, as we again rose and circled
the bandstand, for I was anxious to get another look at the pair.

On the evenings I had referred to, it appeared that Her Highness, after
dinner, had twisted a shawl over her head, and ran down to the
sea-front--a distance of a hundred yards or so--to get a breath of air,
as she had explained to Miss West.  But on each occasion the watchful
police-agent had seen her meet by appointment this same young man.
Therefore some flirtation was certainly in progress--and flirtation had
been most distinctly forbidden.

My efforts were rewarded, for a few minutes later the two young men
repassed us, and this time young Drury did not raise his hat.  He only
smiled at her in recognition.

"Where are they staying?"  I asked.

"Oh you are so horribly inquisitive, Uncle Colin," she said.  "Well, if
you really must know, they're staying at the `Royal York.'"

"How came you to know this young fellow at Eastbourne?"  I asked.  "I
thought you were kept in strictest seclusion from the outside world.  At
least, you've always led me to believe that," I said.

She laughed heartily.

"Well, dear old uncle, surely you don't think that any school could
exactly keep a girl a prisoner.  We used to get out sometimes alone for
an hour of an evening--by judicious bribery.  I've had many a pleasant
hour's walk up the road towards Beachy Head.  And, moreover, I wasn't
alone, either.  Dick was usually with me."

"Really, this is too dreadful!"  I exclaimed in pious horror.  "Suppose
anyone had known who you really were!"

"Well, I suppose even if they had the heavens wouldn't have fallen," she
laughed.

"Ah!"  I said, "you are really incorrigible.  Here you are flirting with
an unsuspected lover."

"And why shouldn't I?" she asked in protest.  "Dick is better than some
chance acquaintance."

"If you are only amusing yourself," I said.  "But if you love him, then
it would be a serious matter."

"Oh, horribly serious, I know," she said impatiently.  "If I were a
typist, or a shopgirl, or a waitress, or any girl who worked for her
living, I should be doing quite the correct thing; but for me--born of
the great Imperial Family--to merely look at a boy is quite
unpardonable."

I was silent for a few moments.  The little madcap whom the Emperor had
placed in my charge, because her presence at Court was a menace to the
Imperial family, was surely unconventional and utterly incorrigible.

"I fear Your Highness does not fully appreciate the heavy
responsibilities of Imperial birth," I said in a tone of
dissatisfaction.

"Oh, bother!  My birth be hanged!" she exclaimed, with more force than
politeness.  "In these days it really counts for nothing.  I was reading
it all in a German book last week.  Every class seems to have its own
social laws, and what is forbidden to me is quite good form with my
dressmaker.  Isn't it absurdly funny?"

"You must study your position."

"Why should I, if I strictly preserve my _incognito_?  That I do this,
even you, Uncle Colin, will admit!"

"Are you quite certain that this Mr Drury is unaware who you really
are?"  I asked.

"Quite.  He believes me to be Miss Natalia Gottorp, my father German, my
mother English, and I was born in Germany.  That is the story--does it
suit?"

"I trust you will take great care not to reveal your true identity," I
said.

"I have promised you, haven't I?"

"You promised me that you would not flirt, and yet here you are, having
clandestine meetings with this young man every evening!"

"Oh, that's very different.  I can't help it if I meet an old friend
accidentally, can I?" she protested with a pretty pout.

At that moment we were strolling along the western side of the pierhead,
where it was comparatively ill-lit, on one side being the theatre, while
on the other the sea.  The photographer's and other shops were closed at
that late hour, and the light being dim at that spot, several flirting
couples were passing up and down arm in arm.

Suddenly, as we turned the corner behind the theatre, we came face to
face with a dark-featured, middle-aged man, with deeply-furrowed brow,
narrowly set eyes and small black moustache.  He wore a dark suit and a
hard felt hat, and had something of the appearance of a middle-class
paterfamilias out for his annual vacation.

He glanced quickly in our direction, and, I thought, started, as though
recognising one or other of us.

Then next moment he was lost in the darkness.

"Do you know that man?" asked my companion suddenly.

"No.  Why?"

"I don't know," she answered.  "I fancy I've seen him somewhere or other
before.  He looked like a Russian."

That was just my own thought at that moment, and I wondered if Oleg, who
was lurking near, had noticed him.

"Yes," I said.  "But I don't recollect ever having seen him before.  I
wonder who he is?  Let's turn back."

We did so, but though we hastened our steps, we did not find him.  He
had, it seemed, already left the pier.  Apparently he believed that he
had been recognised.

Once again we repassed Drury and his friend just as the theatre
disgorged its crowd of homeward-bound pleasure-seekers.

We were walking in the same direction, Oleg following at a respectable
distance, and I was enabled to obtain a good look at him, for, as though
in wonder as to whom I could be, he turned several times to eye me, with
some little indignation, I thought.

I judged him to be about twenty-five, over six feet in height, athletic
and wiry, with handsome, clear-cut, clean-shaven features and a pair of
sharp, dark, alert eyes, which told of an active outdoor life.  His face
was a refined one, his gait easy and swinging, and both in dress and
manner he betrayed the gentleman.

Truth to tell, though I did not admit it to Natalia, I became very
favourably impressed by him.  By his exterior he seemed to be a
well-set-up, sportsmanlike young fellow, who might, perhaps, belong to
one of the Sussex county families.

His friend the doctor was of quite a different type, a short,
fair-haired man in gold-rimmed spectacles, whose face was somewhat
unattractive, though it bore an expression of studiousness and
professional knowledge.  He certainly had the appearance of a doctor.

But before I went farther I resolved to make searching inquiry unto the
antecedents of this mysterious Dick Drury.

The walk in the moonlight along the broad promenade towards Hove was
delightful.  I begged Her Highness to drive, but she preferred to walk;
the autumn night was so perfect, she said.

As we strolled along, she suddenly exclaimed:

"I can't help recalling that man we saw on the pier.  I remember now!  I
met him about a week ago, when I was shopping in Western Road, and he
followed me for quite a distance.  He was then much better dressed."

"You believe, then, he is a Russian?"  I asked quickly.

"I feel certain he is."

"But you were not alone--Oleg was out with you, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes," she laughed.  "He never leaves me.  I only wish he would
sometimes.  I hate to be spied upon like this.  Either Dmitri or Oleg is
always with me."

"It is highly necessary," I declared.  "Recollect the fate of your poor
father."

"But why should the revolutionists wish to harm me--a girl?" she asked.
"My own idea is that they're not half as black as they're painted."

I did not reveal to her the serious facts which I had recently learnt.

"Did you make any mention to Oleg of the man following you?"

"No, it never occurred to me.  But there, I suppose, he only followed
me, just as other men seem sometimes to follow me--to look into my
face."

"You are used to admiration," I said, "and therefore take no notice of
it.  Pretty women so soon become blase."

"Oh!  So you denounce me as blase--eh, Uncle Colin?" she cried, just as
we arrived before the door in Brunswick Square.  "That is the latest!  I
really don't think it fair to criticise me so constantly," and she
pouted.

Then she gave me her little gloved hand, and I bent over it as I wished
her good-night.

I wished to question Oleg regarding the man we had seen, but I could not
do so before her.

I turned back along the promenade, and was walking leisurely towards the
"Metropole," when suddenly from out of the shadow of one of the
glass-partitioned shelters the dark figure of a man emerged, and I heard
my name pronounced.

It was the ubiquitous Hartwig, wearing his gold pince-nez.  As was his
habit, he sprang from nowhere.  I had clapped my hand instinctively upon
my revolver, but withdrew it instantly.

"Good evening, Mr Trewinnard," he said.  "I've met you here as I don't
want to be seen at the `Metropole' to-night.  I have travelled straight
through from Petersburg here.  I landed at Dover this afternoon, went up
to Victoria, and down here.  I arrived at eight o'clock, but learning
that Her Highness was dining with you, I waited until you left her.  It
is perhaps as well that I am here," he added.

"Why?"  I asked.

"Because I've been on the pier with you to-night," was the reply of the
chief of the detective department of Russia, "and I have seen how
closely you have been watched by a person whom even Oleg Lobko, usually
so well-informed, does not suspect--a person who is extremely dangerous.
I do not wish to alarm you, Mr Trewinnard," he added in a low voice,
"but I heard in Petersburg that something is intended here in Brighton,
and the Emperor sent me post-haste to you."

"Who is this person who has been watching us?"  I asked eagerly.  "I
noticed him."

"Oleg doesn't know him, but I do.  I have had certain suspicions, and
only five days ago I made a discovery in Petersburg--an amazing
discovery--which confirmed my apprehensions.  The man who has been
watching you with distinctly evil intent is a most notorious and evasive
character named Danilo Danilovitch."

"Danilovitch!"  I cried.  "I know him, but I did not recognise him
to-night.  His appearance has so changed."

"Yes, it has.  But I have been watching him all the evening.  He
returned by the midnight train to London."

"I can tell you where he is in hiding," I said.

"You can!" he cried.  "Excellent!  Then we will both go and pay him a
surprise call to-morrow.  There is danger--a grave and imminent danger--
for both Her Highness and yourself; therefore it must be removed.  There
is peril in the present situation--a distinct peril which I had never
suspected.  A disaster may happen at any moment if we are not wary and
watchful.  And there's another important point, Mr Trewinnard," added
the great detective; "do you happen to know a tall, thin, sharp-featured
young man called Richard Drury?"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THE CATSPAW.

Just as the dusk had deepened into grey on the following evening I
alighted from a tram in the Lower Clapton Road, and, accompanied by
Hartwig, we turned up a long thoroughfare of uniform houses, called
Powerscroft Road, until we reached Blurton Road, where, nearly opposite
the Mission House, we found the house of which we were in search.

Hartwig had altered his appearance wonderfully, and looked more like a
Devonshire farmer up in London on holiday than the shrewd, astute head
of the Surete of the Russian Empire.  As for myself, I had assumed a
very old suit and wore a shabby hat.

The drab, dismal house, which we passed casually in order to inspect,
was dingy and forbidding, with curtains that were faded with smoke and
dirt, holland blinds once yellow, but the ends of which were now dark
and stained, and windows which had not been cleaned for years, while the
front door was faded and blistered and some of the tops of the iron
railings in front had been broken off.  The steps leading to the front
door had not been hearthstoned as were those of its neighbour, while in
the area were bits of wastepaper, straw, and the flotsam and jetsam of
the noisy, overcrowded street.

Unkempt children were romping or playing hopscotch on the pavement,
while some were skipping and others playing football in the centre of
the road--all pupils of the great County Council Schools in the
vicinity.

At both the basement window and that of the room above--the front
parlour--were short blinds of dirty muslin, so that to see within while
passing was impossible.  In that particular it differed in no way from
some of its neighbours; for in those parts front parlours are often
turned into bedrooms, and a separate family occupies every floor.  Only
one fact was apparent--that it was the dirtiest and most neglected house
in the whole of that working-class road, bordering upon the Hackney
Marsh.

To me that district was as unfamiliar as were the wilds of the Sahara.
Indeed, to the average Londoner Lower Clapton is a mere legendary
district, the existence of which is only recorded by the name written
upon tramcars and omnibuses.

Together we strolled to the bottom of Blurton Road, to where Glyn Road
crosses it at right angles, and then we stopped to discuss our plans.

"I shall ascend the steps, knock, and ask for Danilovitch," the great
detective said.  "The probability is that the door will be
unceremoniously slammed in my face.  But you will be behind me.  I shall
place my foot in the door to prevent premature closing, and at first
sign of resistance you, being behind me, will help me to force the door,
and so enter.  At word from me don't hesitate--use all your might.  I
intend to give whoever lives there a sudden and sharp surprise."

"But if they are refugees, they are desperate.  What then?"

"I expect they are," he laughed.  "This is no doubt the hornets' nest.
Therefore it behoves us to be wary, and have our wits well about us.
You're not afraid, Mr Trewinnard?"

"Not at all," I said.  "Where you dare go, there I will follow."

"Good.  Let's make the attempt then," he said, and together we strolled
leisurely back until we came to the flight of unclean front steps,
whereupon both of us turned and, ascending, Hartwig gave a sharp
postman's knock at the door.

An old, grey-whiskered, ill-dressed man, palpably a Polish Jew, opened
the door, whereupon Hartwig asked in Russian:

"Is our leader Danilo Danilovitch here?"

The man looked from him to me inquiringly.

"Tell him that Ivan Arapoff, from Petersburg, wishes to speak with him."

"I do not know, Gospodin, whether he is at home," replied the man with
politeness.  "But I will see, if you will wait," and he attempted to
close the door in our faces.

Hartwig, however, was prepared for such manoeuvre, for he had placed his
foot in the door, so that it could not be closed.  The Polish Jew was
instantly on the alert and shouted some sharp word of warning, evidently
a preconcerted signal, to those within, whereat Hartwig and myself made
a sudden combined effort and next second were standing within the narrow
evil-smelling little hall.

I saw the dark figures of several men and women against the stairs, and
heard whispered words of alarm in Russian.  But Hartwig lost no time,
for he shouted boldly:

"I wish to see Danilo Danilovitch.  Let him come forward.  If he does
not do so, then it is at his own peril."

"If you are police officers you cannot touch us here in England!"
shouted a young woman with dark, tousled hair, a revolutionist of the
female-student type.

"We are here from Petersburg as friends, but you apparently treat us as
enemies," said Hartwig.

"If you are traitors you will, neither of you, leave this house alive,"
cried a thick-set man, advancing towards me threateningly.  "So you
shall see Danilovitch--and he shall decide."

I heard somebody bolting the front door heavily to prevent our escape,
while a voice from somewhere above, in the gloom of the stairs, shouted:

"Comrades, they are police-spies!"

A young, black-haired Jewess of a type seen everywhere in Poland,
thin-featured and handsome, with a grey shawl over her shoulders,
emerged from a door and peered into my face.  There seemed fully fifteen
persons in that dingy house, all instantly alarmed at our arrival.  Here
was, no doubt, the London centre of revolutionary activity directed
against the Russian Imperial family and Danilo Danilovitch was in hiding
there.  It was fortunate, indeed, that the ever-vigilant Tack had
succeeded in running him to earth.

I had told Hartwig of the allegation which Tack had made against
Danilovitch, that, though in the service of the Secret Police, he had
arranged certain attempts against members of the Imperial family, and
how he had deliberately killed his sweetheart, Marie Garine.  But
Hartwig, being chief of the Surete, had no connection with the political
department, and was, therefore, unaware of any agent of Secret Police
known as Danilovitch.

"I remember quite well the case of Marie Garine," he added.  "I
thoroughly investigated it and found that she had, no doubt, been killed
by her lover.  But I put it down to jealousy, and as the culprit had
left Russia I closed the inquiry."

"Then you could arrest him, even now," I said.

"Not without considerable delay.  Besides, in Petersburg they are
against applying for extradition in England.  The newspapers always hint
at the horrors of Siberia in store for the person arrested.  And," he
added, "I agree that it is quite useless to unnecessarily wound the
susceptibilities of my own countrymen, the English."  It was those words
he had spoken as we had come along Blurton Road.

Our position at that moment was not a very pleasant one, surrounded as
we were by a crowd of desperate refugees.  If any one of them recognised
Ivan Hartwig, then I knew full well that we should never leave the house
alive.  Men who were conspiring to kill His Majesty the Emperor would
not hesitate to kill a police officer and an intruder in order to
preserve their secret, "Where is my good friend Danilovitch?" demanded
Hartwig, in Russian.  "Why does he not come forward?"

"He has not been well, and is in bed," somebody replied.  "He is coming
in a moment.  He lives on the top floor."

"Well, I'm in a hurry, comrades," exclaimed the great detective with a
show of impatience.  "Do not keep me waiting.  I am bearer of a message
to you all--an important message from our great and beloved Chief, the
saviour of Russia, whose real identity is a secret to all, but whom we
know as `The One'!"

"The One!" echoed two of the men in Russian.  "A message from him!  What
is it?  Tell us," they cried eagerly.

"No.  The message from our Chief is to our comrade Danilovitch.  He will
afterwards inform you," was Hartwig's response.

"Who is it there who wants me?" cried an impatient voice in Russian over
the banisters.

"I have a message for Danilo Danilovitch," my friend shouted back.

"Then come upstairs," he replied.  "Come--both of you."

And we followed a dark figure up to a back room on the second floor--a
shabby bed and sitting-room combined.

He struck a match, lit the gas and pulled down the blind.  Then as he
faced us, a middle-aged man with deeply-furrowed countenance and hair
tinged with grey, I at once recognised him--though he no longer wore the
small black moustache--as the man I had met on Brighton Pier on the
previous night.

"Well," he asked roughly in Russian, "what do you want with me?"

I was gratified that he had not recognised Ivan Hartwig.  For a moment
he looked inquiringly at me, and no doubt recognised me as the Grand
Duchess's companion of the previous night.

His hair was unkempt, his neck was thick, and his unshaven face was
broad and coarse.  He had the heavy features of a Russian of the lower
class, yet his prominent, cunning eyes and high, deeply-furrowed
forehead betokened great intelligence.  Though of the working-class, yet
in his eyes there burned a bright magnetic fire, and one could well
imagine how by his inflammatory speeches he led that crowd of ignorant
aliens into a belief that by killing His Imperial Majesty they could
free Russia of the autocratic yoke.  Those men and women, specimens of
whom were living in that house at Clapton, never sought to aim at the
root of the evil which had gripped the Empire, that brutal camarilla who
ruled Russia, but in the madness of their blood-lust and ignorance that
they were being betrayed by their leader, and their lives made catspaws
by the camarilla itself, they plotted and conspired, and were proud to
believe themselves martyrs to what they foolishly termed The Cause!

The face of the traitor before us was full of craft and cunning, the
countenance of a shrewd and clever man who, it struck me, was haunted
hourly by the dread of betrayal and an ignominious end.  Even though he
might have been a shoemaker, yet from his perfect self-control, and the
manner in which he greeted us, I saw that he was no ordinary man.
Indeed, few men could have done--would have dared to do--what he had
done, if all Tack had related were true.  His personal appearance, his
unkempt hair, his limp collar and loosely-tied cravat of black and
greasy silk, and his rough suit of shabby dark tweed, his whole
ensemble, indeed, was that of the political agitator, the revolutionary
firebrand.

"I am here, Danilo Danilovitch," Hartwig said at last very seriously,
looking straight at him, "in order to speak to you quite frankly, to put
to you several questions."

The man started, and I saw apprehension by the slight movement in the
corners of his mouth.

"For what reason?" he snapped quickly.  "I thought you were here with a
message from our Chief in Russia?"

"I am here with a message, it is true," said the renowned chief of the
Russian Surete.  "You had, I think, better lock that door, and also make
quite certain that nobody in this house overhears what I am about to
say," he added very slowly and meaningly.

"Why?" inquired the other with some show of defiance.

"If you do not want these comrades of yours to know all your private
business, it will be best to lock that door and take care that nobody is
listening outside.  If they are--well, it will be you, Danilo
Danilovitch, who will suffer, not myself," said Hartwig very coolly, his
eyes fixed upon the _agent-provocateur_.  "I urge you to take
precautions of secrecy," he added.  "I urge you--for your own sake!"

"For my own sake!" cried the other.  "What do you mean?"

Hartwig paused for a few seconds, and then, in a lower voice, said:

"I mean this, Danilo Danilovitch.  If a single word of what I am about
to say is overheard by anyone in this house you will not go forth again
alive.  We have been threatened by your comrades down below.  But upon
you yourself will fall the punishment which is meted out by your
comrades to all traitors--_death_!"  The man's face changed in an
instant.  He stood open-mouthed, staring aghast at Hartwig, haggard-eyed
and pale to the lips.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

SUCH IS THE LAW.

"Now," Hartwig said, assuming a firm, determined attitude, "I hope you
entirely understand me.  I am well aware of the despicable double game
you are playing, therefore if you refuse me the information I seek I
shall go downstairs and tell them how you are employed by His Excellency
General Markoff."

The traitor's face was ashen grey.  He was, I could see, in wonder at
the identity of his visitor.  Of course he knew me, but apparently my
companion was quite unknown to him.  It was always one of Hartwig's
greatest precautions to remain unknown to any except perhaps a dozen or
so of the detective police immediately under his direction.  From the
Secret or Political Police he was always careful to hide his identity,
knowing well that by so doing he would gain a free hand in his
operations in the detection of serious crime.  At his own house, a neat,
modest little bachelor abode just outside Petersburg, in the Kulikovo
quarter, he was known as Herr Otto Schenk, a German teacher of
languages, who, possessing a small income, devoted his leisure to his
garden and his poultry.  None, not even the agents of Secret Police in
the Kulikovo district, who reported upon him regularly each month, even
suspected that he was the renowned head of the Surete.

Standing there presenting such a bucolic appearance, so typically
English, and yet speaking Russian perfectly, he caused Danilovitch much
curiosity and apprehension.

Suddenly he asked of the spy:

"You were at Brighton last night?  With what motive?  Tell me."

The man hesitated a moment and replied:

"I went there to visit a friend--a compatriot."

"Yes.  Quite true," exclaimed the great police official, leaning against
the end of the narrow iron bedstead.  "You went to Brighton with an evil
purpose.  Shall I tell you why?  Because you were sent there by your
employer General Markoff--sent there as a paid assassin!"

The fellow started.

"What do you mean?" he gasped.

"Just this.  That you followed a certain lady who accompanied this
gentleman here--followed and watched them for two hours."  And then,
fixing his big, expressive eyes upon the man he was interrogating, he
added: "You followed them because your intention was to carry out the
plot conceived by your master--the plot to kill them both!"

"It's a lie!" cried the traitor.  "There is no plot."

"Listen," exclaimed Hartwig, in a low, firm voice.  "It is your
intention to commit an outrage, and having done so, you will denounce to
the police certain persons living in this house.  Arrests will follow,
if any return to Russia, the General will be congratulated by the
Emperor upon his astuteness in laying hands so quickly upon the
conspirators, and half-a-dozen innocent persons will be sentenced to
long terms of imprisonment, if they dare ever go back to their own
country.  You see," he laughed, "that I am fully aware of the remarkably
ingenious programme in progress."

The man's face was pale as death.  He saw that his secret was out.

"And now," Hartwig went on: "when I tell these people who live below--
your comrades and fellow-workers in the revolutionary cause--what will
they say--eh?  Well, Danilo Danilovitch, I shall, when I've finished
with you, leave you to their tender mercies.  You remember, perhaps, the
fate of Boutakoff, the informer at Kieff, how he was attached to a baulk
of timber and placed upon a circular saw, how Raspopoff died of slow
starvation in the hands of those whom he had betrayed at Moscow, and how
Mirski, in Odessa, was horribly tortured and killed by the three
brothers of the unfortunate girl he had given into the hands of the
police.  No," he laughed, "your friends show neither leniency nor
humanity towards those who betray them."

"But you will not do this!" gasped the man, his eyes dilated by fear,
now that he had been brought to bay.

"I have explained my intention," replied Hartwig slowly and firmly.

"But you will not!" he cried.  "I--I implore you to spare me!  You
appear to know everything."

"Yes," was the reply.  "I know how, by your perfidious actions, dozens,
nay hundreds, of innocent persons have been sent into exile.  To the
revolutionists throughout the whole of Russia there is one great leader
known as `The One'--the leader whose identity is unknown, but whose word
is law among a hundred thousand conspirators.  You are that man!  Your
mandates are obeyed to the letter, but you keep your identity profoundly
secret.  These poor misguided fools who follow you believe that the
secrecy as to the identity of their fearless leader whom they only know
as `The Wonder Worker,' or generally `The One,' is due to a fear of
arrest.  Ah!  Danilo Danilovitch," he laughed, "you who lead them so
cleverly are a strong man, and a clever man.  You hold the fate of all
revolutionary Russia in your hand.  You form plots, you get your poor,
ill-read puppets to carry them out, and afterwards you send them to
Siberia in batches of hundreds.  A clever game this game of terrorism.
But I tell you frankly it is at an end now.  What will these comrades of
yours say when they are made aware that `The One'--the man believed by
so many to be sent providentially to sweep away the dynasty and kill the
enemies of freedom--is identical with Danilo Danilovitch, the bootmaker
of Kazan and police-spy.  Rather a blow to the revolutionary
organisation--eh?"

"And a blow for you," I added, addressing the unkempt-looking fellow for
the first time.  Though I confess that I did not recognise him as the
man who threw the bomb in Petersburg, I added: "It was you who committed
the dastardly outrage upon the Grand Duke Nicholas, and for which many
innocent persons are now immured in those terrible cells below the water
at Schusselburg--you who intend that His Imperial Highness's daughter
and myself shall die!"  I cried.

He made no reply.  He saw that we were in possession of all the facts
concerning his disgraceful past.  I could see how intensely agitated he
had become, and though he was striving to conceal his fear, yet his
thin, sinewy hands were visibly trembling.

"You admit, by your silence, that you were author of that brutal
outrage!" exclaimed Hartwig quickly.  "In it, my friend here narrowly
escaped with his life.  Now, answer me this question," he demanded
imperiously.  "With what motive did you launch that bomb at the Grand
Duke's carriage?"

"With the same motive that every attempt is made," was his bold reply.

"You lie!"  Hartwig said bluntly.  "That plot was not yours.  Confess
it."

"No plot is mine.  The various revolutionary circles form plots, and I,
as the unknown head, approve of them.  But," asked the spy suddenly,
"who are you that you should question me thus?"

"I have already given you my name," he said.  "Ivan Arapoff, of
Petersburg."

"Then, Mr Arapoff, I think we may change the topic of conversation,"
said the man, suddenly quite calm and collected.  I detected that,
though an unprincipled scoundrel and without either conscience or
remorse, his was yet a strong and impelling personality--a man who,
among the enthusiastic students and the younger generation of Russia,
which form the bulk of the revolutionists, would no doubt be listened to
and obeyed as a leader.

"Good.  If you wish me to leave you, I will do so.  I will go and have a
little chat with your interesting and enlightened friends downstairs,"
exclaimed Hartwig with a triumphant laugh.  Then, turning to me, he
added: "Come, Mr Trewinnard, let's go."

"No!" gasped the spy.  "No, stop!  I--I want to fully understand what
your intentions are--now that you know the truth concerning the identity
of `The One' and other recent matters."

"Intentions!" echoed the great detective.  "I have none.  I have merely
forewarned you of what you must expect--the fate of the informer,
unless--"

"Unless what?" he cried.

"Unless you confess the object of the outrage upon the Grand Duke."

"I tell you I do not know."

"But the plot was your own.  None of your comrades knew of it."

"It was not my own."

"You carried it out?"

"And if I admit anything you will hand me over to the police--eh?"

"Surely you know that is impossible in England.  You cannot be arrested
here for a political crime," Hartwig said.

"I saw you throw the bomb," I added.  "You were dressed differently, but
I now recognise you.  Come, admit it."

"I admit nothing," he answered sullenly.  "You are both of you entirely
welcome to your opinions."

"Forty persons are now in prison for your crime," I said.  "Have you no
remorse--no pity?"

"I have nothing to say."

"But you shall speak," I cried angrily.  "Once I nearly lost my life
because of the outrage you committed, and last night you followed me in
Brighton with the distinct purpose of killing both Her Highness and
myself.  But you were frustrated--or perhaps you feared arrest.  But I
tell you plainly, if ever I catch you in our vicinity again I shall hand
you over to the nearest policeman.  And at the police-court the truth
concerning `The One' will quickly be revealed and seized upon by the
halfpenny press."

"We need not wait for that, Mr Trewinnard," remarked Hartwig.  "We can
deal with him this evening--once and for all.  When we leave here we
shall leave with the knowledge that `The One' no longer exists and the
revolutionary party--Terrorists, as they are pleased to call themselves
on account of the false bogy which the Secret Police have raised in
Russia--will take their own steps towards punishing the man to whom they
owe all the great disasters which have befallen their schemes during the
past couple of years.  Truly, the vengeance of the Terrorist against his
betrayer is a terrible vengeance indeed."

As he spoke the creak of a footstep was heard on the landing outside the
locked door.

I raised my finger to command silence, whereupon the man known
throughout all revolutionary Russia as "The One" crossed the room
swiftly, and unlocking the door, looked out.  But he found no one.

Yet I feel certain that someone had been lurking there.  That slow creak
of the bare boards showed that the pressure of a foot had been released.
Yet whoever had been listening had escaped swiftly down the stairs, now
dark and unlighted.  Danilovitch reentered the bedroom, his face white
as a sheet.

"Somebody has overheard!" he gasped in a low, hoarse voice.  "They know
the truth!"

"Yes," responded my companion in a hard, distinct tone.  "They know the
truth because of your own failure to be frank with us.  I warned you.
But you have not heeded."

"Your words were overheard," he whispered.  "They no doubt suspected you
to be officers of police who had found me here in my hiding-place, and
were, therefore, listening.  I was a fool!" he cried, throwing his hands
above his head.  "I was an accursed fool!"

His lips were grey, his dark eyes seemed to be starting from his head.

Well did he know the terrible fate which awaited him as a betrayer and
informer.

"Why did you throw that bomb?"  I cried.  "Why did you last night follow
the Grand Duchess Natalia with such evil intent?  Tell me," I urged.

"No!" cried "The One," springing at me fiercely.  "I will tell you
nothing--nothing!" he shrieked.  "You have betrayed me--you have cast me
into the hands of my enemies.  But, by Heaven! you shall neither of you
leave this place alive," he shrieked.  "My comrades shall deal with you
as you justly deserve.  I will see that you are not allowed to speak.
Neither of you shall utter a single word against me!"

Then with a harsh, triumphant laugh he called loudly for help to those
below.

In an instant Hartwig and I both realised that the tables had been
suddenly and unexpectedly turned upon us, and that we were now placed in
most deadly and imminent peril.  The object of the informer was to close
our mouths at once, for only by so doing could he save himself from that
terrible fate which must assuredly befall him.

It was his own life--or ours!

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

A STATEMENT BY THE INFORMER.

Quick as lightning, Hartwig drew a big Browning revolver and thrust it
into the informer's face, exclaiming firmly:

"Another word and it will be your last!"

The fellow started back, unprepared for such defiance.  He made a
movement to cross the room, where no doubt he had his own weapon
concealed, but the police officer was too quick for him and barred his
passage.

"Look here!" he said firmly.  "This is a matter to be settled between
us, without any interference by your friends here.  At word from me they
would instantly turn upon you as an enemy.  Think!  Reflect well--before
it is too late!"  And he held the revolver steadily a foot from the
man's hard, pale face.

Danilovitch hesitated.  He controlled the so-called Terrorist movement
with amazing ingenuity, playing three _roles_ simultaneously.  He was
"The One," the mysterious but all-powerful head of the organisation; the
ardent worker in the cause known as "the shoemaker of Kazan"; and the
base, unscrupulous informer, who manufactured plots, and afterwards
consigned to prison all those men and women who became implicated in
them.

"If I withdraw my cry of alarm will you promise secrecy?" he asked in a
low, cringing tone.

From the landing outside came sounds of footsteps and fierce demands in
Russian from those he had summoned to his assistance.  Two of us against
twenty desperate characters as they were, would, I well knew, stand but
a poor chance.  If he made any allegation against us, we should be
caught like rats in a trap, and killed, as all police-spies are killed
when denounced.  The arm of the Russian revolution is indeed a long
one--longer than that of the Secret Police itself.

"What has happened, Danilo?" demanded a man's rough voice.  "Who are
those strangers?  Let us in!"

"Speak!" commanded Hartwig.  "Reassure them, and let them go away.  I
have still much to say to you in private."

His arm with the revolver was upraised, his eyes unwavering.  The
informer saw determination in his gaze.  A further word of alarm, and a
bullet would pass through his brain.

For a few seconds he stood in sullen silence.

"All right!" he shouted to them at last.  "It is nothing, comrades.  I
was mistaken.  Leave us in peace."

We heard a murmuring of discontent outside, and then the footsteps
commenced to descend the steep uncarpeted stairs.  As they did so,
Hartwig dropped his weapon, saying:

"Now let us sit down and talk.  I have several questions I wish to put
to you.  If you answer frankly, then I promise that I will not betray
you to your comrades."

"What do you mean by `frankly'?"

"I mean that you must tell me the exact truth."

The man's face grew dark; his brows contracted; he bit his finger-nails.

"What was the motive of the attempt you made upon the Grand Duke
Nicholas and his daughter, and the gentleman here, Mr Trewinnard?"

"I don't know," he replied.

"But you yourself committed the outrage?"

"At the orders of others."

"Whose orders?"

He did not reply.  He was standing against the small, cheap chest of
drawers, his drawn face full in the light of the hissing gas-jet.

"Come," said Hartwig firmly.  "I wish to know this."

"I cannot tell you."

"Then I will tell you," the detective said in a hard voice.  "It was at
the orders of your master, General Markoff--the man who, finding that
you were a revolutionist, is using you as his tool for the manufacture
of bogus plots against the Emperor."

Danilovitch shrugged his shoulders, but uttered no word.

"And you went again to Brighton last night at his orders.  You--"

"I went to Brighton, I admit.  But not at the General's orders," he
interrupted quickly.

"Why did you go?  Why did you follow Her Imperial Highness and Mr
Trewinnard?"

"I followed them because I had an object in so doing."

"A sinister object?"

"No.  There you are mistaken.  My object was not a sinister one.  It was
to watch and endeavour to make clear a certain point which is a mystery
to me."

"A point concerning what?"

"Concerning Her Imperial Highness," was his reply.

"How does Her Highness concern you?"  I asked.  "You tried to kill her
once.  Therefore your intentions must be evil."

"I deny that," he protested quickly.  "I tell you that I went to
Brighton without thought of any evil intent, and without the orders, or
even knowledge, of General Markoff."

"But he is Her Highness's enemy."

"Yes, Excellency--and yours also."

"Tell me all that you know," I urged, adopting a more conciliatory tone.
"It is outrageous that this oppressor of Russia should conspire to kill
an innocent member of the Imperial Family."

"I know nothing of the circumstances.  Excellency," he said, feigning
entire ignorance.

"But he gave you orders to throw that bomb," I said.  "What were your
exact orders?"

"I am not likely to betray my employer," he laughed.  "If you do not
answer these questions, then I shall carry out my threat of exposure,"
Hartwig said in a hard, determined voice.

"Well," said the informer hesitatingly, "my orders were not to throw the
bomb unless the Grand Duchess Natalia was in the carriage."

"Then the plot was to kill her--but unfortunately her father fell the
victim of the dastardly outrage!"  I cried.

"Yes," the man replied.  "It was to kill her--and you, Excellency."

"But why?"

He shrugged his shoulders, and exhibited his palms in a gesture of
complete ignorance.

"And your present intention is to effect in Brighton what you failed to
do in Petersburg--eh?"

"I have no orders, and it certainly is not my intention," responded the
man, whom I remembered at that moment had deliberately killed the girl
Garine in order to preserve his secret.

I turned from him in loathing and disgust.

"But you tell me that General Markoff intends that we both shall come to
an untimely end," I said a few moments later.

"He does, Excellency, and the ingenuity of the plot against you both is
certainly one which betrays his devilish cunning," was the fellow's
reply.  "I have, I assure you, no love for a man who holds my life in
the hollow of his hand, and whose word I am compelled to obey on pain of
exposure and death."

"You mean Markoff," I exclaimed.  "Tell me something of this plot
against me--so that I may be on my guard," I urged.

"I know nothing concerning it.  For that very reason I went to Brighton
yesterday, to try and discover something," he said.

"And what did you discover?"

"A very remarkable fact.  At present it is only suspicion.  I have yet
to substantiate it."

"Cannot you tell me your suspicion?"

"Not until I have had an opportunity of proving it," was his quiet
reply.  "But I assure you that the observation I kept upon Her Imperial
Highness and yourself was with no evil intent."

I smiled incredulously.  It was hard indeed to believe a man of his
subtle and unscrupulous character.  All that Tack had told me crowded
through my brain.  As the catspaw of Markoff, it was not likely that he
would tell me the truth.

Hartwig was leaning easily against the wooden mantelshelf, watching us
keenly.  Of a sudden an idea occurred to me, and addressing the
informer, I said:

"I believe you are acquainted with my friend Madame de Rosen and her
daughter.  Tell me what you know concerning them."

"They were arrested and exiled to Siberia for the attempt in the Nevski
on the return of the Emperor from the south," he said promptly.

Hartwig interrupted, saying gravely:

"And that attempt, Danilo Danilovitch, was conceived by you--conceived
in order to strike terror into the Emperor's heart.  You formed the plot
and handed over the list of the conspirators to your employer, Markoff--
you, the person known to the Party of the People's Will as `The One.'"

"I knew of the plot," he admitted.  "And though I gave certain names to
the police, I certainly did not include the names of Madame de Rosen or
of Mademoiselle."

"Why was she arrested?"

He was silent for a few moments.

"Because her presence in Petersburg was dangerous to the General," he
said at last sullenly.

"You know this--eh?  You are certain of it--you have evidence, I mean?"
asked Hartwig.

"You ask me for the truth," the informer said, "and I tell you.  I was
extremely sorry for Madame and the young lady, for I knew them when I
carried on my trade as bootmaker.  An hour after their arrest, at about
four o'clock in the morning, the General ordered me to go and search
their house for certain letters which he described to me--letters which
he was extremely anxious to obtain.  I went alone, as he did not wish to
alarm the neighbourhood by a domiciliary visit of the police.  I
searched the house for nearly nine hours, but failed to discover them.
While still engaged in the investigation I was recalled to the house
where it is my habit to meet the General in secret, when he told me that
by a false promise of release he had extracted from Madame a statement
that the letters were no longer in her possession, and that Her Imperial
Highness the Grand Duchess Natalia held them in safe-keeping.  Madame,
perfectly innocent as she was of any connection with the conspirators,
expected to be released after telling the truth; but the General said
that he had only laughed in her face and ordered her and her daughter to
be sent off with the next convoy of prisoners--who were leaving for
Siberia that same night.  By this time the ladies are, I expect, already
in the great forwarding-prison at Tomsk."

"And the letters?"  I demanded, my blood boiling at hearing his story.

"I was ordered to search for them."  Danilovitch replied.  "The General
gave me instructions how to enter the palace of the Grand Duke Nicholas
and there to investigate the apartments of the Grand Duchess Natalia.  I
refused at first, knowing that if I were detected as an intruder I
should be shot at sight by the sentries.  But he insisted," the man
added.  "He told me that if I persisted in my refusal he would expose me
as a spy.  So I was compelled to make the attempt, well knowing that
discovery meant certain death.  The sentries have orders to shoot any
intruder in the Grand Ducal palace.  On four occasions I went there at
imminent risk, and on the fourth I was successful.  I found the letters
concealed in a room which had once been used as Her Highness's nursery."

"And what did you do with them?"

"I met the General at our usual meeting-place and handed them to him.
He was at first delighted.  But a moment later, finding that the seal of
the envelope in which were the letters had been broken, he charged me
with reading them.  I denied it, and--"

"Then you did not read them?  You do not know what they contained, or
who they were from?"

"They were from General Markoff himself.  I looked at the signatures,
but, alas!  I had no time to read them.  I drove straight to the
meeting-place, where the General was awaiting me."

"They were from the General!"  I echoed.  "To whom?"

"They bore his signature--one a long letter, closely written," was the
informer's reply.  "Seeing that the seal had been broken, the General
flew into a sudden rage and declared that the Grand Duchess Natalia had
learned what they contained.  The words he used to me were: `The girl
must be silenced--silenced at once, Danilovitch.  And you must silence
her.  She knows the truth!'"

"Well?"  I asked.

"Well," he said, his mouth drawn and hard, "under compulsion and more
threats of exposure, I launched the bomb, which, alas! killed her
father, while the young lady escaped unhurt."

"Then he still intends that Her Highness shall die?  His warning the
other day was no idle attempt to terrorise me?"

"No, Excellency.  Take every precaution.  The General means mischief,
for he is in hourly fear lest Her Highness should expose certain facts
contained in those fateful letters which have already cost two ladies
their liberty and a Grand Duke and several Cossacks their lives."

"Is this the actual truth?" asked Hartwig in a changed voice, looking
the informer full in the face.

"Yes," he answered solemnly.  "I have told you the truth; therefore I
believe your solemn word that you will make no exposure to the Party."

"If you will disassociate yourself from these dastardly actions," he
said.

"Ah!" sighed the other in despair, "that is impossible.  The General
holds me always to the compact I made with him.  But I beg of you to be
warned," he added.  "Her Highness is daily in gravest peril!"

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

INCOGNITA!

Shortly after eleven o'clock that same evening I was strolling with
Hartwig up and down the deserted platform at Victoria Station, my
intention being to take the eleven-fifty p.m. train back to Brighton.

For a full hour we had pressed the informer to explain the real reason
of his visit to Brighton on the previous day.  But beyond assuring us
that it was not with any evil intent--which I confess we could scarcely
believe--he declined to reveal anything.

He only repeated his warning that Natalia was in grave personal danger,
and entreated me to be careful.  The refugees in that house, all of them
Russians, seemed filled with intense curiosity regarding us, and
especially so, perhaps, because of Hartwig's declaration that he was
bearer of a message from that mysterious leader who was believed to live
somewhere in Moscow, and was known throughout the Russian Empire as "The
ONE."

No doubt after our departure Danilovitch had told them of some secret
message he had received from the mysterious head of the organisation,
who was none other than himself.

But his confession had held both of us practically silent ever since we
had left that dingy house in Lower Clapton.

"Markoff believes that Her Highness is aware of the contents of those
letters," Hartwig said as we strolled together in the great, well-lit
station.  Few people were about just at that hour, for the suburban
theatre-goers had not yet arrived.  "For that reason it is intended that
her mouth shall be closed."

"But this is murder!"  I cried in hot indignation.  "I will go straight
to the Emperor, and tell him."

"And what benefit would that be?  His Majesty would declare it to be an
effort by some of the General's enemies to disgrace him," my companion
said.  "Such damning statements have been made before, but, alas! no
heed has been taken of them!"

"But His Majesty shall hear--and he shall take notice!  I will demand in
inquiry into the arrest and exile of Madame de Rosen."

"I thought you told me that you had already mentioned her name to His
Majesty," Hartwig said quietly.

I had forgotten.  Yes.  His words recalled to me my effort on her
behalf, and the futility of my appeal.  I sighed, and bit my lip.  The
two innocent ladies were on their way to that far-off dreaded penal
settlement of Yakutsk.  From the time which had elapsed since their
arrest I calculated that they were already in Siberia, trudging that
long, never-ending post road--that wide, deeply-rutted track which runs
across those boundless plains between Tobolsk and Tomsk--on the first
stage of their terrible journey of over six thousand miles on foot.

A sudden suggestion flashed across my mind.  Should I follow, overtake
them and hear the truth from Marya de Rosen's lips?

Yet before doing so I should be compelled to apply for a passport and
permits at the Ministry of the Interior at Petersburg.  If I did this,
Markoff would at once suspect my intention, for travellers do not go to
Siberia for pleasure.  And if he suspected my intention a way would
quickly be found by which, when I arrived at my destination, neither of
the ladies would be alive.  In Siberia, where there is neither law nor
inquiry, it was, I knew, very easy to close the lips of any person whose
existence might be prejudicial to the authorities.  A word from General
Markoff, and an accident would certainly occur.

No.  I realised that to relax my vigilance over the safety of Natalia at
that moment would be most injudicious.  Besides, was not Natalia herself
aware of the contents of the letters?  If not, why had her enemies made
the firm determination that she should meet with a sudden and mysterious
end?

I mentioned to my companion my inclination to travel across Siberia in
search of the exiles; but he only shook his head gravely, saying:

"You are, no doubt, under very close observation.  Even if you went, you
might, by so doing, place yourself in grave personal peril.  Remember,
Markoff is desperate.  The contents of those letters, whatever they may
be, are evidently so damning that he cannot afford exposure.  The pains
he took to secure them, and to send Madame de Rosen into exile, plainly
show this.  No," he added, "the most judicious plan is to remain here,
near Her Highness, and watch Markoff's operations."

"If Her Highness would only reveal to me the secret of those letters,
then we should be in a position to defy Markoff and reveal him before
the Emperor in his true light," I said.

"She has refused--eh?"

"Yes.  I have questioned her a dozen times, but always with the same
result," was my answer.

"But will she refuse, if she knows that her father's tragic end was due
to the wild desire of Markoff to close her lips?"

"Yes.  I have already pointed that out to her.  Her reply is that what
she learnt was in confidence.  It is her friend's secret, and she cannot
betray it.  She is the very soul of honour.  Her word is her bond."

"You will tell her now of Danilovitch's confession; how the letters were
stolen and handed back to the General by the man whom he holds so
completely in his power?"  Hartwig said.

"I shall.  But I fear it will make no difference.  She is, of course,
eager to expose the General to the Emperor and effect his downfall.  She
is fully aware of his corrupt and brutal maladministration of the
department of Political Police, of the bogus plots, and the wholesale
deportment of thousands of innocent persons.  But it seems that she gave
a pledge of secrecy to poor madame, and that pledge she refuses to break
at any cost.  `It is Marya's secret,' she told me, `not mine.'"

As we were speaking, a tall, straight, good-looking young man in
crush-hat and black overcoat over his dinner-clothes had strolled along
the platform awaiting the train.

My eyes caught his features as he went, when suddenly I recognised in
the young man Richard Drury, whom Her Highness had told me she had known
in her school-days at Eastbourne.  I glanced after him and watched his
figure retreating leisurely as he smoked a cigarette until he came
beneath a lamp where he halted.  Then, producing an evening paper, he
commenced to while away the time by reading.  He was evidently returning
to Brighton by my train.

Apparently the young fellow had not recognised me as Miss Gottorp's
companion of the previous night, therefore standing near, I had an
opportunity of examining him well.  He was certainly a typical specimen
of the keen, clean-shaven young Englishman, a man who showed
good-breeding, and whose easy air was that of the gentleman.

Yet I confess that what Her Highness had revealed to me both alarmed and
annoyed me.  Madcap that she was, I knew not what folly she might
commit.  Nevertheless, after all, so long as she preserved her
_incognito_ no great harm would be done.  It was hard upon her to deny
her the least suspicion of flirtation, especially with one whom she had
known in the days before she had put up her hair and put on her
ankle-frocks.

Hartwig and I were undecided what our next move should be, and we were
discussing it.  One fact was plain, that in view of the assertion of
Danilovitch, I would now be compelled to keep constant watch over the
skittish young lady whom the Emperor had given into my charge.  My idea
of following and overtaking Madame de Rosen in Siberia was out of all
question.

"Are you remaining long in London?"  I asked the police official, just
as I was about to step into the train.

"Who knows?" he laughed.  "I am at the `Savoy.'  The Embassy is unaware
I am in England.  But I move quickly, as you know.  Perhaps to-morrow I
may have to return to Petersburg.  _Au revoir_."

And I wished him adieu, and got into an empty first-class compartment
just as the train was moving from the platform.

I sat in the corner of the carriage full of grave and apprehensive
thoughts.

That strange suspicion which the Emperor had revealed to me on the
afternoon before the last Court ball recurred to me.  I held my breath
as a sudden idea flashed across my brain.  Had it any connection with
this foul but cunningly-conceived plot to kill an innocent girl whose
only offence was that she was in possession of certain information
which, if revealed, would, I presumed, cause the downfall of that
camarilla surrounding the Emperor?

The thought held me in wonder.

Ah! if only the Emperor would listen to the truth--if only he would view
Markoff and his friends in their true character!  But I knew, alas! that
such development of the situation was impossible.  Russia, and with her
the Imperial Court, was being terrorised by these desperate attempts to
assassinate the Emperor.  Hence His Majesty relied upon Markoff for the
safety of the dynasty.  He looked upon him as a marvel of astuteness and
cunning, as indeed he was.  But, alas! the burly, grave-eyed man who led
a life haunted by the hourly fear of death--an existence in armoured
rooms and armoured trains, and surrounded by guards whom he even grew to
suspect--was in ignorance that the greater part of the evidence of
conspiracies, incriminating correspondence and secret proclamations put
before him had been actually manufactured by Markoff himself!

At last, after an hour, the express ran slowly into the Brighton
terminus, and as it did so, I caught sight of a figure waiting upon the
platform, which caused me to quickly draw back.  The figure was that of
a young girl neatly dressed in black with a small black hat, and though
she wore a veil of spotted net I recognised her at once as Natalia!  She
was smiling and waving her tiny black-gloved hand to someone.  In an
instant I knew the truth.  She was there, even though it were past one
o'clock in the morning, to meet her lover, Richard Drury.

I saw him spring out, raise his hat and shake her hand warmly, and then,
taking care not to be seen, I followed them out as they walked side by
side down the hill in the direction of King's Road.

This action of hers showed her recklessness and lack of discretion.
Apparently she had walked all the way from Hove in order to meet him,
and as they strolled together along the dark, deserted road he was
evidently explaining something to her, while she listened very
attentively.

Surely it was unsafe for her to go forth like that!  I was surprised
that Miss West allowed it.  But, in all probability that worthy lady was
in bed, and asleep, all unconscious of her charge's escapade.

I had not followed very far before I became aware of a footstep behind
me, and, turning, I saw a small, insignificant-looking man in dark
clothes, who came quickly up to me.  It was one of the police-agents
employed at the house in Brunswick Square.

"Well, Dmitri!"  I exclaimed in a low voice in French.  "So you are
looking after your young mistress--eh?"  I asked, with a laugh, pausing
to speak with him in order to allow the lovers to get further off.

"Yes, m'sieur," replied the man in a tone of distinct annoyance.

"This is hardly wise of Her Highness," I said.  "This is not the hour to
go out for a stroll."

"No, m'sieur," replied the shrewd agent of police, who had been for
years employed at the palace of the late Grand Duke Nicholas in
Petersburg.  "I tell you I do not think it either safe or proper.  These
constant meetings must result in scandal."

"Who is that young man?"  I asked quickly.  "You have made inquiry, no
doubt?"

"Yes, m'sieur, I have.  But I can learn very little.  He seems to be a
complete mystery--an adventurer, perhaps," declared the suspicious
police-agent in a low, hard voice; adding: "The fact is, that man who
calls himself Richard Drury is, I feel sure, no fit companion for Her
Imperial Highness."

"Why not?"  I demanded in eager surprise.

"Because he is not," was the man's enigmatical reply.  "I do hope
m'sieur will warn Her Imperial Highness of the danger," he said
reflectively, looking in the direction of the retreating figures.

"Danger!"  I echoed.  "What danger?"

"There is a grave danger," he asserted firmly.  "I have watched, as is
my duty, and I know.  Her Highness endeavours all she can to evade my
vigilance, for naturally it is not pleasant to be watched while carrying
on a flirtation.  But she does not know what I have discovered
concerning this stranger with whom she appears to have fallen so deeply
in love.  They must be parted, m'sieur--parted at once, before it is too
late."

"But what have you discovered?"  I asked.

"One astounding and most startling fact," was his slow, deliberate
reply; "a fact which demands their immediate separation."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

HER HIGHNESS IS OUTSPOKEN.

"Now, Uncle Colin!  It's really too horrid of you to spy upon me like
that!  I had no idea you were behind us!  I knew old Dmitri was there--
he watches me just as a cat watches a mouse.  But I never thought you
would be so nasty and mean!"  And the girl in her fresh white gown stood
at the window of the drawing-room drumming impatiently upon the pane
with the tips of her long, white fingers, for it was raining outside.

"My dear Natalia," I said paternally, standing upon the white goat-skin
hearthrug, and looking across at her; "I did not watch you
intentionally.  I travelled by the same train as your friend, and I saw
you meet him.  Really," I laughed, "you looked a most interesting pair
as you walked together down Queen's Road.  I left you at the corner of
Western Road and went on to the `Metropole.'"

"Oh! you actually did have the decency to do that!" she exclaimed,
turning to me her pretty face clouded by displeasure.  "Well, I say
quite frankly that I think it was absolutely horrid of you.  Surely I
may meet a friend without being spied upon at every turn!" she added
resentfully.

"Dmitri only does his duty, remember," I ventured to remark.

"Oh, Dmitri's a perfect plague.  He shadows me everywhere.  His crafty
face irritates me whenever I see it."

"This constant surveillance is only for your own protection," I said.
"Recollect that you are a member of the Imperial family, and that
already six of your uncles and cousins, as well as your poor father,
have met with violent deaths at the hands of the revolutionists."

"I know.  But it is perfectly absurd ever to dream that they want to
kill me--a girl whose only object is to live quietly and enjoy her
life."

"And her flirtations," I added, striving to make her laugh.

I was successful, for a smile came to her pretty, pouting lips, and she
said:

"Well, Uncle Colin, other girls may flirt and have men friends.
Therefore I can't see why it is so actually sinful for me to do the
same."

"But think for a moment of your position!"

"Position!" she echoed.  "I'm only plain Miss Natalia Gottorp here.  Why
should I study my family?"

"Ah!"  I sighed.  "I know how wayward you are.  No amount of argument
will, I fear, ever convince you of your error."

"Oh, yes," she sighed, in imitation of the sadness of my tone, saying:
"I know what a source of trouble and deep anxiety the wicked, wayward
child is to you."  Then, next moment, she burst out into a merry,
mischievous laugh, adding:

"It's really too bad of me to tease you, poor old Uncle Colin, isn't it?
But there, you're not really old.  I looked you up in `Who's Who' only
yesterday.  You're only thirty-two next Thursday week.  And if you are a
very good boy I'll give you a nice little present.  Shall I work you a
pair of slippers--eh?" she asked, with sarcasm, "or a winter waistcoat?"

"Thanks.  I hate girls' needlework," I replied frankly, amused at her
sudden change of demeanour.

"Very well.  You shall have a new cigarette-case, a solid gold one, with
our grand Imperial arms engraved on it and underneath the words `From
Tattie.'  How will that do--eh?" she laughed.

"Ah! now you're only trying to tease me," I said.  "I wonder if you
tease Mr Drury like that?"

"Oh!  Dick knows me.  He doesn't mind it in the least," she declared,
looking at me with those wonderful eyes that were so much admired
everywhere.  "Have a cigarette," and she handed me a box of Petroffs,
and taking one herself, lit it, and then threw herself negligently into
an armchair, lazily displaying a pair of neat silk stockinged ankles and
patent-leather shoes.

"I certainly think that Mr Dick is a very lucky young fellow," I said,
"though I tell you openly that I entirely disapprove of these constant
meetings.  Remember your promise to me before we left Petersburg."

"Well, I've been a very wayward child--even an incorrigible child, I
suppose--and I've broken my promise.  That's all," she said, blowing a
cloud of smoke from her red lips.  Like all Russian ladies, she enjoyed
a cigarette.

"I certainly think you ought to have kept your word," I said.

"But Dick, I tell you, is an old friend.  I couldn't cut him, could I?"

"You need not have cut him," I said.  "But I consider it unnecessary to
steal out of the house after Miss West has gone to bed, and meet him at
the station at one o'clock in the morning."

"Then upon that point we'll agree to differ.  I'm old enough to be my
own mistress, and if you continue to lecture me, I shall be very annoyed
with you."

"My dear Natalia, I do not blame you in the least for falling in love.
How can I?"  I said in a changed tone, for I knew that the young lady so
petted and spoiled by her earlier training must be treated with greatest
caution and tact.  "Why, shall I confess a truth?"  I asked, looking her
straight in the face.

"Yes, do," she said.

"Well, if I were ten years younger I should most certainly fall in love
with you myself," I laughed.

"Don't be so silly, Uncle Colin!" she exclaimed.  "But would that be so
very terrible?  Why, you're not an old man yet," she added, her cheeks
having flushed slightly at my words.

"Now you're blushing," I said.

"I'm not!" she cried stoutly.  "You're simply horrid this morning," she
declared vehemently, turning away from me.

"Is it horrid of me to pay you a compliment?"  I asked.  "I merely
expressed a devout wish that I were standing in Drury's shoes.  Every
man likes to be kissed by a pretty girl, whether she be a shopgirl or a
Grand Duchess."

"Oh, yes.  You are quite right there.  Most men make fools of themselves
over women."

"Especially when their beauty is so world-famed as that of the Grand
Duchess Natalia!"

"Now, there you are again!" she cried.  "I do wish you'd change the
topic of conversation.  You're horrid, I say."

And she gave a quick gesture of impatience, blew a great cloud of smoke
from her lips and put down her half-consumed cigarette upon the little
silver ashtray.

"Oh, my!" she exclaimed at last.  "What a funny lover you would make,
Uncle Colin!  You fancy yourself as old as Methuselah, and your
hide-bound ideas of etiquette, your straitlaced morality, and your
respect of _les convenances_ are those in vogue when your revered Queen
Victoria ascended the throne of Great Britain.  You're not living with
the times, my dear uncle.  You're an old-fashioned diplomat.  To-day the
world is very different to that in which your father was born."

"I quite agree.  And I regret that it is so," I replied.  "These are
surely very lax and degenerating days, when girls may go out
unchaperoned, and the meeting of a man in the early hours of the morning
passes unremarked."

"It unfortunately hasn't passed unremarked," she said, with a pretty
pout.  "You take jolly good care to rub it in every moment!  It really
isn't fair," she declared.  "I'm very fond of you, Uncle Colin, but you
are really a little too old-fashioned."

"You are comparing me with young Drury, I suppose?"

"Oh, Dick isn't a bit old-fashioned, I assure you," she declared.  "He's
been at Oxford.  He doesn't dream and let the world go by.  But, Uncle
Colin," she went on, "I wonder that you, a diplomat, are so stiff and
proper.  I suppose it's the approved British diplomatic training.  I'm
only a girl, and therefore am not supposed to know any of the tremendous
secrets of diplomacy.  But it always strikes me that, for the most part,
you diplomats are exceptionally dull folk.  In our Court circle we
always declare them to be inflated with a sense of their own importance,
and fifty years behind the times."

I laughed outright.  Her view was certainly a common-sense one.  The
whole training of British diplomacy is to continue the traditions of
Pitt and Beaconsfield.  Diplomacy does not, alas! admit a new and modern
_regime_ affecting the world; it ignores modern thought, modern
conditions and modern methods.  "Up-to-date" is an expression unknown in
the diplomat's vocabulary.  The Foreign Office instil the lazy,
do-nothing policy of the past, the traditions of Palmerston, Clarendon
and Dudley are still the traditions of to-day in every British Embassy
throughout the world; and, unfortunately for Britain, the lesson has yet
to be learned by our diplomacy that to be strong is to be acute and
subtle, and to be dictatorial is to be entirely up-to-date.  The German
diplomacy is that of keen progress and anticipation; that of Turkey
craft and cunning; of France, tact, with exquisite politeness.  But
Britain pursues her heavy, blundering "John Bull" programme, which,
though effective in the days of Beaconsfield, now only results in the
nation's isolation and derision, certain of her ambassadors to the
Powers being familiarly known at the Courts to which they are accredited
as "The Man with the Gun."

"What you say is, in a sense, quite true," I admitted.  "But I'm so
sorry if I'm really very dull.  I don't mean to be."

"Oh!  You'll improve under my tuition--and Dick's--no doubt," she
exclaimed reassuringly.

Her Highness was nothing if not outspoken.

"The fact is, Uncle Colin," she went on seriously, "you're far too
old-fashioned for your age.  You are not old, but your ideas are so
horribly antiquated.  Girls of to-day are allowed a freedom which our
grandmothers would have held as perfectly sinful.  Girls have become
independent.  A young fellow takes a girl out to dinner and to the
theatre, and even to supper nowadays, and nobody holds up their hands in
pious horror--only you!  It isn't fair," she declared.

"Girls of the people are allowed a great deal of latitude, I admit.  And
as far as I can see, the world is none the worse for it," I said.  "But
what other girls may do, you, an Imperial Highness, unfortunately may
not."

"That's just where we don't agree," she said in a tone meant to be
impertinent, her straight nose slightly raised as she spoke.  "I intend
to do as other girls do--at least, while I'm plain Miss Gottorp.  They
call me the `Little Alien'--so Miss West heard me called the other day."

"No," I said very firmly, looking straight at her as she lolled easily
in her chair, her chin resting on her white palm as she gazed at me from
beneath her long, dark lashes.  "You really must respect the
_convenances_.  If you take a stroll with young Drury, do so at least in
the daylight."

"And with Dmitri watching me all the time from across the road.  Not
quite," she said.  "I like the Esplanade when it is quiet and everybody
is in bed.  It is so pleasant on these warm nights to sit upon a seat
and enjoy the moonlight on the sea.  Sounds like an extract from a
novel, doesn't it?" and she laughed merrily.

"I fear you are becoming romantic," I said.  "Every girl becomes so at
one period of her life."

"Do you think so?" she asked, smiling.  "Myself, I don't fancy I have
any romance in me.  The Romanoffs are not a romantic lot as a rule.
They are usually too mercenary.  I love nice things."

"Because you are cultured and possess good taste.  That is exactly what
leads to romance."

"I have the good taste to choose Dick as a friend, I suppose you mean?"
she asked, with an intention to irritate me.

"Ah, I did not exactly say that."

"But you meant it, nevertheless.  You know you did, Uncle Colin."

I did not reply for a few moments.  I was recalling what Dmitri had told
me--that strange allegation of his that this young man, Richard Drury,
was an enigma, an adventurer.  He had told me that he was no fit
companion for her, and yet when pressed he apparently could give no
plain reason.  He had been unable to discover much concerning the young
fellow--probably because of his failure it seemed he had become
convinced that the object of his inquiry was an adventurer.

Suddenly rising, I stood before her, and placing my hand upon her
shoulder, said:

"I came here this morning to speak to you very seriously, Natalia.  Can
you really be serious for once?"

"I'm always serious," she replied.  "Well--another lecture?"

"No, not a lecture, you incorrigible little flirt.  I want to ask you a
plain question.  Please answer me, for a great deal--a very great deal--
depends upon it.  Are you aware of what was contained in those letters
which Madame de Rosen gave you for safe-keeping?"

"I have long ago assured you that I am.  Why do you ask again?"

"Because there is one point which I wish to clear up," I said.  "I
thought you told me that they were in a sealed envelope?"

"So they were.  But when I heard of Marya's exile, and that Luba had
been sent with her, I broke open the seal and investigated the
contents."

"And what did you find?"

"Ah!  That is my business, Uncle Colin.  I have already told you that I
absolutely refuse to betray the secrets of my poor dear friend.  You
surely ought not to ask me.  You have no right to press me to commit
such a breach of trust."

"I ask you because so much depends upon the extent of your knowledge," I
said.  "I have already solved the secret of the disappearance of the
letters from the place where you hid them in the palace."

"Then you know who stole them!" she gasped, starting to her feet.  "Tell
me.  Who was the thief?"

"A man whom you do not know.  He has confessed to me.  He was not a
willing thief, but a wretched assassin, whom General Markoff holds as
his catspaw, and compels to perform his dirty work."

"Then the General has secured them!  My suspicions are confirmed!" she
gasped, all the colour dying from her beautiful face.

"He has.  The theft was committed under compulsion, and at imminent risk
to the thief, who most certainly would have been shot by the sentries,
if discovered.  The letters were handed by him back to General Markoff."

My words held her dumbfounded for a few seconds.  She did not speak.
Then she said in a hard, changed tone:

"Ah!  Markoff has destroyed them!  The proof no longer exists, therefore
I am powerless!  How I wish I were permitted to speak--to reveal the
truth!"

Her teeth were set, her face was white and hard, and the fingers of both
hands had clenched themselves into the palms.

"But you know the truth!"  I cried.  "Will you not speak?  Will you
never reveal it?  It is surely your duty to do so," I urged.

But she only shook her head sadly, saying:

"I cannot betray her confidence."

"Remember," I said, "by exposing this secret which Markoff has been at
such infinite pains to keep, you can perhaps obtain the release of poor
Marya and her daughter!  Is it not your plain duty?"  I urged in a low,
earnest voice.

But she only again shook her head resolutely.

"No, I cannot expose the secrets of my lost friend.  It was her secret
which I swore to her I would never reveal," she responded in a harsh,
strained voice.  "Markoff has secured the proofs and destroyed them.  I
suspected it from the first.  That brute is my bitterest enemy, as he is
also Marya's.  But, alas! he is all-powerful!  He has played a clever
double game--and he has won--_he has won_!"

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

SHOWS HARTWIG'S ANXIETY.

Her Highness's firm refusal to reveal to me the contents of those
letters, the knowledge of which had caused Madame de Rosen and her
daughter to be sent to Siberia, while the Grand Duke Nicholas, her
father, hid lost his life, disappointed me.

For a full hour I remained there, trying by all means in my power to
persuade her to assist me in the overthrow of the feted Chief of Secret
Police.

She would have done so, she declared, were it not for the fact that she
had given her solemn word of honour to Marya de Rosen not to divulge
anything she knew concerning the contents of those mysterious letters.
That compact she held sacred.  She had given her faithful promise to her
friend.

I pointed out to her the determination she had expressed to me in
Petersburg that she intended to reveal to the Emperor his favourite in
his true light, and thus avenge the lives of thousands of innocent
persons who had died on their way to exile or in the foetid, overcrowded
prisons of Moscow, and Tomsk, and the vermin-infested _etapes_ of the
Great Post Road.

But in reply she sighed deeply, and, looking straight before her in
desperation, declared that she had now no proof; and even if she had,
she had not the permission of Marya de Rosen to make the exposure.  "It
is her secret--her own personal secret," she said.  "I vowed not to
reveal it."

Then for the first time I indicated her own peril.  Hitherto I had not
wished to alarm her.  But I now showed her how it would be to the
advantage of the General, cunning, daring and unscrupulous as he was,
that some untoward incident should occur by which her life would be
sacrificed in his desperate attempt to conceal the truth.

In silence she listened to me, her beautiful face pale and graver than I
had ever before seen it.  At last she realised the peril.

"Ah!" she sighed, and then, as though speaking to herself, said: "If
only I could obtain Marya's consent to speak--to tell the Emperor the
truth!  But that is now quite impossible.  No letter could ever reach
her, and, indeed, we have no idea where she is.  She is, alas! as dead
to the world as though she were in her grave!" she added sadly.

I reflected for a moment.

"If it were not that I feared lest misfortune might befall you during my
absence, Highness, I would at once follow and overtake her."

"Oh, but the long journey to Siberia!  Why, it would take you at least
six months!  That is quite impossible."

"Not impossible, Highness," I responded very gravely.  "I am prepared to
undertake the journey for your sake--and hers--for the sake of the
Emperor."

"Ah!  I know, Uncle Colin, how good you always are to me, but I couldn't
ask you to undertake a winter journey such as that, in search of poor
Marya."

"If I go, will you, on your part, promise me solemnly not to go out on
these night escapades?  Indeed, it is not judicious of you to walk out
at all, unless one or other of the police-agents is in close attendance
upon you.  One never knows, in these present circumstances, what may
happen," I said.  "And as soon as Markoff knows that I have set out for
Siberia, he will guess the reason, and endeavour to bring disaster upon
both of us, as well as upon the exile herself."

For some minutes she did not reply.  Then she said: "You must not go.
It is too dangerous for you--far too dangerous.  I will not allow it."

"If you refuse to reveal Marya's secret, then I shall go," was my quiet
response.  "I shall ask the Emperor to send you Hartwig, to be near you.
He will watch over your safety until my return."

"Ah! his alertness is simply marvellous," she declared.  "Did you read
in the London papers last week how cleverly he ran to earth the three
men who robbed the Volga Kama Bank in Moscow of a quarter of a million
roubles?"

"Yes.  I read the account of it.  He was twice shot at by the men before
they were arrested.  But he seems always to lead a charmed life.  While
he is at your side, I shall certainly entertain no fear."

"Then you have really decided to go?" she said, looking at me with brows
slightly knit.  "I cannot tell--I cannot--what I read in those letters
after giving my word of honour to Marya."

"I have decided," I said briefly.

"I do not like the thought of your going.  Something dreadful may happen
to you."

"I shall be wary--never fear," I assured her with a laugh.  "I intend to
secure the release of Madame and Luba--to set right an unjust and
outrageous wrong.  I admire your firm devotion to your friend, but I
will bring back to you, I hope, her written permission to speak and
reveal the truth."

Five minutes later I rose, and we descended to the hall, where patient
Dmitri was idling over his French newspaper.

Then the weather being fine again, we passed out together into the
autumn sunshine of the Lawns, at that hour of the morning agog with
well-dressed promenaders and hundreds of pet dogs.  And a few moments
later we came face to face with Richard Drury, to whom she introduced me
as "Mr Colin Trewinnard, my uncle, Mr Drury."  We bowed mutually, and
then all three of us strolled on together, though he seemed a little ill
at ease in my presence.

I had made a firm resolution.  In order to learn the secret of those
letters and to place Her Highness, who so honourably refused to break
her word, in a position to expose the unscrupulous official who was the
real Oppressor of Russia, I intended to set out on that long journey in
search of the exile, now, alas! unknown by name, but only by number.

Drury struck me as a rather good fellow, and no doubt a gentleman.  We
halted together, and, when near the pier, he raised his hat and left us.

Before leaving Brighton I had yet much to do.  I was not altogether
satisfied concerning the young man, my object being to try and learn for
myself something more tangible regarding him.

"Well," she asked, when he had gone, "what is your verdict, Uncle
Colin?"

"Favourable," I replied, whereat she smiled in gratification.

An hour later I succeeded in obtaining a short confidential chat with
the hall-porter of the Royal York Hotel, whom I found quite ready to
assist me.  As I had suspected, Dmitri had failed and formed utterly
wrong conclusions, because of his lack of fluent English.  It is always
extremely difficult for a foreigner to obtain confidential information
in England.

The hall-porter, however, told me that their visitor was well-known to
them, and had frequently stayed there for several months at a time.  He
had, he believed, formerly lived with his invalid mother at Eastbourne.
But the lady had died, and he had then gone to live in bachelor chambers
in London.  From the bureau of the hotel he obtained the address,
scribbled on a bit of paper--an address in Albemarle Street, Piccadilly,
to which letters were sometimes re-directed.

"And he has a friend--a doctor--hasn't he?"  I asked the man.

"Oh, yes, sir.  You mean Doctor Ingram.  He was down here with him the
other day."

Having obtained all the information I could, I telegraphed to Hartwig at
the Savoy Hotel, asking him to make inquiries at Albemarle Street and
then to come to Brighton immediately, for I dared not leave until I
could place my little madcap charge in safe hands.  I knew not into what
mischief she might get so soon as my back was turned.

That afternoon we strolled together across the Lawns, and presently sat
down to listen to the military band.

She looked extremely neat in her dead-black gown, which, by its cut and
material, bore the unmistakable _cachet_ of the Rue de la Paix, and as
we passed up and down I saw many a head turned in her direction in
admiration of her remarkable beauty.  Little did that crowd of seaside
idlers dream that this extremely pretty girl in black who was so much of
a mystery to everybody was a member of the great Imperial House of
Russia.  She was believed to be Miss Gottorp, whose father had been
German and her mother English, both of whom were recently dead.

Seeing her so often walking with me, everyone, of course, put me down as
the lucky man to whom she was engaged to be married, and I have little
doubt that many a young man envied me.  How strange is the world!

When in a tantalising mood she often referred to that popular belief,
and that afternoon, while we rested upon two of the green chairs set
apart from the others on the Lawn, she said:

"I'm quite sure that everybody in Hove is convinced that I am to be Mrs
Trewinnard;" and then, referring to her English maid, she added: "Davey
has heard it half a dozen times already."

I laughed merrily, saying:

"Well, that's only to be expected, I suppose.  But what about Drury--
eh?"

"They don't see very much of Dick.  We only meet at night," she laughed,
poking the grass with her sunshade.

"And that you really must not do in future," I said firmly.

"Then I can go about with him in the daytime--eh?" she asked, looking up
imploringly into my face.

"My dear child," I said, "though I do not approve of it, yet how can I
debar you from any little flirtation, even though the Emperor would, I
know, be extremely angry if it came to his ears?"

"But it won't.  I'm sure it won't, Uncle Colin, through you.  You are
such a funny old dear."

"Well," I said reluctantly, "for my own part I would much prefer that
you invited your gentleman friend to the house, where Miss West could at
least play propriety.  But only now and then--for recollect one fact
always, that you and he can never marry, however fond you may be of each
other.  It is that one single fact which causes me pain."

Her hard gaze was fixed upon the broad expanse of blue sea before her.
I saw how grave she had suddenly become, and that in her great dark eyes
stood unshed tears.

Her chest heaved slowly and fell.  She was filled with emotion which she
bravely repressed.

"Yes," she managed to murmur in a low whisper.

"It is too cruel.  Because--"

"Because what?"  I asked, in a sympathetic voice, bending towards her.

"Ah, don't ask me, Uncle Colin!" she said bitterly, her welling eyes
still fixed blankly upon the sea.  "It is cruel because--because I love
Dick," she whispered in open confession.

"My little friend," I said, "I sympathise with you very deeply.  It is,
I admit, a very bitter truth which I have been compelled to point out.
For that very reason I have been so much against your friendship with
young men.  Drury is in ignorance of your true identity.  He believes
you to be plain Miss Gottorp.  But when I tell him the truth--"

"Ah, no!" she cried.  "You will not tell him--you won't--will you?
Promise me," she urged.  "I must, I know, one day find a way of breaking
the bond of love which exists between us.  When--when--that--time--
comes--then we must part.  But he must never know that I have deceived
him--he must never know that the reason we cannot be more than mere
friends is on account of my Imperial birth.  No," she added bitterly,
"even though I love Dick so dearly and he loves me devotedly, I shall be
compelled to do something purposely in order that his love for me may
die."  Then, sighing deeply, my dainty little companion implored: "You
will therefore promise me, Uncle Colin, that you will never--never,
under any circumstances, breathe a word to him of who I really am?"

I took her trembling hand for a second and gave her my promise.

I confess I felt the deepest sympathy for her, and told her so frankly
and openly as I sat there taking leave of her, for that very evening I
intended to leave Brighton and catch the night mail from Charing Cross
direct for Moscow.

She said but little, but when we had returned to Brunswick Square and I
stood with her at the window of the big drawing-room, she was unable to
control her emotions further and burst into a flood of bitter tears.

In tenderness I placed my hand upon her shoulder, endeavouring to
console her.  Alas!  I fear my words were stilted and very unconvincing.
What could I say, when all the world over royal birth is a bar to love
and happiness, and marriages in Imperial and Royal circles are, for the
most part, loveless, unholy unions.  The Grand Duchess or the royal
Princess loves just as ardently and devotedly as does the free and
flirting work-girl or the tea-and-tennis girl of the middle-classes.
Alas! however, the heart of the Highness is not her own, but at the
disposal of the family council, which discusses her marriage as a purely
business proposition, and sells her, too frequently, to the highest
bidder.

The poor girl, crushed by the hopeless bitterness of the situation,
declared with a sob:

"To be born in the purple, as the outside world calls it, is, alas! to
be born to unhappiness."

I remained there a full half-hour, until she grew calm again.  Never in
all the years I had known her--ever since she was a girl--had I seen her
give way to such a paroxysm of despair.  Usually she was so bright,
buoyant and light-hearted.  But that afternoon she had utterly broken
down and been overcome by blank despair.

"You are young, Natalia," I said, with deep sympathy.  "Enjoy your life
to-day, and do not endeavour to meet the troubles of the future.  As
long as you remain here and are known as Miss Gottorp, so long may your
friendship with young Drury be maintained.  Live for the present--do not
anticipate the future."

I said this because I knew that Time is the greatest healer of broken
hearts.

But she only shook her head very sadly, without replying.

The black marble clock on the mantelshelf chimed six, and I recollected
that Hartwig had wired that he would meet me at the "Metropole" at that
hour.  My train was due to leave for London at seven.  I had already
bidden Miss West adieu.  So I took Natalia's hand, and pressing it
warmly, wished her farewell, promising to regularly report by telegraph
my progress across Siberia, as far as possible.

She struggled to her feet with an effort, and looking full into my face
said in a voice choked by emotion:

"Good-bye, Uncle Colin, I am sorry I cannot betray Marya's secret.  You
are doing this in order to save two innocent women from the horrors of a
living tomb in the Siberian snows--to demand that justice shall be done.
Go.  And may God in His great mercy take you under His protection."

What I replied I can scarcely tell.  My heart was too full for words.
All I know is that a few moments later I turned out of the great wide
square, where the rooks were cawing in the high trees, and hurried along
the wide promenade, where the red sun was setting behind me in the sea.

Hartwig I found at the "Metropole" awaiting me.  He related how he had
called at the flat in Albemarle street, and, by a judicious tip to the
young valet he found there, had learnt that Mr Richard Drury was the
son of old Sir Richard Drury, knight, the great ship-builder of
Greenock, who had built a number of cruisers for the Navy.  He was a
self-made man, who commenced life as a fitter's labourer in a
ship-builder's yard up at Craigandoran on the Clyde--a bluff, hearty man
whose generosity was well-known throughout the kingdom.

"Young Richard, it seems," Hartwig went on, "after leaving Oxford became
a director of the company, and though apparently leading a life of
leisure, yet he takes quite an active part in the direction of the
London office of the firm in Westminster."

He expressed the strongest disapproval when I told him of my intention
to leave for Siberia and instructed him to remain there and to take the
Grand Duchess under his protection until he received definite orders
from the Emperor.

"I certainly don't like the idea of your going to Siberia alone, Mr
Trewinnard," he declared.  "Markoff will know the instant you start, and
I fear that--well, that something may happen."

"It is just as likely to happen here in Brighton, Hartwig, as in
Russia," I replied.

"Well," he said, shrugging his shoulders, "all I advise is that you
exercise the very greatest care.  Why not take my assistant, Petrakoff?
I will give him secret orders to join you at the frontier at
Ekaterinburg--and nobody will know.  It will be best for you to have
company on that long sledge journey."

"If I want him I will telegraph to you from Petersburg," was my reply.

"You will want him," he said, "depend upon it.  If you go alone to
Siberia, Mr Trewinnard," he added very earnestly, "then depend upon it
you will go to your grave!"

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

ORDERS IN CIPHER.

"And pray, Trewinnard, why are you so extremely desirous of following
this woman into exile and speaking with her?" inquired the Emperor in
French, as I sat with him, a week later, in a small, dismal, tapestried
room in the old Castle of Berezov, the Imperial hunting-box on the edge
of the Pinsk Marshes, in the Government of Minsk.

Dressed in a rough shooting-suit of drab Scotch tweed, he sat upon the
edge of the table smoking a cigarette after a hard day after wild boar.

I had driven since dawn from the wayside station of Olevsk, three
hundred miles south of Moscow, where I had arrived tired and famished
from my long night and day journey of a week from Brighton.

On arrival in Moscow I had learnt that His Majesty was hunting at
Berezov, and a telegram prefixed by the word "Bathildis," had at once
been replied to by a command to audience.  Hence I was there, and had
placed my appeal before him.

He was much puzzled.  In his eyes Madame de Rosen was a dangerous
revolutionist who had conspired to kill him, therefore he regarded with
entire disfavour my petition to be allowed to see her.  There was
annoyance written upon his strong features, and by the expression in his
eyes I saw that he was entirely averse to granting my request.

"I am anxious, Sire, to see her upon a purely private matter.  She was a
personal friend," I replied.

"So you told me some time ago, I recollect," he remarked, twisting his
cigarette between his fingers.  "But Markoff has reported that both she
and her daughter are highly dangerous to the security of the State.  He
was speaking of them only the other day."

I bit my lip fiercely.

"Perhaps he may be misinformed," I said coldly.  "As far as I am aware--
and I know both the lady and her daughter Luba intimately--they are most
loyal subjects of Your Majesty."

"Tut," he laughed.  "The evidence put before me was that they actually
financed the attempt in the Nevski.  I had a narrow escape, Trewinnard--
a very narrow one," he added.  "And if you were in my place how would
you, I wonder, treat those scoundrels who attempted to kill you--eh?"

"I have no knowledge of the true facts, Sire," I replied.  "All I
petition Your Majesty is that I may be granted an Imperial permit for
the post-horses, and a personal order from yourself to see and speak
with the prisoners."

He shrugged his shoulders, and thrust his hands deeply in his breeches
pockets.

"You do not tell me the reason you wish to see her," he said with a
frown of displeasure.

"Upon a purely private matter," I said.  "To ask her a question
concerning a very dear friend.  I beg that Your Majesty will not refuse
me this request," I added, deeply in earnest.

"It is a long journey, Trewinnard.  I believe she has been sent beyond
Yakutsk," he remarked.  "But, tell me, were you a very intimate friend
of this woman?  What do you actually know of her?"

"All I know of her," I replied, "is that she is suffering a great wrong,
Your Majesty.  She is in possession of certain information which closely
concerns a friend.  Hence my determination to try, if possible, to amend
matters."

"What--you yourself desire to make amends--eh?"

"Not exactly that, Sire," I replied.  "I wish to learn the truth
concerning--well, concerning a purely private matter.  I think that Your
Majesty is convinced of my loyalty."

"Of course I am, Trewinnard," was his quick reply.  "You have rendered
me many important personal services, not the least being your kindness
in looking after the welfare of that harebrained little flirt Tattie.
By the way, how is she?  As much a tomboy as ever, I suppose?"  And his
big, strong face relaxed into a humorous smile at thought of the girl
who, at her own request, had been banished from Court.

"She is greatly improving," I assured him, with a laugh.  "She and Miss
West are quite comfortable, and I believe enjoying themselves immensely.
Her Highness loves England."

"And so do I," he sighed.  "I only wish I could go to London oftener.
It is to be regretted that my recent visits there have not exactly found
favour with the Council of Ministers."  Then, after a long pause, he
said: "Well, I suppose I must not refuse this request of yours,
Trewinnard.  But I fear you will find your winter journey an extremely
uncomfortable one.  When you are back, come direct to me.  I would like
to hear the result of your observations.  Let me see?  Besides the
permit to use the post-horses, you will require an order to speak with
the prisoner, Marya de Rosen, alone, and an order to the Governor of
Tomsk, who has the register which will show to which settlement she has
been deported."

My heart leaped within me, for at first I had feared refusal.

"As Your Majesty pleases," was my reply, and I added my warmest thanks.

"I'll write them out now," he said; and, turning, he seated himself at
the little escritoire in the corner of the small, old-world room and
commenced to scribble those Imperial decrees which no one within the
Russian Empire would dare to disobey.

While he did so I stood gazing out of the small, deep-set double windows
across a flat dismal landscape, brown with the tints of autumn--the wide
and weedy moat which surrounded the castle, the stretch of grazing-land
and then a belt of dense forest on the skyline--the Imperial game
preserves.

That silent old room, dull, faded and sombre, was just the same as it
had been when Catherine the Great had feted her favourite Potemkin, the
man who for years ruled Russia and who fought so valiantly against the
Turks.  There, in that very room, the Treaty of Jassy, which gave Russia
the littoral between the Bug and the Dniester, had been signed by
Catherine in 1792, and again in that room the Tzar Alexander the First
had received the news of Napoleon's retreat from Moscow.

At that small buhl table whereat the Emperor was now writing out my
permits the Tzar Nicholas had signed the decree taking away the Polish
constitution, and, years later, he had written the final orders to his
ill-fated army fighting against the British in the Crimea.

Somewhere in the stone corridor outside could be heard the measured
tramp of the sentry, but that, and the rapid scratching of the Emperor's
pen, were the only sounds which broke the quiet.

At last he rose and handed me three sheets of foolscap bearing the
Imperial arms--the orders which I sought.

I took them with thanks, but after a moment's hesitation I ventured to
add:

"I wonder if I might request of Your Majesty a further favour?"

"Well," he asked with a smile, "what is it?"

"That my journey to Siberia should be kept a secret from the police?"

"Eh--what?" he asked quickly, looking at me strangely.  "You do not wish
the police to know.  Why?  There is to be no attempted escape, surely?"

"I give Your Majesty my word that Madame de Rosen will not attempt to
escape," I said.  "I will, indeed, make myself responsible for her.  The
fact is that I know I have enemies among the Secret Police; hence I wish
them to remain in entire ignorance of my journey."

"Enemies!" he echoed.  "Who are they?  Tell me, and I will quickly turn
them into your friends," he said.

"Alas, Sire, I do not exactly know their identity," was my reply.

"Very well," he replied at last, selecting another cigarette from the
big golden box upon the table, "I will say nothing--if you so desire.
But, remember, you have made yourself responsible for the woman."

"I willingly accept the responsibility," I replied.  "But, Your Majesty,
there is another matter.  I would suggest that Hartwig be detailed to
remain with Her Highness the Grand Duchess Natalia at Brighton until my
return.  He is there at present, awaiting Your Majesty's orders."

At my words he rang a bell, and Calitzine, his private secretary,
appeared, bowing.

"Send a telegram at once to Hartwig.  Where is he?" he asked, turning to
me.

"At the Hotel Metropole, Brighton," I said.

"Telegraph to him in cipher that I order him to remain with Natalia
until further orders."

"Very well, Your Majesty," replied the trusted official, bowing.

"And another thing," exclaimed the Emperor.  "Telegraph, also in cipher,
to all Governors of Siberian provinces that Mr Colin Trewinnard, of
London, is our guest during his journey across Siberia, and is to be
treated as such by all authorities."

"But pardon me, Your Majesty," I ventured to interrupt, "would not that
make it plain to those persons in Petersburg of whom I spoke a moment
ago."

"Ah!  I forgot," said the Emperor.  "Write the telegram, and send a
confidential courier with it to Tiumen, across the Siberian frontier.
He will despatch it from there, and it will then only go over the
Asiatic wires."

"I fear, Your Majesty, that a courier could not reach Omsk under six or
seven days, travelling incessantly," remarked the secretary.

"In seven days will be sufficient time.  Both messages are
confidential."

And he dismissed Calitzine with a wave of his hand, the secretary
backing out of the presence of his Imperial master.

When the door had closed the tall, muscular man before me placed his
hands behind his back and slowly paced the room, saying:

"Well, Trewinnard, I must wish you a safe journey.  If you find yourself
in any difficulty, communicate direct with me.  I must admit that I
can't quite understand the object of this rather quixotic journey of
yours--to see a female prisoner.  I strongly suspect that you are in
love with her--eh?" and he smiled knowingly.

"No, Sire," I replied, "I am not.  On my return I hope to be able to
show Your Majesty that I have been actuated by motives of humanity and
justice--I hope, indeed, perhaps even to receive Your Majesty's
commendation."

"Ah! you are too mysterious for me," he laughed.  "Are you leaving at
once?  Or will you remain here, in the castle, until to-morrow?"

"I am greatly honoured and appreciate Your Majesty's hospitality," I
said.  "But I have horses ready, and I am driving back to the railway at
Olevsk to-night."

"Very well, then," he said with a smile.  "Good-bye, and be back again
in Petersburg as soon as ever you can."

And he stretched forth his big sinewy hand and gave me such a hearty
grip that I was compelled to wince.

I was backing towards the door, when it opened and the chamberlain
Polivanoff, standing upon the threshold, announced:

"General Markoff begs audience of Your Majesty."

"Ah!  Let him come in," the Emperor replied, smiling.

The next moment I found myself face to face with the man whom I knew to
be Natalia's worst enemy and mine--that bloated, grey-faced man in
military uniform, through whose instrumentality no fewer than ten
thousand persons were annually being exiled to the Siberian wastes.

We met just beyond the threshold.

"Ah! my dear M'sieur Trewinnard!" he cried, raising his grey brows in
evident surprise at meeting me there.  "I thought you were in England.
And how is your interesting young charge?"

"She is very well, I believe," was my cold reply.

I passed on, while he, crossing the threshold into the Imperial
presence, bowed low, cringing before the monarch whom he daily
terrorised, and yet who believed him to be the guardian of the dynasty.

"Ah!  I am so glad you have come, Markoff!"  I heard the Emperor exclaim
as he entered.  "I have several pressing matters to discuss with you."

I passed the two sentries, who presented arms, and followed Colonel
Polivanoff along the corridor, full of gravest apprehension.

Ill fortune had dogged my footsteps.  Markoff had seen me there.  He
would naturally inquire of the Emperor the reason of my audience.

His Majesty might tell him.

If so, what then?

CHAPTER TWENTY.

THE LAND OF NO RETURN.

The day had been grey and dispiriting, the open windswept landscape a
great limitless expanse of newly-fallen snow of dazzling whiteness--the
same cheerless wintry tundra over which I had been travelling by sledge
for the past four weary weeks to that everlasting jingle of
harness-bells.

My companion, the police-agent Petrakoff, a smart, alert young man,
wrapped to the tip of his nose in reindeer furs, was asleep by my side;
and I, too, had been dozing, worn out by that fifteen hundred miles of
road since leaving the railway at Ekaterinburg.

Suddenly I was awakened by Vasilli, our yamshick, a burly, bearded,
unkempt ruffian in shabby furs, who, pointing with his whip to the grey
far-off horizon, shouted:

"Tomsk!  Tomsk!  Look, Excellency!"

Straining my tired eyes, I discerned upon the far skyline a quantity of
low, snow-covered, wood-built houses from which rose the pointed cupolas
of several churches.

Yonder was the end of the first stage of my long journey.  So I awoke
Petrakoff, and for the next half-hour we sat with eyes fixed eagerly
upon our goal, where we hoped to revel in the luxury of a hotel after a
month of those filthy stancias or povarnias, the vermin-infested rests
for travellers on the Great Post Road of Siberia.

The first sod of the great Trans-Siberian railway had already been cut
by the Tzarevitch at Tcheliabyisk, but no portion of the line was at
that time complete.  Therefore all traffic across Asia, both travellers
and merchandise, including the tea-caravans from China, passed along
that great highway, the longest in the world.

Six weeks had elapsed since I had left the Emperor's presence, and I had
accomplished by rail and road a distance of two thousand four hundred
miles.

Since I had left the railway at Ekaterinburg I had only rested for a
single night on two occasions, at Tiumen and at Tobolsk.

At the former place I made my first acquaintance with the inhuman exile
system, for moored in the river Obi I saw several of those enormous
floating gaols, in which the victims of Russia's true oppressor were
transported _en route_ to the penal settlements of the Far East--great
double-decked barges, three hundred feet long, with a lower hold below
the main deck.  Along two-thirds of the barge's length ran an iron cage,
reaching from the lower to the upper deck-cover, and having the
appearance of a great two-storied tiger's cage.  Eight of them were
moored alongside the landing-stage.  Five of them were crowded by
wretched prisoners, each barge containing from four to five hundred
persons of both sexes and the Cossack guards--a terrible sight indeed.

Provided as I was with an Imperial permit and a doubly-stamped
road-passport that directed all keepers of post-stations to provide me
with the mail horses, and give me the right of way on the Post Road, I
had set forth again after a day's rest towards Tobolsk.

The first snow had fallen on the third day after leaving Tiumen, and the
country, covered by its white mantle, presented always a dreary aspect,
rendered drearier and more dispiriting by the gangs of wretched exiles
which we constantly overtook.

Men, women, and children in companies from a hundred to three hundred,
having left the barges, were marching forward to that far-off bourne
whence none would ever return.  They, indeed, presented a woeful
spectacle, mostly of the criminal classes, all their heads being half,
or clean-shaven.  The majority of the men were in chains, and many were
linked together.  Not a few of the women marched among the men as
prisoners, while the rest trudged along into voluntary exile, holding
the hands of their husbands, brothers, lovers or children.  Some of the
sick, aged and young were in springless carts, but all the others toiled
onward through the snow like droves of cattle, bent to the icy blast, a
grey-clad, silent crowd, guarded by a dozen Cossacks, with an officer
taking his ease in a tarantass in the rear.

Once we met a family of Jews--husband, wife and two children--in a
tarantass, with a Cossack with bayonet fixed alongside.  We stopped to
change horses with them, as we were then midway between post-stations.
The man, a bright, intelligent, middle-aged fellow, addressed us in
French, and said he had been a wealthy fur merchant in Nijni Novgorod,
but was exiled to the Yenisei country simply because he was a Jew.  His
eyes were clouded with regret at the bitter consciousness of his
captivity.  Four thousand of his townsmen had, he said, emigrated to
England and America, and then pointing to his pretty, delicate wife and
two chubby children, the tears rolled down his cheeks, as he faltered
out: "Siberie!"  Poor fellow!

That word had all the import of a hell to many--many more than him.

The distance between relays on the Great Post Road was, we found, from
sixteen to thirty versts, and the speed of fresh horses about ten versts
an hour.

Vasilli, the ugly bearded yamshick who had lost one eye, we had engaged
in Tiumen, and he had contracted to drive me during the whole of my
journey.  He was a sullen fellow, who said little, but on finding that I
was travelling with an Imperial permit, his chief delight was to hustle
up the master of each post-station and threaten to report to the
Governor of the province if I, the Excellency, were kept waiting for a
single instant.

Usually, changing operations at the stations occupied anything from
forty minutes to two hours, according to the temper or trickishness of
the post-horse keeper and his grooms, for they were about the meanest
set of knaves and rogues on the face of Asia.  Yet sight of my permit
caused them all to tremble and cringe and hustle, and I certainly could
not complain of any undue delay.

We had set out in a tarantass from Tiumen--the town from which the
Imperial courier had despatched the order to the various Governors--but
as soon as the snow came I purchased a big sledge, and in this we
managed to travel with far greater comfort over the snow than by cart
over the deeply-rutted road.

None can know the terrible monotony of Siberian travel save those who
have endured it.

Nowadays one can cover Siberia from the frontier to far Vladivostock in
fifteen days in a luxurious drawing-room car, with restaurant and
sleeping-berth, a bath-room and a piano, the line running for the most
part near the Old Post Road.  But leave the railway and strike north or
south, and the same terrible greyness and monotony will grip your senses
and depress you as perhaps no other journey in the world can do.

It was dusk when at last we sped, our runners hissing over the frozen
snow, into the wood-built town of Tomsk, and alighted at the Hotel
Million, a dismal place with corridors long and dark, and bedroom doors
fastened by big iron padlocks and hasps!  The full-bearded proprietor
wandered along with an enormous bunch of keys, opening the doors and
exhibiting his uninviting apartments; and at first I actually believed
that Vasilli had mistaken my order and driven to a Siberian prison
instead of conducting me to a hotel.

Upstairs, however, the rooms were much better.  But there were no
washing arrangements whatever, or mattresses or bedding; for every
traveller in Siberia is expected to carry his own pillows and
bedclothes.  Here, however, we put up and ate our evening meal in true
Siberian style--a single tough beefsteak--simply that and nothing more.

Afterwards I drove through the snowy, unlighted streets to the
Governor's palace, a long, log-built place, and on giving my name to the
Cossack sentry at the door he at once saluted.  Apparently he had been
warned of my coming.  So had the servants, for with much bowing and
grave ceremony I was shown along a corridor lit by petroleum lamps to a
small reception-room at the farther end.

The furniture was of the cheap, gaudy character which in England would
speak mutely of the hire-system.  But it had, no doubt, come from
Petersburg at enormous cost of transit, and was perhaps the best and
most luxurious furniture--it was covered with red embossed velvet--in
all Siberia.

Scarcely was I afforded time to look round the close, overheated place
with its treble windows, when General Tschernaieff, a rather short,
white-haired, pleasant-featured man in a green uniform, with the Cross
of St Anne at his throat, entered, greeting me warmly and expressing a
hope that I had had a pleasant journey.

"I received word of your coming.  Mr Trewinnard, some weeks ago," His
Excellency said rather pompously.  "I am commanded to treat you as a
guest of my Imperial Master.  Therefore you will, I hope, be my guest
here in the palace."

I told him that I already had quarters at the Hotel Million, whereupon
he laughed, saying:

"I fear that you will find it very rough and uncouth after hotels in
Petersburg or in your own London."

I replied that as a constant traveller, and one who had knocked about in
all corners of the world, I was used to roughing it.  Then, after he had
offered me a cigarette, and a lean manservant, who, I afterwards
learned, was an ex-convict, had brought us each a glass of champagne, I
explained to him the object of my visit.

"Madame Marya de Rosen and her daughter Luba de Rosen, politicals,"
repeated His Excellency, as though speaking to himself.  "Of course,
sir, as you know, all prisoners, both criminal or political, pass
through the forwarding-prison here.  It is myself who decides to which
settlement they shall be sent.  But--well, there are so many that the
Chief of the Police puts the lists before me and I sign them away to
Nerchinsk, to Yakutsk, to Sredne Kolimsk, to Verkhoiansk, to Udinsk, or
wherever it may be.  Their names, I fear, I never notice.  I have sent
some politicals recently up to Parotovsk, fifty versts north of Yakutsk.
The two prisoners may have been among them."

"Here, I suppose, they lose their identity, do they not?"  I asked,
looking at the white-headed official who governed that great Asiatic
province.  He was sixty-five, he had told me, and had served
twenty-seven years in Siberia.

"Yes.  Only across the road in the archives of the forwarding-prison are
their names kept.  When they leave Tomsk they are known in future--until
their death, indeed--only by a registered number."

Then, rising, the white-headed Governor rang a bell, and on his
secretary, a young Cossack captain, entering, he gave him certain
instructions to go across to the prison and obtain the registers of
prisoners during the previous month.

Afterwards, he stretched himself out in his long chair, smoking and
asking me questions concerning myself and the object of my journey.

As soon as he learned that I was a British diplomat and personal friend
of His Majesty, his manner became much more cordial, and he declared
himself ready to do everything in his power to bring my mission to a
successful issue.

Presently the secretary returned, carrying two large registers and
accompanied by a tall, dark-bearded man in uniform and wearing a
decoration, who I learned was the governor of the prison.

He saluted His Excellency on entering the room, and said in Russian:

"Your Excellency is, I believe, inquiring regarding the prisoner Marya
de Rosen, widow, of Petersburg, deported by administrative order?"

"Yes," said the General.  "Where has she been sent, and what is her
number?"

"She was the woman about whom we received special instructions from the
Ministry of Police in Petersburg, Your Excellency will remember,"
replied the prison governor.

"Special instructions!"  I echoed, interrupting.  "What were they?"

But His Excellency, after a moment's reflection, said: "Ah!  I now
remember!  Of course.  There was a note upon the papers in General
Markoff's own handwriting to the effect that she was a dangerous
person."

"Yes.  She was one of those when your Excellency sent to Parotovsk,"
remarked the prison governor.

"To Parotovsk!"  I echoed.  "That is beyond Yakutsk--two thousand five
hundred miles from here--far in the north, and one of the most dreaded
of all the settlements!"

"All penal settlements are dreaded, I fear," remarked His Excellency,
blowing the cigarette smoke from his lips.  Then, turning to the prison
governor, he inquired under what number the prisoner was registered.

On referring to one of the books the officer declared Madame to be now
known as "Number 14956" and her daughter as "Number 14957."

I took a note of the numbers, protesting to His Excellency:

"But to compel delicate ladies to walk that great distance in the winter
is surely a sentence of death!"

"And if the politicals die, the State has fewer responsibilities," he
remarked.  "As you see, we have received notification from Petersburg
that your lady friend was a dangerous person.  Now, of dangerous persons
we take very special care."  Then, turning to the prison governor, he
asked: "How did they go?"

"By tarantass.  Excellency.  They were in too weak a state to walk,
especially the elder prisoner.  I doubt, indeed, if ever they will reach
Parotovsk."

"And if they don't it will perhaps be the better for both of them," His
Excellency remarked with a sigh, rising and casting his cigarette-end
into the pan of the round iron stove.  He was a stiff, unbending
official and ruled the province with a ruthless hand, but at heart he
often evinced sympathy with the female exiles.

"Were they very ill?"  I inquired quickly of the prison governor.

"They were very exhausted and complained to me of ill-treatment by their
guards," he answered.  "But if we investigated every complaint we should
have more than sufficient to do."

"How long ago did they leave here?"

"About two months," was the man's reply.  "The elder prisoner implored
to be sent to the Trans-Baikal, where the climate is not so rigorous as
in the north, and this would probably have been done had it not been for
the special memorandum of His Excellency General Markoff."

"Then he suggested her being sent to the Yakutsk settlement--in fact, to
her death--eh?"  I asked.

His Excellency replied:

"That seems so.  The prisoners have already been on their way two
months, at first by tarantass and now, no doubt, by sled.  There were
fifteen others, nine men and six women--all dangerous politicals, I
see," he added, glancing at the order which he had signed and was now
produced by the prison governor.  "If it is your intention to travel and
overtake them, then I fear your journey will be futile."

"Why?"  I asked.

"Because I expect that long before you reach them their dead bodies will
have been left upon the road," replied His Excellency.  "Politicals who
die here in Siberia, and especially those marked as dangerous, are not
mourned, I assure you."

"There was, if I remember aright, a telegram to Your Excellency from
General Markoff regarding prisoners of that name only three days ago,"
remarked the Cossack captain.  "It inquired whether you knew if Madame
de Rosen were still alive."

"Ah, yes, I remember.  And I replied that I had no knowledge," the
General said.

I was silent.  My heart stood still.

By the fact of that telegraphic inquiry I knew that Markoff was, as I
feared, aware of my journey.  He would most certainly prevent my
overtaking her--or, if not, he would, no doubt, contrive to seal her
lips by death ere I could reach her.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

HOT HASTE ACROSS ASIA.

I resolved to push forward in all haste and at all hazards.  I lost no
time.

With only forty-eight hours' stay at the wretched Hotel Million in Tomsk
we went forth again, our faces set ever eastward on that wide, straight
road which first runs direct for a hundred miles to Marinsk, a poor,
log-built place with a dirty verminous post-station and an old
postmaster who, when I presented my Imperial permit, sank upon his knees
before me.  Fortunately the mail was two days behind me, hence, at every
stancia I was able to obtain the best horses, though it seemed part of
Vasilli's creed to curse and grumble at everything.

With the snow falling continuously our journey was not so rapid as it
had been to Tomsk.  Winter had now set in with a vengeance, although it
still wanted a few days to the English Christmas.  Yet the journey from
Marinsk to Krasnoyarsk, two hundred miles, was one of wondrous beauty.
It was cold, horribly cold.  Often I sat beside the sleepy Petrakoff
cramped and shivering, even in my furs.

But those deep, dark woods, with their little glimpses of blue sky; the
dashing and jingling along under the low-reaching arms of the evergreen
trees, league after league of the forest bowed down to the very earth
and in places prostrated with its white weight of snow, the weird ride
over hill and mountain, skirting ravine and precipice, the breaks along
and across the numerous watercourses, over rude bridges or along deep
gullies where rough wooden guards protect the sleds from disaster--with
this quick succession of scenery, wild and strange, was I kept
constantly awake and charmed.

At the stancias we met the travelling merchants from the Far East and
from China with their long train of goods hauled in sleds or packed on
the backs of horses.  Five _pood_, we found, was the regulation load,
and all packages were put up in drums bound with raw hide and so
strapped that they could easily be transported by the pack-horse, which
carried half a load on either side of a saddle-tree prepared for the
purpose.

But those stancias were filthy, overcrowded, evil-smelling places,
wherein one laid in one's sleeping-bags upon a bench amid a crowd of
unwashed, vodka-drinking humanity in damp, noxious sheep-skins.

Fortunately the moon was at that moment nearly full, and often at night
I went forth alone to smoke, sometimes with the snowy plain stretched on
every hand about me, and at others with gigantic peaks lifting their
hoary heads far into the blue night vault of heaven; silent, frigid,
white.  Ah! what grandeur!  I rejoiced that it was night, when I could
smoke and ponder.  So cold and still was it that those snowy summits,
bathed in the silver radiance of the Siberian moon, filled me with awe
such as I had never before experienced.

Yes, those were wonderful nights which will live for ever in my memory--
nights when my thoughts wandered far away to the gay promenade at Hove,
wondering how fared the little madcap, and whether her peril were real
or only imaginary.

Ever obsessed by the knowledge that Markoff was aware of my journey, and
would endeavour to prevent its successful issue, I existed in constant
anxiety and dread lest some prearranged disaster might befall Madame de
Rosen ere I could reach her.

Siberia is, alas! the country where, as the exiles say: "God is nigh,
and the Tzar is far away."

Thus, after three weeks more of hard travelling, I passed through the
big, straggling, snow-covered town of Krasnoyarsk, and arrived at the
wretchedly dirty stancia of Tulunovsk, where the road to Yakutsk--
distant nearly two thousand miles--branches to the north from the Great
Post Road, up the desolate valley of the Lena.

We arrived in Tulunovsk in the afternoon, and, having sent a telegram to
Her Highness from Krasnoyarsk, eight days before, I was delighted to
receive a charming little message assuring me that she was quite well
and wishing me a continuance of good fortune on my journey.

Since I had left Tomsk no traveller had overtaken me.  At Tulunovsk we
found a party of politicals, about sixty men and women, in the
roughly-constructed prison rest-house, being permitted a few days'
respite upon their long and weary march.

Already they had been six months on the road, and were in a terrible
condition, almost in rags, and most of them so weak that death would no
doubt have been welcome.

And these poor creatures were nearly all of them victims of the bogus
plots of His Excellency General Markoff.

To the Cossack captain in charge of the convoy I made myself known, and
after taking tea with him I was permitted to go among the party and chat
with them.

One tall, thin-faced man, whose hair was prematurely grey, begged me to
send a message back to his wife in Tver.  He spoke French well, and told
me his name was Epatchieff, and that he had been a doctor in practice in
the town of Tver, between Moscow and Petersburg.

"I am entirely ignorant of the reason I was arrested, m'sieur," he
declared, hitching his ragged coat about him.  "I have not committed any
crime, or even belonged to any secret society.  Perhaps the only offence
was my marrying the woman I loved.  Who knows?" and the sad-eyed man,
whose life held more of sorrow in it than most men, went on to say:

"I had been attending the little daughter of the local chief of the
police for a week, but she had recovered so far that I did not consider
a further visit was necessary.  One morning, six months ago, I was
surprised to receive a visit from the police officer's Cossack, who
demanded my presence at once at the house of his master, as the child
had been seized with another attack.  I told him I would go after
breakfast as the matter was serious.  But the Cossack insisted that I
should go at once, so I agreed and went forth.  Outside, the Cossack
told me that I must first go to the police office, and, of course, I
went wonderingly, never dreaming for a moment that anything was wrong.
So I was ushered into the office, where the chief of police told me that
I was a prisoner.  `A body of exiles are ready to start for Siberia,'
said the heartless brute, `and you will go with them.'  I laughed--it
was a good joke, but the chief of police assured me that it was a solemn
fact.  I was completely dumbfounded.  I begged for a delay in my
transportation.  Why was I deprived of my liberty?  Who was my accuser?
What was the accusation?  But I got no answer save `administrative
order.'

"I begged to be allowed to revisit my house under guard, to procure
necessary articles of clothing--to say farewell to my young wife.  But
the scoundrel denied me everything.  I waited in anguish, but they
placed me in solitary confinement to await the departure of the convoy,
and in six hours I was on my way here--to this living tomb!"

Of course the poor fellow was half crazed.  What would become of his
young wife--what would she think of him?  A thousand thoughts and
suspicions racked his mind, and he had already lived through an age of
torture, as his whitening head plainly showed.

At my suggestion he wrote a letter to his wife informing her of his
fate, and using my authority as guest of His Imperial Majesty I took it,
and, in due course, posted it back to Russia.

Not until three years afterwards did I learn the tragic sequel.  The
poor young lady received my letter, and as quickly as she could set out
to join him in his exile.  With womanly wit she managed to apprise him
of her coming and a light broke in upon his grief.  He had been sent to
Irkutsk, and daily, hourly he looked and longed for her.  Yet just as he
knew she must arrive, he was suddenly sent far away to the most
northerly Arctic settlement of Sredne Kolimsk.

The poor young lady, filled with sweet sympathy and expectation, hoping
to find him in Irkutsk, arrived there a fortnight too late.  Imagine her
anguish when, having travelled over four thousand miles of the worst
country on the fact; of the world, she learned the cruel news.  Still
three thousand miles distant!  But she set out to find him.  Alas!
however, it was too much for her.  She lost her reason, raved for a
little while under restraint and died at the roadside.

Is it any wonder that there were in Russia real revolutionists,
revolting not against their Tzar, but against the inhuman system of the
camarilla?

Petrakoff and I spent a sleepless night in that rat-eaten post-house
where the food was bad, and our beds consisted only of a wooden bench.
We had as companions half a dozen drivers, who had come with a big
tea-caravan from China, ragged, unwashed, uncouth fellows in
evil-smelling furs.

Indeed the air was so thick and intolerable that at two o'clock in the
morning I took my sleeping-bag outside and lay in the sled, in
preference to staying in that vermin-infested hut.

Next morning, the twenty-second of January, I signed the postmaster's
book as soon as it grew light, and with three fresh horses approved of
by Vasilli, we were away, leaving the Great Post Road and striking north
along the Lena.

From that moment we entered an uninhabited country, the snowy dreariness
of which was indescribable, and as day succeeded day and we pushed
further north the climate became more rigorous, until it was no unusual
thing to have great icicles hanging from one's moustache.

One day, a week after leaving Tulunovsk, we passed through an entirely
deserted village of low-built huts.  I asked Vasilli the reason that no
one lived there.

"This is a bad place, Excellency," was the fellow's reply.  "All the
people died of smallpox six months ago."

And so we went on and on, and ever onward.  Sometimes we would travel
the whole twenty-four hours rather than rest in those horrible
post-houses, and on such journeys we often covered one hundred and
twenty to one hundred and forty versts, changing horses every twenty to
thirty versts.

We covered seven hundred and fifty miles to Dubrovsk in sixteen days,
and here, at the post-house, we met a party of Cossacks coming south
after taking a convoy of prisoners to Olekminsk--half-way between
Dubrovsk and Yakutsk--and handing them over to the guard sent south to
meet them.

While taking our evening tea I chatted with the Cossack captain, a big,
muscular giant in knee-boots who sat with his legs outstretched on the
dirty floor, leaning his back against the high brick stove.

I was making inquiries regarding the prisoners he had recently brought
up, whereupon he said:

"They were a batch of politicals from Tomsk.  Poor devils, they've been
sent to Parotovsk--and there's smallpox there.  I suppose General
Tschernaieff has sent them there on purpose that they shall become
infected and die.  Politicals are often sent into an infected
settlement."

"To Parotovsk!"  I gasped, for it suddenly occurred to me that the woman
of whom I was in search might be of that party!

And then I breathlessly inquired if Madame de Rosen, Political Number
14956, had been with them.

"She and her daughter were ill, and were allowed a sled," I added.

"There were two ladies, Excellency, mother and daughter.  One was about
forty, and the other about eighteen.  They came from Petersburg, and
were, I believe, well connected and moved in the best society."

"You do not know their names?"  I asked anxiously.

"Unfortunately, no," was his reply.  "Only the numbers.  I believe the
lady's number was that which you mentioned.  She was registered,
however, as a dangerous person."

"No doubt the same!"  I cried.  "How is she?"

"When they left Olekminsk she was very weak and ill," he replied.
"Indeed, I recollect remarking to my lieutenant that I feared she would
never reach Yakutsk."

"How far are they ahead of us?"  I inquired eagerly.  The bearded man
reflected for some minutes, making mental calculations.  "They left
Olekminsk a fortnight ago, therefore by this they should be nearing
Yakutsk."

"And how long will it take me to reach Yakutsk?"  I asked.

He again made a calculation and at last replied:

"By travelling hard, Excellency, you should reach Yakutsk, I think, in
twenty-five to twenty-seven days.  It would be impossible before, I
fear, owing to the heavy snowdrifts and the bad state of the roads."

"Twenty-seven days!"  I echoed.  "And before I can reach there the
ladies will already be inmates of that infected settlement of
Parotovsk--the place to which they have been sent to sicken and die!"

"She was marked as `dangerous,' Excellency.  She would therefore be sent
north at once, without a doubt.  Persons marked as `dangerous' are never
permitted to remain in Yakutsk."

Could I reach her in time?  Could I save her?

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

IN THE NIGHT.

From that day and through twenty-two other dark, weary days of the black
frosts of mid-winter, we travelled onward, ever onward.  Sometimes we
crossed the limitless snow-covered tundra, sometimes we went down into
the deep valley of the frozen Lena river, changing horses every thirty
versts and signing the post-horse keeper's greasy road-book.

At every stage I produced my Imperial permit, and at almost every
station the ignorant peasant who kept it fell upon his knees in deep
obeisance to the guest of the great Tzar.

We were now, however, off the main road, for this highway to the far-off
Arctic settlements, used almost solely by the convict convoys, ran for a
thousand miles through a practically uninhabited country, the only sign
of civilisation being the never-ending telegraph-line which we followed,
and the lonely post-stations half-buried in the snow.

Ah! those long, anxious days of icy blasts and whirling snow blizzards.
My companion and I, wrapped to our eyes in furs, sat side by side often
dozing for hours, our ears tired of that irritating jingle of the
sled-bells, our limbs cramped and benumbed, and often ravenously hungry,
for the rough fare at the post-house was very frequently uneatable.

For six dark days we met not a single soul upon the road, save a party
of Cossacks coming south.  But from them I could obtain no news of the
last batch of "politicals" who had travelled north, and whom we were
following in such hot haste.

Again I telegraphed to Hartwig in Brighton, telling him of my
whereabouts, and obtaining a reply from him that Her Highness was still
well and sent me her best wishes.

That in itself was reassuring.

Hard travel and bad food told, I think, upon both of us.  Petrakoff
dearly wished himself back in his beloved Petersburg again.  Yet our
one-eyed half-Tartar driver seemed quite unconscious of either cold or
fatigue.  The strain of driving so continuously--sometimes for twenty
hours out of the twenty-four--must have been terrible.  But he was ever
imperious in his dealings at post-stations, ever loud in his commands to
the cringing owners of those log-built huts to bring out their best trio
of horses, ever yelling to the fur-clad grooms not to keep His
Excellency waiting on pain of terrible punishment.

Thus through those short, dark winter days, and often through the long,
steely nights, ever following those countless telegraph-poles, we went
on--ever onward--until we found ourselves in a small wretched little
place of log-built houses called Olekminsk.  Upon my travelling map, as
indeed upon every map of Siberia, it is represented in capitals as an
important place.  So I expected to find at least a town--perhaps even a
hotel.  Instead, I discovered it to be a mere wretched hamlet, with a
post-house, and a wood-built prison for the reception of "politicals."

We arrived at midnight.  In the common room of the post-house, around
which earth and snow had been banked to keep out the cold, was a high
brick stove, and around the walls benches whereon a dozen wayfarers like
ourselves were wrapped in their evil-smelling furs, and sleeping.  The
odour as I entered the place was foetid; the dirt indescribable.  One
shaggy peasant, in heavy top-boots and fur coat, had imbibed too much
vodka, and had become hilarious, whereat one of the sleepers, suddenly
awakened, threw a top-boot at him across the room, narrowly missing my
head.

The post-house keeper, as soon as he saw my permit, sent a man to the
local chief of police, a stout, middle-aged man, who appeared on the
scene in his hastily-donned uniform and who invited me to his house
close by.  There I questioned him regarding the political prisoners,
"Numbers 14956 and 14957."

Having read my permits--at which he was visibly impressed when he saw
the signature of the Emperor himself--he hastened to obtain his
register.  Presently he said:

"The two ladies you mention have passed through this prison, Excellency.
I see a note that both are dangerous `politicals,' and that the elder
lady was rather weak.  Judging from the time when they left, they are, I
should say, already in Yakutsk--or even beyond."

"From what is she suffering?"  I asked eagerly.

"Ah!  Excellency, I cannot tell that," was his reply.  "All I know is
that the captain of Cossacks who came down from Yakutsk to meet the
convoy considered that being a dangerous political, she was sufficiently
well to walk with the others.  So she has gone on foot the remainder of
the journey.  She arrived her in a sled."

"On foot!"  I echoed.  "But she is ill--dying, I was told."

The chief of police shrugged his shoulders and said with a sigh:

"I fear.  Excellency, that the lady was somewhat unfortunate.  That
particular captain is not a very humane person--particularly where a
dangerous prisoner is concerned."

"Then to be marked as `dangerous' means that the prisoner is to be
treated with brutality--eh?"  I cried.  "Is that Russian justice?"

"We do not administer justice here in Siberia, Excellency," was the
man's quiet reply.  "They do that in Petersburg."

"But surely it is a scandal to put a sick woman on the road and compel
her to walk four hundred miles in this weather," I cried angrily.

"Alas!  That is not my affair," replied the man.  "I am merely chief of
police of this district and governor of the _etape_.  The captain of
Cossacks has entire charge of the prisoners on their journey."

What he had told me maddened me.  In all that I heard I could plainly
detect the sinister hand of General Markoff.

Indeed, when I carefully questioned this official, I felt convinced that
the captain in question had received instructions direct from Petersburg
regarding Madame de Rosen.  The chief of police admitted to me that to
the papers concerning the prisoners there had been attached a special
memorandum from Petersburg concerning Madame and her daughter.

I smoked a cigarette with him and drank a cup of tea--China tea served
with lemon.  Then I was shown to a rather poorly-furnished but clean
bedroom on the ground floor, where I turned in.

But no sleep came to my eyes.  Such hard travelling through all those
weeks had shattered my nerves.

While the bright northern moon streamed in through the uncurtained
window, I lay on my back, pondering.  I reflected upon all the past, the
terrible fate of Madame and her daughter, the strange secret she
evidently held, and the peril of the Emperor himself, so helpless in the
hands of that circle of unscrupulous sycophants, and, further, of my
little madcap friend, so prone to flirtation, the irrepressible Grand
Duchess Natalia.

I reviewed all the exciting events of those many months which had
elapsed since the last Court ball of the season at Petersburg--events
which I have attempted to set down in the foregoing pages--and I was
held in fear that my long journey might be in vain--that ere I could
catch up with the poor wretched woman who, though ill, had been
compelled to perform that last and most arduous stage of the journey
through the snow, she would, alas! be no longer alive.  The vengeance of
her enemy Markoff would have fallen upon her.

A sense of indescribable oppression, combined with the hot closeness of
the room, stifled me.  For hours I lay awake, the moonlight falling full
upon my head.  At last, however, I must have dropped off to sleep,
fagged out after twenty hours of those jingling bells and hissing of the
sled-runners over the frozen snow.

A sense of coldness awakened me, and opening my eyes I saw, to my
surprise, though the room was practically in darkness with only the
reflected light of the snow, that the small treble window stood open.
It had certainly been tightly closed when I had entered there.

I raised my eyes to peer into the darkness for the atmosphere, which
when I had gone to sleep was stifling on account of the iron stove, was
now at zero.  Suddenly I caught sight of a dark figure moving
noiselessly near where I lay.  A thief had entered by the window!  He
seemed to be searching the pockets of my coat, which I had flung
carelessly upon a chair.  Surely he was a daring thief to thus enter the
house of the chief of police!  But in Siberia there are many escaped
convicts roaming about the woods.  They are called "cuckoos," on account
of their increase in the spring and their return to the prisons when
starved out in winter.

A "cuckoo" is always a criminal and always desperate.  He must have
money and food, and he dare not go near a village, as there is a price
on his head.  Therefore, he will not hesitate to murder a lonely
traveller if by so doing he thinks he can secure a passport which will
permit him to leave Siberia and re-enter European Russia, back to
freedom.  Some Siberian roads are in summer infested with such gentry,
but winter always drives them back to the towns, and consequently into
prison again.  Only a very few manage to survive the rigours of the
black frosts of the Siberian winter.

Rather more amused than alarmed, I lay watching the dark figure engaged
in rifling my pockets.  I was contemplating the best method by which to
secure him and hand him over to the mercies of my host.  A sudden
thought struck me.  Unfortunately, being guest in the house of the chief
of police I had left my revolver in the sled.  I never slept at a
post-house without it.  But that night I was unarmed.

Those moments of watching seemed hours.  The man, whoever he was, was
tall and slim, though of course I could not see his face.  I held my
breath.  He was securing my papers and my money!  Yet he did it all so
very leisurely that I could not help admiring his pluck and confounded
coolness.

I hesitated a few seconds and then at last I summoned courage to act.  I
resolved to suddenly spring up and throw myself upon him, so that he
would be prevented from jumping out of the window with my property.

But while I was thus making up my mind how to act, the mysterious man
suddenly left the chair where my coat had been lying, and turning, came
straight towards me, advancing slowly on tip-toe.  Apparently he was not
desirous of rousing me.

Once again I waited my opportunity to spring upon him, for he
fortunately was not yet aware that I was awake and watching him.

I held my breath, lying perfectly motionless, for, advancing to me, he
bent over as though to make absolutely certain that I slept.  I tried to
distinguish his face, but in the shadow that was impossible.

I could hear my own heart beating.

He seemed to be peering down at me, as though in curiosity, and I was
wondering what could be his intentions, now that he had secured both my
money and my papers.

Suddenly ere I could anticipate his intention, his hand was uplifted,
and falling, struck me a heavy blow in the side of the neck just beneath
the left jaw.

Instantly I felt a sharp burning pain and a sensation as of the running
of warm liquid over my shoulders.

Then I knew that the fluid was blood!

I had been stabbed in the side of the throat!

I shrieked, and tried to spring fiercely upon my assailant, but he was
too quick for me.

My eager hand grasped his arm, but he wrenched himself free, and next
instant had vaulted lightly through the open window and had disappeared.

And as for myself, I gave vent to a loud shriek for help, and then sank
inertly back, next second losing consciousness.

The man had escaped with all my precious permits, signed by the Emperor,
as well as my money!

My long journey was now most certainly a futile one.  Without those
Imperial permits I was utterly helpless.  I should not, indeed, be
allowed to speak with Madame de Rosen, even though I succeeded in
finding her alive.

My loss was irreparable, for it had put an end to my self-imposed
mission.

Such were the thoughts which ran through my overstrung brain at the
moment when the blackness of insensibility fell upon me, blotting out
both knowledge of the present and apprehension of the future.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

IDENTIFICATION!

When again I opened my eyes it was to find a lamp being held close to my
face, and a man who apparently possessed a knowledge of surgery--a
political exile from Moscow, who had been a doctor, I afterwards
discovered--was carefully bathing my wound.

Beside him stood two Cossacks and the chief of police himself.  All were
greatly agitated that an attack should have been made upon a man who was
guest to His Imperial Majesty, their Master.

To my host's question I described in a few words what had occurred, and
bewailed the loss of my papers and my money.

"They are not lost," he replied.  "Fortunately the sentry outside heard
your scream, and seeing the intruder emerge from the window and run, he
raised his rifle and shot him."

"Killed him?"  I asked.

"Of course.  He was an utter stranger in Olekminsk.  Presently we shall
discover who and what he is.  Here are your papers," he added, handing
back the precious documents to me.  "For the present the man's body lies
outside.  Afterwards you shall see if you recognise him.  From his
passport his name would appear to be Gabrillo Passhin.  Do you know
anyone of that name?"

"Nobody," I replied, my brain awhirl with the crowded events of the past
half-hour.

I suppose it was another half-hour before the doctor, a grey-bearded,
prematurely-aged man, finished bandaging my wound and strapping my left
arm across my chest.  Then, assisted by my host, I rose and went forth,
led by men with lanterns, to where, in the snow, as he had fallen
beneath the sentry's bullet, lay the would-be assassin.

They held their lanterns against the white, dead lace, but I did not
recognise him.  He seemed to be about thirty-five, with thin, irregular
features and shaven chin.  He was respectably dressed, while his hands
were soft, betraying no evidence of manual labour.  The features were
perfectly calm, for death had been instantaneous, the bullet striking at
the back of the skull.

Near where he lay a small pool of blood showed dark against the snow.

While we were examining the body, Petrakoff, whom I had sent for from
the post-house, arrived in hot haste, and became filled with alarm when
he saw my neck and arm enveloped in bandages.

In a few words I told him what had occurred, and then advancing, he bent
and looked upon my assailant's face.  He remained bent there for quite a
couple of minutes.  Then, straightening himself, he asked:

"Does his passport give his name as Ivan Muller--or Gabrillo Passhin?"

"You know him!"  I gasped.  "Who is he?"

"Well," he replied, "I happen to have rather good reason to know him.
In Odessa he was chief of a desperate gang of bank-note forgers, who,
after eluding us for two years, were at last arrested--six of them in
Moscow.  The seventh, who called himself Muller, escaped to Germany.  A
year ago he was bold enough to return to Petersburg, where I recognised
him one day close to the Nicholas station and followed him to the house
where he lodged.  I entered there alone, very foolishly perhaps,
whereupon he drew a revolver and fired point-blank at me.  The bullet
struck me in the right shoulder, but assistance was forthcoming, and he
was arrested.  His sentence about eleven months ago was confinement in
the Fortress of Peter and Paul for fifteen years.  So he must have
escaped.  Ah! he was one of the most daring, astute and desperate
criminals in all Russia.  At his trial he spat at the judge, and
contemptuously declared that his friends would not allow him to be
confined for very long."

"It seems that they have not," I remarked thoughtfully.  "The fact of
his having dared to break into the house of the chief of police shows in
itself the character of the man," Petrakoff exclaimed.  "I myself had a
most narrow escape when I arrested him.  But what was he doing here--in
Siberia?"

"He may have been exiled here and escaped," remarked the chief of
police, as we were returning to the bureau at the side of the house.

"I hardly think that, Excellency," interrupted a Cossack sergeant, who
had just returned from the post-station, where he had been making
inquiries.  "We have just arrested a yamshick, who arrived with the
assassin an hour after midnight.  Here he is."

A moment later a big, red-faced, shaggy, vodka-drinking driver in ragged
furs was brought into the bureau between two Cossacks, and at once
interrogated by the chief of police.

First he was taken out to view the body still lying in the snow; then
brought back into the police office, a bare, wooden room, lit by a
single petroleum lamp, and bearing on its walls posters of numbers of
official regulations, each headed by the big black double eagle.

"Now," asked the chief of police, assuming an air of great severity,
"where do you come from?"

"Krasnoyarsk, Excellency," answered the man gruffly.

"What do you know of the individual you have just seen dead--eh?"

"All I know of him, Excellency, is that he contracted with me to drive
him to Yakutsk."

"Why?  Was he quite alone?"

"Yes, Excellency.  He made me hurry, driving night and day sometimes,
for he was overtaking a friend."

"What friend?"

"Ah!  I do not know.  Only at each stancia, or povarnia, he inquired if
an Englishman had passed.  Therefore I concluded that it was an
Englishman he was following."

Petrakoff, hearing the man's words, looked meaningly towards me.

"He was alone, you say?"  I inquired.  "Had he any friends in
Krasnoyarsk, do you know?"

"None that I know of.  He had journeyed all the way from Petersburg, and
he paid me well, because he was travelling so rapidly.  We heard of the
Englishman at a number of stancias, and have gradually overtaken him,
until we found, on arrival here, that the friend he sought had only come
in an hour before us.  I heard the post-house keeper tell him so."

"Then he was following this mysterious Englishman--eh?" asked the chief
of police, who had seated himself at his table with some officiousness
before commencing the inquiry.

"No doubt he was, Excellency.  One day he told me that if he did not
overtake the Englishman on his way to Yakutsk, he would remain and wait
for his return."

Then I took a couple of steps forward to the official's table and said:

"I fear that I must be the Englishman whom this mysterious person has
followed in such hot haste for nearly six thousand miles."

"So it seems.  But why?" asked the chief of police.  "I can see no
reason why that escaped criminal should follow you with such sinister
intent.  You don't know him?"

"Not in the least.  I have never even heard his name before."

"He was well supplied with money, it seems," remarked my host.  "This
wallet found upon him contains over ten thousand roubles in notes,
together with a credit upon the branch of the National Bank in Yakutsk
for a further thirty thousand."  And he showed me a well-worn leather
pocket-book, evidently of German manufacture.

Both Petrakoff and myself knew only too well that this daring criminal
had been released from that cold citadel in the Nevi and given money,
promised a free pardon in all probability, if he followed me and at all
hazards prevented me from obtaining an interview with the poor,
innocent, suffering woman whose dastardly enemy had marked her
"dangerous."

I was about to tell the while scandalous truth, but on second thought I
saw that no good could be served.  Therefore I held my tongue, and
allowed the officials--for the starosti of the village had now arrived--
regard the affair as a complete mystery.

I had narrowly escaped death, the doctor had declared, and my friend,
the chief of police of Olekminsk, kept the unfortunate yamshick under
arrest while he reported the extraordinary affair to Yakutsk.  He also
confiscated the money found upon the man who had made that daring attack
upon me.

I could see he was secretly delighted that the criminal had been killed.
What, I wondered, would have happened to him if I, a guest of His
Imperial Majesty, had lost my life beneath his roof?

The same thought apparently crossed his mind, for in those white winter
days I was compelled to remain his guest, being unfit for travel on
account of my wound, he many times referred to the narrow escape I had
had.

Petrakoff, on his part, related to us some astounding stories of the
man, who hid been known to the coining and note-forging fraternity as
Muller, _alias_ Passhin, the man who had at least three murders to his
record.

And this man was Markoff's hireling!  What, I wondered, was the actual
price placed upon my head?

For a whole week--seven weary days--I was compelled to remain there in
Olekminsk.  I wanted to push forward, but the exiled doctor would not
allow it.

There was a small and wretched colony of political exiles in the
village, and I visited them.  Fancy a poet and _litterateur_, one of
those rare Russian souls whose wonder-working effusions must ultimately
enlighten and enfranchise the people--a Turgenieff--immured for life in
that snowy desert.  Yet in Olekminsk there was such a one.  He lived in
a wretched one-roomed, log-built cabin within a stone's-throw of the
house wherein I so nearly lost my life--a tall, alert, deep-eyed man,
whom even the savagery of his surroundings could not dispirit or cool
the ardour of his wonderful genius.  From his prolific pen flowed a
ceaseless stream of learning and of light; he wrote and wrote, and in
this writing forgot his wrongs and sorrows.  The authorities--the local
officials who wield such autocratic authority in those parts--were
overjoyed to see him in this mood.  They fostered his rich whim, they
encouraged him to write his books, the manuscripts of which they seized
and sold in Petersburg and Berlin, Paris and London.

Yet he lived in a smoky, wooden hovel, banked up by snow, and wrote his
books upon a rough wooden bench, which was polished at the spot over
which his forearm travelled with his pen.

No exile, I found, was allowed to carry on any business, teach in a
school, till the soil, labour at a trade, practise a profession, or
engage in any work otherwise than through a master.  If I wanted any
service, an exile would sometimes come and offer to perform it, but I
would have to pay his master, upon whose bounty he must depend for
remuneration.

The doctor, named Kasharofski who bandaged me was not a revolutionist,
or at all intemperate in his political view's.  He was one of the
thousands of Markoff's victims sacrificed in order that the Chief of
Secret Police should remain in favour with the Emperor.  Therefore he
was not in favour with many of his fellow-exiles, who held pronounced
revolutionary views.  He was on pleasant visiting terms with the chief
of police, and I often went to his wretched, carpetless hut, around
which were sleeping bunks, and spent many an hour with him listening to
the cruel, inhuman wrong from which he had suffered at the hands of that
marvellously alert organisation, the Secret Police.

One grey, snowy afternoon, while I sat with him in his bare wooden hut,
one room with benches around for beds, and he smoked a cigar I had given
him, he burst forth angrily against the exile system, declaring: "The
whole government is a monstrous mistake.  Russia has been striding in
vain to populate Siberia for a thousand years, but she will never
succeed so long as she continues in her present policy of converting the
land into a vast penitentiary wherein the prisoners are prevented from
making an honest livelihood, and so driven, if criminals, to a further
commission of crime.  Beyond doubt there are rogues of the very worst
type in Russia and Siberia, but certainly it is plain that their mode of
punishment will never tend to elevate or reform them; further, it is
utterly impossible that Siberia, under its present system of government,
should ever be populated or improved, as have been the penal colonies of
the French and English."

His words were, alas! too true.  What I had seen of Siberia and its
exile system--those terrible prisons where men and women were herded
together and infected with typhoid and smallpox; those wretched hovels
of the political settlement, and those chained gangs of despairing
prisoners on the roads--had indeed filled me with horror.  The condition
of those exiles, both socially and morally, was utterly appalling.

The day after my conversation with Doctor Kasharofski, after a week of
irritating delay, in which every moment I feared that I was losing
valuable time, I set forth again upon my last stage, the journey of four
hundred miles of snow-covered tundra and forests of cheerless silver
birch to Yakutsk.

Did Madame de Rosen still live, or had Markoff taken good care that,
even though I escaped the assassin's knife, I should never meet her
again in the flesh?

Ay, that was the one important question.  And my heart beat quickly as,
bidding farewell to my hospitable friend, the chief of police, our three
shaggy horses plunged jingling away into the snow.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

THE JOURNEY'S END.

The farther north we pushed, the worse became the roads, and snow fell
daily.  Only by following the line of telegraph and the verst-posts
could we find the road, which sometimes ran along the Lena valley, and
at others crossed high hills or penetrated deep, gloomy forests of
dwarfed leafless trees.

After three days we approached a high mountain range, where absolute
silence reigned and the snowfall was constant and heavy.  The trees were
so overburdened with the white weight softly and quietly heaped upon
them, that many had broken down completely and obstructed the wild road
through the forest.  Vasilli had furnished us with hatchets for this
purpose, and we were often compelled to stop and hack and drag the
fallen trees from our path.

When at last we had gained the top of the mountain pass, we at once felt
a complete change in the atmosphere.  Whereas to the south everything
was as calm as the quiet of death, in front of us a gale was already
blowing, and instead of trees bowed down and breaking with their burden
of snow, to the northward of the mountain range not a single flake
appeared on the shrubbery or woodland.

We had passed from the world of silence to the wild, bleak regions of
the Arctic blizzard.  All that day we toiled through deep snow, the
mountain road rugged beyond description and the tearing wind icy and
howling.  It blew as though it would never calm.  And the distance
between the two lonely post-houses was one hundred and twenty-four
English miles.  Not a vestige of a habitation between.  All was a great
lone land.

The frost was intense, and icicles hung from Vasilli's beard and from
our own moustaches--a black deadly cold, rendered the more biting by the
wind straight from the Polar ice-pack.

I looked up upon that awful snow-covered road and shuddered.  Luba and
her mother had actually traversed it on foot.  Because they had been
marked as "dangerous" the Cossack captain had exposed them to that
terrible suffering, hoping that they would thereby die before reaching
Yakutsk--in which case he would, no doubt, receive a word of
commendation from the Governor.

We were now fast approaching the dreaded Arctic penal settlements, of
which the town of Yakutsk was the centre, distant over four thousand
miles from the Russian frontier, every inch of which we had traversed by
road.

Hour by hour, day by day, onward we went, with those irritating bells
ever jingling in our ears.  Petrakoff slept, his head sunk wearily upon
his breast, but my mind was much too agitated for sleep.  I had, by good
fortune, escaped the assassin who had followed me hot-foot across Asia,
and now I must soon overtake the unfortunate woman from whose lips I
would seek permission for Her Highness to speak.

Pakrovskoe, a mere handful of huts, came in sight one day just as the
grey light faded.  It was the last village before our goal--Yakutsk.  We
changed horses and ate some dried fish and rye bread, washed down by a
cup of weak tea.  Then, after half an hour's rest, again we went forward
into the grey gloom of the snow, where on our left at the edge of the
plain showed the pale yellow streak of the winter afterglow.

Through that long, interminable night we toiled on and ever on in deep
snowdrifts.  Vasilli ever and anon uttering curses in his beard, for the
horses we had obtained at Pakrovskoe were terrible screws.

At length, however, just as the first grey of dawn appeared on the
horizon our driver pointed with his whip, crying excitedly:

"Yakutsk!  Excellency!  Yakutsk!  God be thanked for a safe journey!"

At first I could see nothing, but presently, straining my eyes straight
before me, I discerned at the far edge of the snow-covered plain several
low towers with bulgy spires, and a long line of house roofs silhouetted
against the faint horizon.

Petrakoff gazed forth sleepily, and then with a low, half-conscious
grunt lapsed again into inert slumber.

But no longer could I close my eyes.  I drew my furs more closely round
me, and sat with eyes fixed upon my longed-for goal.

Would success crown my efforts, or had, alas! poor Marya de Rosen
succumbed to the brutal treatment meted out to her by the Cossack
captain.

After three eager, breathless hours, which seemed weeks to me, we at
last drove into the long wide thoroughfare which is the principal street
of that northerly town--a road lined by small, square wooden houses,
with sloping roofs, each surrounded by its little stockade.  The town
seemed practically deserted, a dreary, dismal, silent place, of which
half the inhabitants were exiles or the free children of exiles.  The
remainder were, as I afterwards discovered, free Russians--merchants who
had emigrated there for the advantage of trade, together with a host of
Government officials--Cossack, civil, police, revenue, church, etc.

Without much difficulty we found the Guestnitsa Hotel, a wretched place,
verminous and dirty, like every other hotel in all Siberia was before
the enlightening days of the great railroad.  Here I established myself,
and sent Petrakoff with a note to the Governor-General, asking for
audience without delay.

Scarcely had I washed, shaved and made myself a trifle presentable--
though I fear my unshorn hair presented a somewhat shaggy appearance--
when the agent of police returned with a note from His Excellency
General Vorontzoff, Governor-General of the province, expressing his
regret that owing to being compelled to make a military inspection
during that day he was unable to receive me until five o'clock in the
evening.

Thus was I compelled to await His Excellency's pleasure.

The fame of Alexander Vorontzoff was well-known in Petersburg.  He was a
hard, hide-bound bureaucrat, without a spark of pity or of human
feeling.  And for that reason the camarilla surrounding His Majesty the
Emperor had managed to obtain his appointment as Governor-General of
Yakutsk.  He was the catspaw of that half-dozen astute Ministers who
terrorised the Emperor and his Court, and by so doing feathered their
own nests.  "Politicals" committed by Markoff to his tender mercies were
shown little consideration, for was not his appointment as
Governor-General mainly on account of his brutal treatment of offenders
during his term of office at Tomsk?

Hartwig, had, more than once, mentioned this man as the most cruel,
inhuman official in all Siberia.  Therefore, being forewarned, I was
ready to meet him on his own ground.

Many a man, and many a delicate woman, transported there from Russia,
although quite as innocent of revolutionary ideas as my friend Madame de
Rosen, had lived but a few short days on their arrival at the prison at
Yakutsk, horrible tales of which had even filtered through back to
Petersburg and Moscow.

One fact well-known was that, two years before, when smallpox had broken
out at the prison, this brutal official caused a whole batch of
prisoners to be placed in a room where a dozen other prisoners were
lying in the last stages of that fatal disease, with the result that
over two hundred exiles became infected, and of them one hundred and
eighty died without receiving the least medical attention.

Such an action stood to his credit in the bureau of the Ministry of the
Interior at Petersburg!  He had saved the Empire the keep of a hundred
and eighty prisoners--mostly the victims of Markoff and the camarilla!

When at five o'clock I was ushered into a big, gloomy room, lit by a
hundred candles in brass sconces, a vulgar, thick-set man in
tight-fitting, dark green uniform, his breast glittering with
decorations, rose to greet me in a thick, deep voice.  I judged him to
be nearly sixty, with grey, steely eyes, a bloated face, short-cropped
grey beard, and very square shoulders.

He apologised for his absence during the day, and after handing me a
cigarette invited me to a chair covered with red plush, himself taking
one opposite to me.

"I have been already notified of your coming," he said, speaking through
his beard.  "They sent me word from Petersburg that you were travelling
to Yakutsk.  I am very delighted to receive you as guest of my Imperial
Master.  In what way can I be of service to you?"

I treated him with considerable hauteur, as became one bearing the order
of the Tzar.

From my pocket I produced the Imperial instructions to all Governors of
the Asiatic provinces to do my bidding.  As soon as he saw it his manner
changed and he became most humble and submissive.

"I must again apologise for not receiving you--for not calling upon you
instantly on your arrival, Mr Trewinnard.  But, truth to tell, I had
for the moment forgotten that you were the guest of His Imperial
Majesty.  I had quite overlooked the telegram sent to me months ago," he
said; and then he read the other permits I produced.  "I hope you have
had a safe journey, and not too uncomfortable," he went on.  "I
travelled once from Moscow in winter, and I must confess I, although a
Russian, found it uncommonly cold."

I gave him to understand that I had not travelled over six thousand
miles merely to talk of climatic conditions.

But he strode with swagger across the big, well-furnished room, his gay
decorations glittering in the candle-light.  The treble windows were
closed with thick, dark green curtains pulled across them.  The
armchairs and sofa were leather-covered, and at the farther end of the
room was a big, littered writing-table set near the high stove of glazed
brick.

He was a bachelor, with the reputation of being a hard drinker and a
confirmed gambler.  And under the iron hand of this unsympathetic and
brutal official ten thousand political exiles, scattered all over the
Arctic province, led an existence to which, in many cases, death would
have been far preferable.

Upon the dark green walls of that sombre room--a room in which many a
wretched "political" had pleaded in vain--was a single picture, a
portrait of the Emperor, one of those printed by the thousand and
distributed to every Government office throughout the great Empire.  His
Excellency General Vorontzoff, as representative of the Emperor, lived
in considerable state with a large military staff, and Cossack sentries
posted at all the doors.  He was as unapproachable as the Tzar himself,
probably knowing how hated he was among those unfortunates over whom he
held the power of life and death.  For the ordinary man to obtain
audience of him was wellnigh impossible.

The explicit order in His Majesty's own handwriting altered things
considerably in my case, and I saw that he was greatly puzzled as to who
I really could be, and why his Master had been so solicitous regarding
my welfare.

"I have travelled from Petersburg, Your Excellency, in order to have
private interviews with two political prisoners who have recently
arrived here," I explained at last.

He frowned slightly at mention of the word "political."

"I understand," he said.  "They are friends of yours--eh?"

"Yes," I replied.  "And I wish to have interviews with the ladies with
as little delay as possible."

"Ladies--eh?" he asked, raising his grey eyebrows.  "Who are they?"

"Their name is de Rosen," I said, "but their exile numbers are 14956 and
14957."

He bent to his writing-table, near which he was at that moment standing,
and scribbled down the numbers.  "They arrived recently, you say?"

"Yes.  And I may tell you in confidence that a grave injustice has been
done in exiling them.  His Majesty is about to institute full and
searching inquiries into the circumstances."

His bloated face fell.  He grew a trifle paler, and regarded me with
some concern.

"I suppose they arrived with the last convoy?" he said reflectively.
"We will quickly see."

And he rang a bell, in answer to which a smart young Cossack officer
appeared, saluting.

To him he handed the slip of paper with the numbers, saying in that
hard, imperious voice of his:

"Report at once to me the whereabouts of these two prisoners.  They
arrived recently, and I am awaiting information."

The officer again saluted and withdrew.  Scarcely had he closed the door
when another officer, wearing his heavy greatcoat flecked with snow,
entered and, saluting, handed the Governor a paper, saying:

"The prisoners for Kolimsk are ready to start, Excellency."

"How many?"

"Two hundred and seven--one hundred and twenty-six men, and eighty-one
women.  Your Excellency."

Sredne Kolimsk!  That was the most northerly and most dreaded settlement
in all the Arctic, still distant nearly one thousand miles--the living
tomb of so many of Markoff's victims.

"Are they outside?" asked the Governor.  To which the officer in charge
replied in the affirmative.

"May I see them?"  I asked.  Whereupon my request was readily granted.

But before we went outside General Vorontzoff took the list from the
Captain's hand and scrawled his signature--the signature which sent two
hundred and seven men and women to the coldest region in the world--that
frozen bourne whence none ever returned.

Outside in the dark snowy night the wretched gang, in rough, grey,
snow-covered clothes, were assembled, a dismal gathering of the most
hopeless and dejected wretches in the world, all of them educated, and
the majority being members of the professional classes.  Yet all had, by
that single stroke of the Governor's pen, been consigned to a terrible
fate, existence in the filthy yaurtas or huts of the half-civilised
Yakuts--an unwashed race who live in the same stable as their cows, and
whose habits are incredibly disgusting.

That huddled, shivering crowd had already trudged over four thousand
miles on foot and survived, though how many had died on the way would
never be told.  They stood there like driven cattle, inert, silent and
broken.  Hardly a word was spoken, save by the mounted Cossack guards,
who smoked or joked, several of them having been drinking vodka freely
before leaving.

The Governor, standing at my side, glanced around them, mere shadows on
the snow.  Then he exclaimed with a low laugh, as though amused:

"Even this fate is too good for such vermin!  Let's go inside."

I followed him in without a word.  My heart bled for those poor
unfortunate creatures, who at that moment, at a loud word of command
from the Cossack captain, moved away into the bleak and stormy night.

In the cosy warmth of his own room General Vorontzoff threw himself into
a deep armchair and declared that I must leave the "Guestnitsa" and
become his guest, an invitation which I had no inclination to accept.
He offered me champagne, which I was compelled out of courtesy to drink,
and we sat smoking until presently the young Cossack officer reappeared,
bearing a bundle of official papers.

"Well, where are they?" inquired the Governor quickly.  "How slow you
are!" he added emphatically.

"The two prisoners in question are still here in Yakutsk," was the
officer's reply.  "They have not yet been sent on to Parotovsk."

"Then I must go to them at once," I cried in eagerness, starting up
quickly from my chair.  "I must speak with them without delay.  I demand
to do so--in the Tzar's name."

The officer bent and whispered some low words into His Excellency's ear;
whereupon the Governor, turning to me with a strange expression upon his
coarse countenance, said in a quiet voice:

"I much regret, Mr Trewinnard, but I fear that is impossible--quite
impossible!"

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

LUBA MAKES A STATEMENT.

"Impossible!"  I echoed, staring at the all-powerful official.  "Why?"

He shrugged his shoulders, slowly flicked the ash from his cigarette and
glanced at the paper which the officer had handed to him.

I saw that beneath the candle-light his heavy features had changed.  The
diamond upon his finger flashed evilly.

"My pen and writing-pad," he said, addressing his aide-de-camp.

The latter went to the writing-table and handed what he required.

His Excellency rapidly scribbled a few words, then tearing off the sheet
of paper handed it to me, saying:

"As you so particularly wish to see them, I suppose your request must be
granted.  Here is an order to the prison governor."

I took it with a word of thanks, and without delay put on my heavy fur
shuba and accompanied the aide-de-camp out into the darkness.  He
carried a big, old-fashioned lantern to guide my footsteps, though the
walk through the steadily-falling snow was not a long one.

Presently we came to a series of long, wood-built houses, windowless
save for some small apertures high near the roof, standing behind a high
stockade before which Cossack sentries, huddled in their greatcoats,
were pacing, white, snowy figures in the gloom.

My guide uttered some password, which brought two sentries at the door
to the salute, and then the great gates opened and we entered a big,
open space which we crossed to the bureau, a large, low room, lit by a
single evil-smelling petroleum lamp.  Here I met a narrow-jawed,
deep-eyed man in uniform--the prison governor, to whom I presented my
permit.

He called a Cossack gaoler, a big, fur-clad man with a jingling bunch of
keys at his waist, and I followed him out across the courtyard to one of
the long wooden sheds, the door of which he with difficulty unlocked,
unbolted, and threw open.

A hot, stifling breath of crowded humanity met me upon the threshold, a
foetid odour of dirt, for the place was unventilated, and then by the
single lamp high in the roof I saw that along each side of the shed were
inclined plank benches crowded by sleeping or reclining women still in
their prison clothes, huddled side by side with their heads against the
wall, their feet to the narrow gangway.

"Prisoners!" shouted the gaoler in Russian.  "Attention!  Where is one
four nine five seven?"

There was a silence as I stood upon the threshold.

"Come," cried the man petulantly.  "I want her here."

A weak, thin voice, low and trembling, responded, and from the gloom
slowly emerged a female figure in thick, ill-fitting clothes of grey
cloth, unkempt and ragged.

"Move quickly," snapped the gaoler.  "Here is someone to see you!"

"To see me!" repeated the weak voice slowly.  Next moment, the light of
the lantern revealed my face, I suppose, for she dashed forward, crying
in English: "Why--you, Mr Trewinnard!  Ah! save me!  Oh! save me!  I
beg of you."

And she clung to me, trembling with fear.

It was the girl Luba de Rosen!  Alas! so altered was she, so pale,
haggard and prematurely-aged that I scarcely recognised her.  Her
appearance was dejected, ragged, horrible!  Her fair hair that used to
be so much admired was now tangled over her eyes, and her fine figure
hidden by her rough, ill-fitting prison gown, which was old, dirty and
tattered.  I stared at her, speechless in horror.

She was only nineteen.  In that smart set in which her mother moved her
beauty had been much admired.  Madame de Rosen was the widow of a
wealthy Jew banker, and on account of her late husband's loans to
certain high officials to cover their gambling debts, all doors had been
open to her.  I recollected when I had last seen Luba, the night before
her arrest.  She had worn a pretty, Paris-made gown of carnation
chiffon, and was waltzing with a good-looking young officer of the Kazan
Dragoons.  Alas! what a different picture she now presented.

"Luba!"  I said quietly in English, taking her hand as she clung to me.
"Come outside.  I am here to speak with you.  I want to talk with you
alone."

The gaoler, who had had his orders from the Governor, relocked and
bolted the door, and taking his lantern, withdrew a respectable distance
while I stood with Luba under the wooden wall of the prison wherein she
had been confined.

"I have followed you here," I said, opening my capacious fur coat and
throwing it around the poor shivering girl.  "I only arrived to-night.
Where is your mother?  I must see her at once."

She was silent.  In the darkness I saw that her white face was downcast.

I felt her sobbing as I held her, weak and tearful, in my arms.  She
seemed, poor girl, too overcome at meeting me to be able to speak.  She
tried to articulate some words, but they became choked by stifled sobs.

"Your mother has been very ill, I hear, Luba," I said.  "Is she better?"

But the girl only drew a long sigh and slowly shook her head.

"I--I can't tell you--Mr Trewinnard!" she managed to exclaim.  "It is
all too terrible--horrible!  My poor mother!  Poor darling!  She--she
died this morning!"

"Dead!"  I gasped.  My heart sank within me.  The iron entered my soul.

"Yes.  Alas!" responded the unfortunate girl.  "And I am left alone--all
alone in this awful place!  Ah!  Mr Trewinnard, you do not know--you
can never dream how much we have suffered since we left Petersburg.  I
would have preferred death a thousand times to this.  And my poor
mother.  She is dead--at last she now has peace.  The Cossacks cannot
beat her with their whips any more."

"Where did she die?"  I asked blankly.

"In here--in this prison, upon the bench beside where I slept.  Ah!" she
cried, "I feel now as though I shall go mad.  I lived only for her
take--to wait upon her and try to alleviate her sufferings.  Now that
she has been taken from me I have no other object for which to live in
this dreary waste of ice and snow.  In a week I shall be sent on to
Parotovsk with the others.  But I hope before reaching there that God
will be merciful and allow me to die."

"No, no!"  I exclaimed, my hand placed tenderly upon the poor girl's
shoulder.  "Banish such thoughts.  You may be released yet.  I am here,
striving towards that end."

But she only shook her head again very mournfully.  Nobody is released
from Siberia.

As we stood together, my heavy coat wrapped about her in order to
protect her a little from the piercing blast, she told me how, under the
fatigue and exposure of the journey, her mother had fallen so ill that
she one day dropped exhausted by the roadside.  One Cossack officer,
finding her unconscious, suggested that she should be left there to die,
as fully half a dozen other delicate women had been left.  But another
officer of the convoy, a trifle more humane, had her placed in a
tarantass, and by that means she had travelled as far as Tulunovsk.  But
the officer in charge there had compelled her to again walk, and over
that last thousand miles of snow she had dragged wearily until, ill and
worn out, she had arrived in Yakutsk.

From the moment of her arrival she had scarcely spoken.  So weak was
she, that she could only lie upon the bare wooden bench, and was ever
begging to be allowed to die.  And only that morning had she peacefully
passed away.  I had arrived twelve hours too late!

She had carried her secret to her grave!

I heard the terrible story from the girl's lips in silence.  My long
weary journey had been all in vain.

From the beginning to the end of poor Madame's illness no medical man
had seen her.  From what she had suffered no one knew, and certainly
nobody cared a jot.  She was, in the eyes of the law, a "dangerous
political" who had died on the journey to the distant settlement to
which she had been banished.  And how many others, alas! had succumbed
to the rigours of that awful journey!

I walked with Luba back to the Governor's bureau, and in obedience to my
demand he gave me a room--a bare place with a brick stove, before which
the poor sad-eyed girl sat with me.

I saw that the death of her mother had utterly crushed her spirit.
Transferred from the gaiety and luxury of Petersburg, her pretty home
and her merry circle of friends, away to that wilderness of snow, with
brutal Cossacks as guards--men who beat exhausted women with whips as
one lashes a dog--her brain was at last becoming affected.  At certain
moments she seemed very curious in her manner.  Her deep blue eyes had
an unusual intense expression in them--a look which I certainly did not
like.  That keen glittering glance was, I knew, precursory to madness.

Though unkempt and ragged, wearing an old pair of men's high boots and a
dirty red handkerchief tied about her head, her beauty was still
remarkable.  Her pretty mouth was perhaps harder, and it tightened at
the corners as she related the tragic story of their arrest and their
subsequent journey.  Yet her eyes were splendid, and her cheeks were
still dimpled they had been when I had so often sat at tea with her in
her mother's great salon in Petersburg, a room decorated in white, with
rose-du-Barri furniture.

In tenderness I hold her hand as she told me of the brutal treatment
both she and her fellow-prisoners had received at the hands of the
Cossacks.

"Never mind, Luba," I said with a smile, endeavouring to cheer her,
"every cloud has its silver lining.  Your poor mother is dead, and
nobody regrets it more than myself.  I travelled in haste from England
in order to see her--in order to advise her to reveal to me a certain
secret which she possessed."

"A secret!" said the girl, looking straight into my face.  "A secret of
what?"

"Well," I said slowly, "first, Luba, let me explain that as you well
know, I am an old friend of your dear mother."

"I know that, of course," she said.  "Poor mother has frequently spoken
of you during her journey.  She often used to wonder what you would
think when you heard of our arrest."

"I knew you were both the innocent victims of General Markoff," I said
quickly.

"Ah! then you knew that!" she cried.  "How did you know?"

"Because I was well aware that Markoff was your mother's bitterest
enemy," I answered.

"He was.  But why?  Do you know that, Mr Trewinnard?  Can you give me
any explanation?  It has always been a most complete mystery to me.
Mother always refused to tell me anything."

I paused.  I had hoped that she would know something, or at least that
she might give me some hint which would serve as a clue by which to
elucidate the mystery of those incriminating letters, now, alas!
destroyed.

"Has your mother told you nothing?"  I asked, looking earnestly straight
in her face.

"Nothing."

"Immediately before her arrest she gave to Her Imperial Highness the
Grand Duchess Natalia certain letters, asking her to keep them in
safety.  Are you aware of that?"

"Mother told me so," the girl replied.  "She also believed that the
letters in question must have fallen into General Markoff's hands."

"Why?"

"I do not know.  She often said so."

"She believed that the arrest and exile of you both was due to the
knowledge of what those letters contained--eh?"  I asked.

"I think so."

"But tell me, Luba," I asked very earnestly, "did your mother ever
reveal to you the nature of those letters?  I am here to discover this--
because--well, to tell the truth, because your friend the Grand Duchess
Natasha is in deadly peril."

"In peril, why?  Where is she?"

In a few brief words I told her of Natalia's _incognita_ at Brighton,
and of the attempt that had been made to assassinate us both, in order
to suppress any knowledge of the letters that either of us might have
gained.

"Our own sad case is on a par with yours," she declared thoughtfully at
last.  "Poor mother was, I think, aware of some secret of General
Markoff's.  Perhaps it was believed that she had told me.  At any rate,
we were both arrested and sent here, where we should never have any
opportunity of using our information."

"You have no idea of its nature, Luba," I asked in a low voice, still
deeply in earnest.  "I mean you have no suspicion of the actual nature
of the contents of those letters which your mother gave into Natalia's
care?"

The girl was silent for some time, her eyes downcast in thought.

At last she replied:

"It would be untrue to say that I entertain no suspicion.  But, alas!  I
have no corroboration.  My belief is only based upon what my dear mother
so often used to repeat to me."

"And what was that?"  I asked.

"That she had held the life of Russia's oppressor, General Markoff, in
her hand.  That she could have crushed and ruined him as he so justly
deserved; but that for motives of humanity she had warned him of
repeating his dastardly actions, and had long hesitated to bring him to
ruin and to death."

"Ah! the brute.  He knew that," I cried.  "He craftily awaited his
opportunity, then he dealt her a cowardly blow, by arresting her and
sending her here, where even in life or in death her lips would be
closed for ever."

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

NOT IN THE NEWSPAPERS.

Twelve weeks had elapsed--cold, weary weeks of constant sledging over
those bleak, snow-bound plains, westward, back to civilisation.

On the twenty-seventh of April--I have, alas! cause to remember the
date--at six o'clock in the evening, I alighted from the train at
Brighton, and Hartwig came eagerly forward to greet me.

I had journeyed incessantly, avoiding Petersburg and coming by Warsaw
and Berlin to the Hook of Holland, and that morning had apprised him of
my arrival in England; but, I fear, as I emerged from the train my
appearance must have been somewhat travel-worn.  True, I had bought some
ready-made clothes in Berlin--a new overcoat and a new hat.  But I was
horribly conscious that they were ill-fitting, as is every man who wears
a "ready-to-wear garment"--as the tailors call it.

Yes, I was utterly fagged out after that long and fruitless errand, and
a I glanced at Hartwig I detected in an instant that something unusual
had occurred.

"What's the matter?"  I asked quickly.  "What has happened?"

"Ah! that I unfortunately do not exactly know, Mr Trewinnard," was his
reply in a tone quite unusual to him.

"But what has occurred?"

"Disaster," he answered in a low, hoarse voice.  "Her Highness has
mysteriously disappeared!"

"Disappeared!"  I gasped, halting and staring at him.  "How?  With
whom?"

"How can we tell?" he asked, with a gesture of despair.

"Explain," I urged.  "Tell me quickly.  How did it happen?"

Together we walked slowly out of the station-yard down in the direction
of King's Road, when he said:

"Well, the facts are briefly these.  Last Monday--that is five days
ago--Her Highness and Miss West had been over to Eastbourne by train to
see an old schoolfellow of the Grand Duchess's, a certain Miss Finlay--
with whom I have since had an interview.  They lunched at Mrs Finlay's
house--one of those new ones on the road to Beachy Head--and left,
together with Miss Finlay, to walk back to the station at half-past
seven o'clock.  Her Highness would not drive, but preferred to walk
along the Promenade and up Terminus Road.  When close to the station,
Dmitri--who accompanied them--says that Her Highness stopped suddenly
before a fancy needlework shop, while the other two went on.  The Grand
Duchess, before entering the shop, motioned to Dmitri to walk along to
the station, for his surveillance, as you know, always irritated her.
Dmitri, therefore, strolled on--and--well, that was the last seen of her
Highness!"

"Impossible!"  I gasped.

"I have made every effort to trace her, but without avail," declared
Hartwig in despair.  "It appears that she purchased some coloured silks
for embroidery, paid for them, and then went out quite calmly.  The girl
who served her recollects her customer being met upon the threshold by a
man who raised his hat in greeting and spoke to her.  But she could not
see his face, nor could she, in the dusk, discern whether he were young
or old.  The young lady seemed to be pleased to meet him, and, very
curiously, it struck her at the time that that meeting had been
prearranged."

"Why?"  I asked.

"Because she says that the young lady, while making her purchase,
glanced anxiously at her gold wristlet-watch once or twice."

"She had a train to catch, remember."

"Yes.  I put that point before the girl, but she remains unshaken in her
conviction that Her Highness met the man there by appointment.  In any
case," he added, "we have been unable to discover any trace of her
since."

I was silent for a moment.

"But, surely, Hartwig, this is a most extraordinary affair!"  I cried.
"She may have been decoyed into the hands of Danilovitch!"

"That is, alas! what I very much fear," the police official admitted.
"This I believe to be some deeply-laid plot of Markoff's to secure her
silence.  You have been across Siberia, and arrived too late, yet Her
Highness is still in possession of the secret.  She is the only living
menace to Markoff.  Is it not natural, therefore, that he should take
steps to seal her lips?"

"We must discover her, Hartwig--we must find her, either alive or dead,"
I said resolutely.

This news staggered me, fagged and worn out as I was.  I had been
compelled to leave Luba in the hands of the Governor-General, who had
promised, because I was the guest of His Majesty, that he would do all
in his power to render her lot less irksome.  Indeed, she had been
transferred to one of the rooms in the prison hospital in Yakutsk, and
was under a wardress, instead of being guarded by those brutal, uncouth
Cossacks.

But this sudden disappearance of Natalia just at the very moment when
her presence was of greatest importance held me utterly bewildered.  All
my efforts had been in vain!

Should I telegraph the alarming news to the Emperor?

Hartwig explained to me how diligently he had searched, and at once I
realised the expert method with which he was dealing with the remarkable
affair, and the wide scope of his inquiry.  No man in Europe was more
fitted to institute such a search.  He had, in confidence, invoked the
aid of New Scotland Yard, and being known by the heads of the Criminal
Investigation Department, they had allowed him to direct the inquiry.

"At present," he said, "the papers are fortunately in entire ignorance
of the matter.  I have been very careful that nothing shall leak out,
for the story would, of course, be a grand one for the sensational
Press.  The public, however, does not know whose identity is hidden
beneath the name of Gottorp, and no reporter dreams that a Russian Grand
Duchess has been living _incognita_ in Brunswick Square," he added with
a smile.  "The Criminal Investigation Department have agreed with me
that it would be unwise for a single word to leak out regarding the
disappearance.  Of course they incline to the theory of a secret lover--
but--"

"You suspect young Drury--eh?"  I interrupted quickly.

"I hardly know what theory to form," he said with a puzzled air: "while
the shopgirl in Eastbourne describes the appearance of the man's back as
exactly similar to that of Mr Drury, yet I cannot believe that he would
willingly play us such a trick.  I know him quite well, and I believe
him to be a very honest, upright, straightforward young fellow."

"He knows nothing of Her Highness's real identity?"  I asked anxiously,
as we still strolled down towards the sea.

"Has no suspicion whatever of it.  He believes Miss Gottorp to be the
daughter of a Berlin brewer who died and left her a fortune.  No," he
went on, "I detect in this affair one of Markoff's clever plots.  She
probably believed that she was to meet young Drury, and adopted that
ruse to pause and speak with him--but--!"

"But what?"  I asked, turning and looking into his grave face, revealed
by the light of a shop window.

"Well--she was led into a trap," he said.  "Decoyed away into one of the
side streets, perhaps--and then--well, who knows what might have
happened?"

"You have searched Eastbourne, I suppose?"

"The Criminal Investigation Department are doing so," he said.  "I am
making a perfectly independent inquiry."

"You have reported nothing yet to Petersburg--eh?"

"Not a word.  What can I say?  I have asked Miss West to refrain from
uttering a syllable--also the Finlays have promised entire secrecy."

"There is a motive in her disappearance, Hartwig," I said.  "What is
it?"

"Ah!  That's just it, Mr Trewinnard," he replied.  "Her Highness had no
motive whatever to disappear.  Mr Drury was always welcome at Brunswick
Square, for Miss West entirely approved of him.  Besides, his presence
had prevented other flirtations.  Therefore there was no reason that
there should have been any clandestine meeting in Eastbourne."

"Then the only other suggestion is that of treachery."

"Exactly.  And that is the correct one--depend upon it."

"If she has fallen into Markoff's hands then she may be already dead!"
I gasped, staring at him.  "If so, the secret will remain a secret for
ever!"

For a moment the great detective remained silent.  Then slowly he said:

"To tell the truth, that is exactly what I fear.  Yes, I will try and
suppress the horrible apprehension.  It is too terrible."

"Danilovitch is unscrupulous," I said, "and he hates us."

"No doubt he does.  He fears us, yet--" and he paused.  "Yet a most
curious point is the fact that Her Highness deliberately remained behind
and sent Dmitri on, in order to be allowed opportunity to escape his
vigilance."

"All cleverly planned by her enemies," I declared.  "She was misled, and
fell into some very cunningly-baited trap, without a doubt.  Do you
believe she is still in Eastbourne?"

"No."

"Neither do I," was my assertion.  "She went to London, no doubt, for
there she would be easily concealed--if death has not already overtaken
her--as it has overtaken poor Madame de Rosen."

"I trust not," he said very thoughtfully.  Then he added: "I have been
thinking whether we might not again approach Danilovitch?"

"He is our enemy and hers.  He will give us no satisfaction," I said.
"Certainly, whatever plot suggested by Markoff arose in his fertile
brain.  And his plots usually have the same result--the death of the
victim.  It may be so in this case," I added reflectively; "but I
sincerely trust not."

Hartwig drew a long breath.  His face clouded.

"Remember," he said, "it is to Markoff's advantage--indeed to him her
death means the suppression of some disgraceful truth.  If she lives--
then his fall is imminent.  I have foreseen this all along, hence my
constant precaution, which, alas! was relaxed last Monday, because I had
to go to London to consult the Ambassador.  They evidently were aware of
that."

I explained the failure of my errand, whereat he drew a long breath and
said:

"It almost seems, Mr Trewinnard, that our enemies have secured the
advantage of us, after all.  I really feel they have."

"You fear that the trap into which Her Highness has fallen is a fatal
one--eh?"  I asked, glancing at him quickly.

"What can I reply?" he said in a low tone.  "Every inquiry I can devise
is in progress.  All the ports are watched, and observation is kept
night and day upon the house in Lower Clapton from a house opposite,
which Matthews, of New Scotland Yard, has taken for the purpose.  Her
Highness has not been there--up to now.  Markoff is in Petersburg."

The great detective--the man whose cleverness in the detection of crime
was perhaps unequalled in Europe--drew a long, thoughtful face as he
halted with me beneath a street-lamp.

People hurried past us, ignorant of the momentous question we were
discussing.

"Where is Drury?"  I asked suddenly.

"Ah!  That is yet another point," answered Hartwig.  "He, too, is
missing--he has disappeared!"

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

AT TZARSKOIE-SELO.

Just before eleven o'clock that night, accompanied by Hartwig, I called
at Richard Drury's cosy artistic flat in Albemarle Street, and in answer
to my questions his valet, a tall, thin-faced young man, informed me
that his master was not at home.

"I understand that you have had no news of him since last Monday?"  I
said.  "The fact is, this gentleman is a detective, and we are
endeavouring to elucidate the mystery of Mr Drury's disappearance."

The valet recognised Hartwig as having called before, and invited us
into the small bachelor sitting-room, over the mantelpiece of which were
many photographs of its owner's friends--the majority being of the
opposite sex.

"Well, sir, it's a complete mystery," the man replied.  "My master slept
here on Sunday night, and left for the country on Monday afternoon.  He
had a directors' meeting at Westminster on Tuesday, and told me that he
should be back at midday.  But he has never returned.  That's all.  They
sent round from the office to know if he was in town, and of course I
told them that he had not come back."

"Have there been any callers lately?"  I asked.  "Has a lady been here?"

"Only one lady ever calls, sir--a foreign lady named Gottorp."

"And has she been here lately?"  I inquired quickly.  "She called on the
Friday, and they went out together to lunch at Jules's.  She often
calls.  She's a very nice young lady, sir."

"She hasn't called since Monday?"  I asked.

"No, sir.  A stranger--a foreigner--called on Tuesday afternoon and
inquired for Mr Drury."

"A foreigner!"  I exclaimed.  "Who was he?  Describe him."

"Oh! he was a dark, middle-aged man, dressed in a shabby brown suit.  He
wanted to see Mr Drury very particularly."

Hartwig and I exchanged glances.  Was the caller an agent of Secret
Police.

"What did he say when you told him of your master's absence?"

"He seemed rather puzzled, and went away expressing his intention of
calling again."

"He was a stranger?"

"I'd never seen him before, sir."

"And this Miss Gottorp--is your master very attached to her?"

"He worships her, as the sayin' is, sir," replied the man frankly.  "She
lives down at Brighton, and he spends half his time there on her
account."

"You say your master left London for the country on Monday afternoon.
What was his destination?"

"Ah, I don't know.  I only know he drove to Victoria, but whether he
left by the South Eastern or the South Coast line is a mystery."

I had already formed a theory that Drury had travelled down to
Eastbourne and had met his well-beloved outside the shop in Terminus
Road.  Afterwards both had disappeared!  My amazement was mingled with
annoyance and chagrin.  Natalia had, alas! too little regard for the
_convenances_.  She had acted foolishly, with that recklessness which
had always characterised her and had already scandalised the Imperial
Family.  Now it had resulted in her becoming victim of some dastardly
plot, the exact nature of which was not yet apparent.

For half an hour we both questioned Drury's valet, but could learn
little of further interest.  Therefore we left, and strolled along
Piccadilly as far as St James's Club, where, until a late hour, we sat
discussing the sensational affair.

Was it an elopement, or had they both fallen victims of some
cleverly-conceived trap in which we detected the sinister hand of His
Excellency General Serge Markoff?

Next day I returned to Brighton and closely questioned Miss West, the
maid Davey, and the puzzled Dmitri.  I saw the manager of the hotel
where Drury was in the habit of staying, and, discovering that Drury's
friend, Doctor Ingram, lived in Gower Street, I resumed to London and
that same night succeeded in running him to earth.

He was perfectly frank.

"Dick has disappeared as suddenly as if the earth has swallowed him," he
declared.  "I can't make it out, especially as he told me he had a most
important directors' meeting last Tuesday, and that he must travel up to
Greenock on Thursday to be present at the launch of a new cruiser which
his firm is building for the Admiralty.  He certainly would have kept
those two appointments had he been free to do so."

"You knew Miss Gottorp, I believe?"  I asked of the quiet-mannered,
studious young man in gold-rimmed glasses.

"Quite well.  Dick's man told me yesterday that the young lady has also
disappeared," he said.  "It is really most extraordinary.  I can't make
it out.  Dick is not the kind of man to elope, you know.  He's too
straightforward and honourable.  Besides, he was always made most
welcome at Brunswick Square--though, between ourselves, the young lady
though inexpressibly charming, was always a very great mystery to me.  I
went with Dick twice to her house, and on each occasion saw men,
foreigners they seemed, lurking about the hall.  They eyed one
suspiciously, and I did not like to visit her on that account."

I pretended ignorance, but could see that he held Natalia in some
suspicion.  Indeed, he half hinted that for aught they knew, the pretty
young lady might be some clever foreign adventuress.

At that I laughed heartily.  What would he think if I spoke the truth?

Next day I put into the personal columns of several of the London
newspapers an advertisement which read:

"Gottorp.--Have returned: very anxious; write club--Uncle Colin."

Then for four days I waited for a reply, visiting the club a dozen times
each day, but all in vain.

I called at Chesham House one afternoon and had a chat with His
Excellency the Russian Ambassador.  He was unaware of Her Imperial
Highness's disappearance, and I did not inform him.  I wanted to know
what knowledge he possessed, and whether Markoff was still in
Petersburg.  I discovered that he knew nothing, and that at that moment
the Chief of Secret Police was with the Emperor at the military
manoeuvres in progress on that great plain which stretches from the town
of Ivanovo across to the western bank of the broad Volga.

Hartwig was ever active, night and day, but no trace could we find of
the missing couple.  Drury's friends, on their part, were making inquiry
in every direction, but all to no avail.  The pair had entirely
disappeared.

The house of the conspirators in Lower Clapton was being watched night
and day, but as far as it could be observed there was little or no
activity in that quarter.  Danilovitch was still living there in
retirement, going out only after dark, and though he was always shadowed
it could not be found that he ever called at any other place than a
little shop kept by a Russian cigarette-maker in Dean Street, Soho, and
a small eight-roomed villa in North Finchley, where lived a compatriot
named Felix Sasonoff, the London correspondent of one of the Petersburg
daily newspapers.

Our warning had, it seemed, had its effect.  Much as we desired to
approach the mysterious head of the so-called Revolutionary
Organisation--the man known as "The One," but whose identity was veiled
in mystery--we dared not do so, knowing that he was our bitterest enemy.

One morning, in despair at obtaining no trace of the missing pair, I
resolved to travel to Petersburg and there make inquiry.  I realised
that I must inform the Emperor, even at risk of his displeasure, for,
after all, I had been compelled by my journey to Siberia to relax my
vigilance, though I had left the little madcap under Hartwig's
protection.

What if they had actually eloped!  Alas!  I knew too well the light
manner in which Natalia regarded the conventions of old-fashioned Mother
Grundy.  Indeed, it had often seemed her delight to commit breaches of
the Imperial etiquette and to cause horror in her family.

Yet surely she would never commit such an unpardonable offence as to
elope with Richard Drury!

Again, was she already dead?  That was, I confess, my greatest fear,
knowing well the desperate cunning of Serge Markoff, and all that her
decease meant to him.

So, with sudden resolve, I took the Nord Express once more back across
Europe, and four days later found myself again in my old room at the
Embassy, where Stoyanovitch brought me a command to audience from the
Emperor.

How can I adequately describe the interview, which took place in a
spacious room in the Palace of Tzarskoie-Selo.

"So your friend Madame de Rosen was unfortunately dead before you
reached Yakutsk," remarked His Majesty gravely, standing near the window
in a brilliant uniform covered with glittering decorations, for he had
just returned from an official function.  "I heard of it," he added.
"The Governor-General Vorontzoff reported to me by telegraph.  Indeed,
Trewinnard, I had frequent reports of your progress.  I am sorry you
undertook such a journey all in vain."

"I beg of Your Majesty's clemency towards the dead woman's daughter
Luba," I asked.

But he only made a gesture of impatience, saying:

"I have already demanded a report on the whole case.  Until that comes,
I regret I cannot act.  Vorontzoff will see that the girl is not sent
farther north, and no doubt she will be well treated."

In a few brief words I described some of the scenes I had witnessed on
the Great Post Road, but the Emperor only sighed heavily and replied:

"I regret it, I tell you.  But how can I control the loyal Cossacks sent
to escort those who have made attempts upon my life?  I admit most
freely that the exile system is wrong, cruel--perhaps inhuman.  Yet how
can it be altered?"

"If Your Majesty makes searching inquiry, he will find some terrible
injustices committed in the name of the law."

"In confidence, I tell you, I am having secret inquiry made in certain
quarters," he replied.  "And, Trewinnard, I wish you, if you will, to
make out for me a full and confidential report on your journey, and I
will then have all your allegations investigated."

I thanked him.  Though an autocrat, he was yet a humane and just ruler--
when he was allowed to exercise justice, which, unfortunately, was but
seldom.

"My journey had a tragic sequel in Yakutsk, Sire," I said presently,
"and upon my return to England I was met with still another misfortune--
a misfortune upon which I desire to consult Your Imperial Majesty."

"What?" he asked, opening his eyes widely.  "A further misfortune?"

"I regret to be compelled to report that her Imperial Highness the Grand
Duchess Natalia has disappeared," I said in a low voice.

His dark, heavy brows narrowed, his cheeks went pale, and his lips
compressed.

"Disappeared!" he gasped.  "What do you mean?  Describe this latest
escapade of hers--for I suppose it is some ridiculous freak or other?"

"I fear not, Sire," was my reply.  Then, having described to him the
facts as I have related them here to you, my reader, omitting, of
course, all reference to Richard Drury, I added: "What I fear is that
Her Highness has fallen victim to some revolutionary plot."

"Why?  What motive can the revolutionary party have in making an attempt
upon her--a mere giddy girl?"

"The fame motive which incited the attempt in Petersburg, in which her
lamented father lost his life," was my quiet reply.

His Majesty touched a bell, and in answer Stoyanovitch appeared upon the
threshold and saluted.

"If General Markoff is still here I desire to see him immediately."

The Captain saluted, backed out and withdrew.

I held my breath.  This was, indeed, a misfortune.  I had no wish that
Markoff should know of the inquiries I was instituting.

"May I venture to make a request of Your Majesty?"  I asked in a low,
uncertain voice.

"What is it?" he asked with quick irritation.

"That General Markoff shall be allowed to remain in ignorance of Her
Highness's disappearance?"

"Why?" asked the Emperor, looking across at me in surprise.

"Because--well, because, for certain reasons, I believe secrecy at
present to be the best course," I replied somewhat lamely.

"Nonsense!" was his abrupt response.  "Natalia is missing.  You suspect
that she has fallen victim to some conspiracy.  Therefore Markoff must
know, and our Secret Police must investigate.  Markoff knows of every
plot as soon as it is conceived.  His organisation is marvellous.  He
will probably know something.  Fortunately, he had only just left me on
your arrival."

His Excellency probably left the Emperor's presence because he did not
wish to meet me face to face.

Again I tried to impress upon His Majesty that, as Hartwig had commenced
an investigation in England, the matter might be left to him.  But he
only replied:

"Hartwig is head of the criminal police.  He therefore has little, if
any, knowledge of the revolutionaries.  No, Trewinnard.  This is
essentially a matter for Markoff."

I bit my lips, for next second the white-enamelled steel door of that
bomb-proof room in which we were standing was thrown open, and a
chamberlain announced:

"His Excellency General Serge Markoff!"

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

THE EMPEROR'S FAVOURITE.

For a second the famous chief of Secret Police turned his cunning,
steel-blue eyes upon mine and bowed slightly, after making obeisance to
His Majesty.

"Why, I believed, Mr Trewinnard, that you were still in Siberia!" he
said with a crafty smile.  Though my bitterest enemy, he always feigned
the greatest friendliness.

"Trewinnard has just revealed a very painful and serious fact, Markoff,"
exclaimed the Emperor, in a deep, earnest voice.  "Her Highness the
Grand Duchess Natalia has disappeared."

The General gave no sign of surprise.

"It has already been reported to us," was his calm answer.  "I have not
reported it, in turn, to Your Majesty, fearing to cause undue alarm.
Both here and in England we are instituting every possible inquiry."

"Another plot," I remarked, with considerable sarcasm, I fear.

"Probably," was His Excellency's reply, as he turned to His Imperial
Master, and in that fawning voice of his, added: "Your Majesty may rest
assured that if Her Highness be alive she will be found, wherever she
may be."

Hatred--hatred most intense--arose within my heart as I glanced at the
sinister face of the favourite before me, the man who had deliberately
ordered the commission of that crime which had resulted in the death of
the Emperor's brother, the Grand Duke Nicholas.  To his orders had been
due that exciting episode in which I had so nearly lost my life in
Siberia; at his orders, too, poor Marya de Rosen had been deliberately
sent to her grave; and at his orders had been planned the conspiracy
against the Grand Duchess which Danilo Danilovitch had intended to carry
into execution, and would no doubt have done, had he not been prevented
by Hartwig's boldness.

I longed to turn and denounce him before his Imperial Master.  Indeed,
hot, angry words were upon my lips, but I suppressed them.  No!  The
time was not yet ripe.  Natalia herself had promised to make the
revelations, and to her I must leave them.

I must find her--and then.

"Ah!" exclaimed His Majesty, well pleased.  "I knew that you would be
already informed, Markoff.  You know everything.  Nothing which affects
my family ever escapes you."

"I hope not, Sire.  I trust I may ever be permitted to display my
loyalty and gratitude for the confidence which Your Majesty sees fit to
repose in me."

"To your astuteness, Markoff, I have owed my life a score of times," the
Emperor declared.  "I have already acknowledged your devoted services.
Now make haste and discover the whereabouts of my harebrained little
niece, Tattie, for the little witch is utterly incorrigible."

Markoff, pale and hard-faced, was silent for a moment.  Then with a
strange expression upon his grey, deceitful countenance he said:

"Perhaps I should inform Your Majesty of one point which to-day was
reported to us from England--namely, that it is believed that Her
Highness has fled with--well, with a lover--a certain young Englishman."

"A lover!" roared the Emperor, his face instantly white with anger.
"Another lover!  Who is he, pray?"

"His name is Richard Drury," His Excellency replied.

"Then the girl has created an open scandal!  The English and French
newspapers will get hold of it, and we shall have detailed accounts of
the elopement--eh?" he cried excitedly.  "This, Markoff, is really too
much!"  Then turning to me he asked: "What do you know of this young
Drury?  Tell me, Trewinnard."

"Very little, Sire, except that he is her friend, and that he is in
ignorance of her true station."

"But are they in love with each other?" he demanded in a hard voice.
"Have you neglected my instructions and allowed clandestine meetings--
eh?"

"Unfortunately my journey across Siberia prevented my exercising due
vigilance," I faltered.  "Yet she gave me her word of honour that she
would form no male attachment."

"Bosh!" he cried angrily, as he crossed the room.  "No girl can resist
falling in love with a man if he is good-looking and a gentleman--at
least, no girl of Tattie's high spirits and disregard for the
_convenances_.  You were a fool, Trewinnard, to accept the girl's word."

"I believed in the honour of a lady," I said in mild reproach, "and
especially as the lady was a Romanoff."

"The Romanoff women are as prone to flirtation as any commoner of the
same sex," he declared hastily.  "Markoff knows of more than one scandal
which has had to be faced and crushed out during the last five years.
But this fellow Drury," he added impatiently, "who is he?"

In a few brief sentences I told him what I knew concerning him.

"You think they have fallen in love?"

"I am fully convinced of it, Sire."

"Therefore they may have eloped!  Tattie's disappearance may have no
connection with any revolutionary plot--eh?"

"It may not.  But upon that point I am quite undecided," was my reply.

"Let me hear your views, Markoff," said the Emperor sharply.

"I believe that Her Highness has fallen the victim of a plot," was his
quick reply.  "The man Drury may have shared the same fate."

"Fate!" he echoed.  "Do you anticipate, then, that the girl is dead?"

"Alas, Sire!  If she has fallen into the hands of the revolutionists,
then without doubt she is dead," was the cunning official's reply.

Was he revealing to his Imperial Master a fact that he knew?  Was he
preparing the Emperor for the receipt of bad news?

I glanced at his grey, coarse, sphinx-like countenance, and felt
convinced that such was the case.  Had she, after all, fallen a victim
of his craft and cunning, and were her lips sealed for ever?

I stood there staring at the pair, the Emperor and his all-powerful
favourite, like a man in a dream.  Suddenly I roused myself with the
determination that I would leave no stone unturned to unmask this man
and reveal him in his true light to the Sovereign who had trusted him so
complacently, and had been so ingeniously blinded and misled by this
arch-adventurer, to whose evil machinations the death of so many
innocent persons were due.

"Then you are not certain whether, after all, it is an elopement?" asked
the Emperor, glancing at him a few moments later.  And turning
impatiently to me he said in reproach: "I gave her into your hands,
Trewinnard.  You promised me solemnly to exercise all necessary
vigilance in order to prevent a repetition of that affair in Moscow,
when the madcap was about to run away to London.  Yet you relaxed your
vigilance and she has escaped while you have been on your wild-goose
chase through Siberia."

"With greatest respect to your Majesty, I humbly submit that my mission
was no wild-goose chase.  It concerned a woman's honour and her
liberty," and I glanced at Markoff's grey, imperturbable countenance.
"But the unfortunate lady was sent to her death--purposely killed by
exhaustion and exposure, ere I could reach Yakutsk."

"She was a dangerous person," the General snapped, with a smile of
sarcasm.

"Yes," I said in a hard, bitter voice.  "She was marked as such upon the
list of exiles--and treated as such--treated in a manner that no woman
is treated in any other country which calls itself Christian!"

I saw displeasure written upon the Emperor's face, therefore I
apologised for my outburst.

"It ill becomes you, an Englishman, to criticise our penal system,
Trewinnard," the Emperor remarked in quiet rebuke.  "And, moreover, we
are not discussing it.  Madame de Rosen conspired against my life and
she is dead.  Therefore the question is closed."

"I believe when Your Majesty comes to ascertain the truth--the actual
truth," I said, glancing meaningly at Markoff, who was then standing
before the Sovereign, his hands clasped behind his back, "that you will
discover some curious connection between the death of Marya de Rosen in
the Yakutsk prison and the disappearance and probable death of Her
Imperial Highness the Grand Duchess Natalia."

"What do you mean?" he asked, staring at me in surprise.

"For answer," I said, "I must, with great respect, direct Your Majesty
to His Excellency General Markoff, who is aware of all that concerns the
Imperial family.  He probably knows the truth regarding the strange
disappearance of the young lady, and what connection it has with Madame
de Rosen's untimely end."

"I really do not understand you," cried the renowned chief of Secret
Police, drawing himself up suddenly.  "What do you infer?"

"His Majesty is anxious to learn the truth," I said, looking straight
into those cunning blue eyes of his.  "Your Excellency, a loyal and
dutiful subject, will, I trust, now make full revelation of what has
really happened during the past twelve months, and what secret tie
existed between Her Highness and Marya de Rosen."  His face went white
as paper.  But only for a single second.  He always preserved the most
marvellous self-control.

"I do not follow your meaning," he declared.  "Madame de Rosen's death
was surely no concern of mine.  Many other politicals have died on their
way to the Arctic settlements."

"You speak in enigmas, Trewinnard.  Pray be more explicit," the Emperor
urged.

I could see that my words had suddenly aroused his intense curiosity,
although well aware of the antagonism in which I held the dreaded
oppressor of Holy Russia.

"I regret, Your Majesty, that I cannot be more explicit," I said.  "His
Excellency will reveal the truth--a strange truth.  If not, I myself
will do so.  But not, however, to-day.  His Excellency must be afforded
an opportunity of explaining circumstances of which he is aware.
Therefore I humbly beg to withdraw."

And I crossed to the door and bowed low.

"As you wish, Trewinnard," answered the Emperor impatiently, as with a
wave of the hand he indicated that my audience was at an end.

So as I backed out, bowing a second time, and while Markoff stood there
in statuesque silence, his face livid, I added in a clear voice:

"Ask His Excellency for the truth--the disgraceful truth!  He alone
knows.  Let him find Her Imperial Highness--if he can--if he dare!"

Then I opened the door and made my exit, full of wonder at what might
occur when the pair were alone.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

PRESENTS ANOTHER PROBLEM.

On returning to Petersburg that evening and entering the Embassy, I
found a telegram from Hartwig, summoning me back to London immediately.
There were no details, only the words: "Return here at once."  All my
letters to the club I had ordered to be sent to him during my absence,
so I wondered whether he had received any communication from the missing
pair.  With the knowledge that any telegrams to me would be copied and
sent to the Bureau of Secret Police, he had wisely omitted any reason
for my return to London.  I sent him, through the Bureau of Detective
Police, the message to wire me details to the Esplanade Hotel in Berlin,
and at midnight left by the ordinary train for the German frontier.

Four eager anxious days I spent on that never-ending journey between the
Neva and the Channel.  At Berlin, on calling at the hotel, I received no
word from him, only when I entered the St James's Club at five o'clock
on the afternoon of my arrival at Charing Cross did I find him awaiting
me.

"Well," I asked anxiously, as I entered the square hall of the club,
"what news?"

"She's alive," he said.  "She saw your advertisement and has replied!"

"Thank heaven!"  I gasped.  "Where is she?"

"Here is the address," and he drew from his pocket-book a slip of paper,
with the words written in Natalia's own hand: "Miss Stebbing, Glendevon
House, Lochearnhead, Perthshire."  And with it he handed the note which
had come to the club and which he had opened--a few brief words merely
enclosing her address and telling me to exercise the greatest caution in
approaching her.  "I have been watched by very suspicious persons," she
added, "and so I am in hiding here.  When you can come, do so.  I am
extremely anxious to see you."

"What do you make of that?"  I asked the famous police official.

"That she scented danger and escaped," he replied.  "My first intention
was to go up to Scotland to see her, but on reflection I thought, sir,
that you might prefer to go alone."

"I do.  I shall leave Euston by the mail to-night and shall be there
to-morrow morning.  She has, I see assumed another name."

"Yes, and she has certainly gone to an outlandish spot where no one
would have thought of searching for her."

"Drury suggested it, without a doubt.  He knows Scotland so well," I
said.

Therefore yet another night I spent in a sleeping-car between Euston and
Perth, eating scones for breakfast in the Station Hotel at the latter
place, and leaving an hour later by way of Crieff and St Fillans, to
the beautiful bank of Loch Earn, lying calm and blue in the spring
sunshine.

At the farther end of the loch the train halted at the tiny station of
Lochearnhead, a small collection of houses at the end of the picturesque
little lake, where the green wooded banks sloped to the water's edge.
Quiet, secluded, and far from the bustle of town or city it was.  I
found a rural little lake-side village, with a post-office and general
shop combined, and a few charming old-world cottages inhabited by
sturdy, homely Scottish folk.

Of a brown-whiskered shepherd passing near the station I inquired for
Glendevon House, whereupon he pointed to a big white country mansion
high upon the hill-side, commanding a wide view across the loch and
surrounding hills; a house hemmed in by tall firs, fresh in their bright
spring green.

A quarter of an hour later, having climbed the winding road leading to
it, I entered the long drive flanked by rhododendrons, and was
approaching the house when, across the lawn a slim female figure, in a
white cotton gown, with a crimson flower in the corsage, came flying
toward me, crying:

"Uncle Colin!  Uncle Colin!  At last!"

And a moment later Natalia wrung my hand warmly, her cheeks flushed with
pleasure at our encounter.

"Whatever is the meaning of this latest escapade?"  I asked.  "You've
given everybody a pretty fright, I can tell you."

"I know, Uncle Colin.  But you'll forgive me, won't you?  Say you do,"
she urged.

"I can't before I know what has really happened."

"Let's go over to that seat," she suggested, pointing to a rustic bench
set invitingly on the lawn beneath a spreading oak, "and I'll tell you
everything."

Then as we walked across the lawn she regarded me critically and said:
"How thin you are!  How very travel-worn you look!"

"Ah!"  I sighed.  "I've been a good many thousand miles since last I saw
Your Highness."

"I know.  And how is poor Marya?  You found her, of course."

"Alas!"  I said in a low voice, "I did not.  My journey was of no avail.
She died a few hours before my arrival in Yakutsk!"

"Died in Yakutsk," she echoed in a hoarse whisper halting and looking at
me.  "Poor Marya dead!  And Luba?"

"Luba is well, but still in prison."

"Dead!" repeated the girl, speaking to herself, "and so your long winter
journey was all in vain!"

"Utterly useless," I said.  "Then, on returning to London a fortnight
ago, I learned that you had mysteriously disappeared.  I have been back
to Petersburg and informed the Emperor."

"And what did he say?  Was he at all anxious?" she asked quickly.

"It is known that Drury has also disappeared, and therefore His Majesty
believes that you have fled together."

"So we did, but it was not an elopement.  No, dear old Uncle Colin, you
needn't be horribly scandalised.  Mrs Holbrook, the owner of this
place, is Dick's aunt, and he brought me here so that I might hide from
my enemies."

"Then where is he?"

"Staying at the hotel over at St Fillans, at the other end of the loch,
under the name of Gregory.  Fortunately his aunt has only recently
bought this place, so he has never been here before.  She is extremely
kind to me."

"Then you often see Drury--eh?"

"Oh, yes, we spend each day together.  Dick comes over by the eleven
o'clock train.  It is such fun--much better than Brighton."

"But the London police are searching everywhere for you both," I said.

"This is a long way from London," she replied with a bright laugh; "they
are not likely to find us, nor are those bitter enemies of ours."

"What enemies?"

"The revolutionists.  There is a desperate plot against me.  Of that I
am absolutely convinced," she said as she sank upon the rustic garden
seat beneath the tree.  The sunny view over loch and woodland was
delightful, and the pretty garden and fir wood surrounding were full of
birds singing their morning song.

"But you told neither Hartwig nor Dmitri of your fears," I remarked.
"Why not?" and I looked straight into her beautiful face, lit by the
brilliant sunshine.

"Well, I will tell you, Uncle Colin," she said, leaning back, putting
her neat little brown shoe forth from the hem of her white gown, and
folding her bare arms as she turned to me.  "Dick one day discovered
that wherever we went we were followed by Dmitri, and, as you may
imagine, I had considerable difficulty in explaining his constant
presence.  But Dick loves me, and hence believes every word I tell him.
He--"

"I know, you little minx," I interrupted reprovingly, "you've bewitched
him.  I only fear lest your mutual love may lead to unhappiness."

"That's just it.  I don't know exactly what will happen when he learns
who I really am."

"He must be told very soon," I said; "but go on, explain what happened."

"Ah! no," cried the girl in quick alarm; "you must not tell him.  He
must not know.  If so, it means our parting, and--and--" she faltered,
her big, expressive eyes glistened with unshed tears.  "Well--you know,
Uncle Colin--you know how fondly I love Dick."

"Yes, I know, my child," I sighed.  "But continue, tell me all about
your disappearance and its motive."  Now that I had found her I saw to
what desperate straights Markoff must be reduced.  He had, after all, no
knowledge of her whereabouts.

"It was like this," she said.  "One evening we had walked along the
cliffs to Rottingdean together.  Dmitri had not followed us, or else he
had missed us before we left Brighton.  But just as we were coming down
the hill, after passing that big girls' college, Dick noticed that we
were being followed by a man, who he decided was a foreigner.  He was, I
saw, a thin-faced man with a black moustache and deeply-furrowed brow,
and then I recognised him as a man whom I had seen on several previous
occasions.  I recollected that he followed us that night on the pier
when you first saw Dick walking with Doctor Ingram."

"A man of middle height, undoubtedly a Russian," I cried.  "I remember
him distinctly.  His name is Danilo Danilovitch--a most dangerous
person."

"Ah!" she exclaimed, "I see you know him.  Well, at the moment I was not
at all alarmed, but next day I received an anonymous letter telling me
to exercise every precaution.  There was a revolutionary plot to kill
me.  It was intended to kill both Dick and myself.  I showed him the
letter.  At first he was puzzled to know why the revolutionary party
should seek to assassinate a mere girl like myself, but again he
accepted my explanation that it was in revenge for some action of my
late father, and eventually we resolved to disappear together and remain
in hiding until you returned.  Then, according to what Marya de Rosen
had told you, I intended to act."

"Alas!  I learnt nothing."

"Ah!" she sighed.  "That is the unfortunate point.  I am undecided now
how to act."

"Explain how you managed to elude Dmitri's vigilance in Eastbourne."

"Well, on that evening in Eastbourne I induced Miss West, Gladys Finlay
and Dmitri to walk on to the station, and I entered a shop.  When I came
cut, Dick joined me.  We slipped round a corner, and after hurrying
through a number of back streets found ourselves again on the Esplanade.
We walked along to Pevensey, whence that night we took train to
Hastings, and arrived in London just before eleven.  At midnight we left
Euston for Scotland, and next morning found ourselves in hiding here.  I
was awfully sorry to give poor Miss West such a fright, and I knew that
Hartwig would be moving heaven and earth to discover me.  But I thought
it best to escape and lie quite low until your return.  I telegraphed to
you guardedly to the British Consulate in Moscow, hoping that you might
receive the message as you passed through."

"I was only half an hour in Moscow, and did not leave the station," I
replied.  "Otherwise I, no doubt, should have received it."

"To telegraph to Russia was dangerous," she remarked.  "The Secret
Police are furnished with copies of all telegrams coming from abroad,
and Markoff is certainly on the alert."

"No doubt he is," I said.  "As you well know, he is desperately anxious
to close your lips.  Now that poor Marya is dead, you alone are in
possession of his secret--whatever it may be."

"And for that reason," she said slowly, her fine eyes fixed straight
before her across the blue waters of the loch, "he has no doubt decided
that I, too, must die."

"Exactly; therefore it now remains for Your Highness to reveal to the
Emperor the whole truth concerning those letters and the secret which
resulted in Marya de Rosen's arrest and death.  It is surely your duly!
You have no longer to respect the promise of secrecy which you gave her.
Her death must be avenged--and by you--_and you alone_," I added very
quietly and in deep earnestness.  "You must see the Emperor--you must
tell him the whole truth in the interests of his own safety--in the
interests, also, of the whole nation."  My dainty little companion
remained silent, her eyes still fixed, her slim white fingers toying
nervously with her skirt.

"And forsake Dick?" she asked presently in a low voice which trembled
with emotion.  "No, Uncle Colin.  No, don't ask me!" she urged.  "I
really can't do that--I really can't do that.  I--I love him far too
well."

I sighed.  And of a sudden, ere I was aware of it the girl, torn by
conflicting emotions, burst into a flood of tears.

There, at her side I sat utterly at a loss what to say in order to
mitigate her distress; for too well I knew that the pair loved each
other truly, nay, madly.  I knew that the love of an Imperial Grand
Duchess of the greatest family in Europe is just as intense, just is
passionate, just as fervent as that of a commoner, be she only a typist,
a seamstress, or a serving-maid.  The same feelings, the same emotions,
the same passionate longings and tenderness; the same loving heart bests
beneath the corsets of the patrician as beneath those of the plebeian.

You, my friendly readers, each of you--be you man or woman, love to-day,
or have loved long ago.  Your love is human, your affection firm, strong
and undying, differing in no particular to the emotions experienced by
the peasant in the cottage or the princess of the blood-royal.

I looked at the little figure on the rustic seat at my side, and all my
sympathy went out to her.

I have loved once, just as you have, my reader; and I knew, alas! what
she suffered, and how she foresaw opened before her the grave of all her
hopes, of all her aspirations, of all her love.

She was committing the greatest sin pronounced by the unwritten law of
her Imperial circle.  She loved a commoner!  To go forward, to speak and
save her nation from the depredations of that unscrupulous camarilla,
the Council of Ministers, would mean to her the abandonment of the young
Englishman she loved so intensely and devotedly--the sacrifice, alas! of
all she held most dear in life by the betrayal of her identity.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

REVEALS THE GULF.

Having been introduced to Mrs Holbrook--a pleasant-fated old lady in a
white-laced cap with mauve ribbons--I made excuse to "Miss Stebbing" to
leave, and took train a quarter of an hour later back to St Fillans.
From the village post-office I sent an urgent wire to Hartwig to go
again to Lower Clapton, see Danilovitch, explain how Her Highness had
discovered the plot against her, and assure him that if any attempt were
male, proof of his treachery would be placed at once before his
"comrades."

I called at the hotel and inquired for Mr Gregory, but was informed
that he was out fishing.  But though I lunched there and waited till
evening, yet he did not return.

So again I took train back to Lochearnhead, and with the golden sunset
flashing upon the loch, climbed the hill path towards Glendevon House--a
nearer cut than by the carriage road.

Suddenly, as I turned the corner, I saw two figures going on before me--
Natalia and Richard Drury.  She wore a darker gown than in the morning,
with simple, knockabout country hat, while he had on a rough tweed
jacket and breeches.  I drew back quickly when I recognised them.  His
arm was tenderly around her waist as they walked, and he was bending to
her, speaking softly, as with slow steps they ascended through the
hill-side copse.

Yes, they were indeed a handsome, well-matched pair.  But I held, my
breath, foreseeing the tragic grief which must ere long arise as the
result of that forbidden affection.

Standing well back in the hedge, I gazed after their as with halting
steps they went up that unfrequented Scotch by-way, rough and
grass-grown.  Suddenly they paused, and the man, believing that they
were alone, took his well-beloved in his strong embrace, pushed back her
hat, and imprinted a warm, passionate kiss upon her white, open brow.

Perhaps it was impolite to watch.  I suppose it was; yet my sympathy was
entirely with them.  I, who had once loved and experienced a poignant
sorrow as result, knew well all that they felt at that moment,
especially now that the girl, even though an Imperal Princess, was
compelled to decide between love and duty.

Unseen, I watched them cling to each other, exchanging fond, passionate
caresses.  I saw him tenderly push the dark hair from her eyes and again
place his hot lips reverently to her brow.  He held her small hand, and
looking straight into her wonderful eyes, saw truth, honesty and pure
affection mirrored there.

They had halted.  While the evening shadows fell he had placed his hand
lightly upon her shoulder and was whispering in her ear, speaking words
of passionate affection, in ignorance that between them, alas! lay a
barrier of birth which could never be bridged.

I felt myself a sneak and an eavesdropper; but I assure you it was with
no idle curiosity--only because what I had witnessed aroused within me
the most intense sorrow, because I knew that only a man's great grief
and a woman's broken heart could accrue from that most unfortunate
attachment.

In all the world I held no girl in greater respect than Natalia, the
unconventional daughter of proud Imperial Romanoffs.  Indeed, I regarded
her with considerable affection, if the truth were told.  She had
charmed me by her natural gaiety of heart, her disregard for irksome
etiquette and her plain outspokenness.  She was a typical outdoor girl.
What the end of her affection for Dick Drury would be I dreaded to
anticipate.

Again he bent, and kissed her upon the lips, her sweet face raised to
his, aglow in the crimson sunset.

He had clasped her tenderly to his heart, holding her there in his
strong arms, while he rained his hot, fervent kisses upon her, and she
stood in inert ecstasy.

Soon the shadows declined, yet the pair still stood there in silent
enjoyment of their passionate love, all unconscious of observation.  I
drew a long breath.  Had I not myself long ago drunk the cup of
happiness to the very dregs, just as Dick Drury was now drinking it--and
ever since, throughout my whole career in those gay Court circles in
foreign cities, I had been obsessed by a sad and bitter remembrance.
She had married a peer, and was now a great lady in London society.  Her
pretty face often looked out at me from the illustrated papers, for she
was one of England's leading hostesses, and mentioned daily in the
"personal" columns.

Once she had sent me an invitation to a shooting-party at her fine
castle in Yorkshire.  The irony of it all!  I had declined in three
lines of formal thanks.

Ah! yes.  No man knew the true depths of grief and despair better than
myself, therefore, surely, no man was more fitted to sympathise with
that handsome couple, clasped at that moment in each other's arms.

I turned back; I could endure it no longer, foreseeing tragedy as I did.

Descending the hill to the loch-side again, I found the carriage road,
and approached the big white house.

I was standing alone in the long, old-fashioned drawing-room, with its
bright chintzes and bowls of potpourri, awaiting Mrs Holbrook, when the
merry pair came in through the long French windows, from the sloping
lawn.

"Why, Uncle Colin!" she gasped, starting and staring at me.  "How long
have you been here?"

"Only a few moments," I replied, and then, advancing, I shook Drury's
hand.  He looked a fine, handsome fellow in his rough country tweeds.

"So glad to meet you again, Mr Trewinnard," he said frankly, a smile
upon his healthy, bronzed face.  "I've heard from Miss Gottorp of your
long journey across Siberia.  You've been away months--ever since the
beginning of the winter!  I've always had a morbid longing to see
Siberia.  It must be a most dreadful place."

"Well, it's hardly a country for pleasure-seeking," I laughed; then
changing my tone, I said: "You two have given me a nice fright!  I
returned to find you both missing, and feared lest something awful had
happened to you."

"Fear of something happening caused us to disappear," he answered; then
he practically repeated what Natalia had told me earlier in the day.
"My aunt very kindly offered to put Miss Gottorp up, and I have since
lived down at St Fillans under the name of Gregory."

I told him of the search in progress in order to discover him.  But he
declared that a Scotch village or the back streets of a manufacturing
town were the safest places in which to conceal oneself.

"But how long do you two intend causing anxiety to your friends?"  I
asked, glancing from one to the other.

Natalia looked at her lover with wide-open eyes of admiration.

"Who knows?" she asked.  "Dick has to decide that."

"But Miss West and Davey, and all of them at Hove are distracted," I
said, and then, turning to Drury, added, "Your man in Albemarle Street
and the people at your offices in Westminster are satisfied that you've
met with foul play.  You certainly ought to relieve their minds by
making some sign."

"I must, soon," he said.  "But meanwhile--" and he turned his eyes upon
his well-beloved meaningly.

"Meanwhile, you are both perfectly happy--eh?"

"Now don't lecture us, Uncle Colin!" cried the little madcap, leaning
over the back of a chair and holding up her finger threateningly; and
then to Dick she added: "Oh! you don't know how horrid my wicked uncle
can be when he likes.  He says such caustic things."

"When my niece deserves them--and only then," I assured her lover.

Though Dick Drury was in trade a builder of ships, as his father before
him, he was one of nature's gentlemen.  There was nothing of the modern
young man, clean-shaven, over-dressed, with turned-up trousers and
bright socks.  He was tall, lithe, strong, well and neatly dressed as
became a man in his station--a man with an income of more than ten
thousand a year, as I had already secretly ascertained.

Had not Natalia been of Imperial birth the match would have been a most
suitable one, for Dick Drury was decidedly one of the eligibles.  But
her love was, alas! forbidden, and marriage with a commoner not to be
thought of.

They stood together laughing merrily, he bright, pleasant, and all
unconscious of her true station, while she, sweet and winning, stood
gazing upon him, flushed with pleasure at his presence.

I was describing to Drury the fright I had experienced on arrival in
Brighton to find them both missing, whereupon he interrupted, saying:

"I hope you will forgive us in the circumstances, Mr Trewinnard.  Miss
Gottorp resolved to go into hiding until you returned to give her your
advice.  Therefore, with my aunt's kind assistance, we managed to
disappear completely."

"My advice is quickly given," I said.  "After to-night there will be no
danger, therefore return and relieve the anxiety of your friends."

"But how can you guarantee there is no danger?" asked the young man,
looking at me dubiously.  "I confess I'm at a loss to understand the
true meaning of it all--why, indeed, any danger should arise.  Miss
Gottorp is so mysterious, she will tell me nothing," he said in a voice
of complaint.

For a moment I was silent.

"There was a danger, Drury--a real imminent danger," I said at last.
"But I can assure you that it is now past.  I have taken steps to remove
it, and hope to-morrow morning to receive word by telegraph that it no
longer exists."

"How can you control it?" he queried.  "What is its true nature?  Tell
me," he urged.

"No, I regret that I cannot satisfy your curiosity.  It is--well--it's a
family matter," I said; "therefore forgive me if I refuse to betray a
confidence reposed in me as a friend of the family.  It would not be
fair to reveal anything told me in secrecy."

"Of course not," he said.  "I fully understand, Mr Trewinnard.  Forgive
me for asking.  I did not know that the matter was so entirely
confidential."

"It is.  But I can assure you that, holding the key to the situation as
I do, and being in a position to dictate terms to Miss Gottorp's
enemies, she need not in future entertain the slightest apprehension.
The danger existed, I admit; but now it is over."

"Then you advise us to return, Uncle Colin?" exclaimed the girl, swaying
herself upon the chair.

"Yes--the day after to-morrow."

"You are always so weirdly mysterious," she declared.  "I know you have
something at the back of your mind.  Come, admit it."

"I have only your welfare at heart," I assured her.

"Welfare!" she echoed, and as her eyes fixed themselves upon me she bit
her lips.  I knew, alas! the bitter trend of her thoughts.  But her
lover stood by, all unconscious of the blow which must ere long fall
upon him, poor fellow.  I pitied him, for I knew how much he was doomed
to suffer, loving her so fondly and so well.  He, of course, believed
her to be a girl of similar social position to himself--a dainty little
friend whom he had first met as a rather gawky schoolgirl at Eastbourne,
and their friendship had now ripened to love.

"I feel that you, Mr Trewinnard, really have our welfare at heart,"
declared the young man earnestly.  "I know in what very high esteem Miss
Gottorp holds you, and how she has been awaiting your aid and advice."

"I am her friend, Drury, as I am yours," I declared.  "I am aware that
you love each other.  I loved once, just as deeply, as fervently as you
do.  Therefore--I know."

"But we cannot go south--back to Brighton," the girl declared.  "I
refuse."

"Why?" he asked.  "Mr Trewinnard has given us the best advice.  You
need not now fear these mysterious enemies of yours who seem to haunt
you so constantly."

"Ah!" she cried in a low, wild voice, "you do not know, Dick!  You don't
know the truth--all that I fear--all that I suffer--for--for your sake!
Uncle Colin knows."

"For my sake!" he echoed, staring at her.  "I don't quite follow you.
What do you mean?"

"I mean," she exclaimed in a low, hoarse voice, drawing herself up and
standing erect, "I mean that you do not know what Uncle Colin is
endeavouring to induce me to do--you do not realise the true tragedy of
my position."

"No, I don't," was his blunt response, his eyes wide-open in surprise.

"Oh, Dick," she cried in despair, her voice trembling with emotion, "he
speaks the truth when he urges me for my own sake to go south--to return
again to Hove.  But, alas! if I followed his advice, sound though it is,
it would mean that--that to-morrow we should part for ever!"

"Part!" gasped the young man, his face becoming white in an instant.
"Why?"

"Because--well, simply because all affection between us is forbidden,"
she faltered in a hoarse, half whisper, her beautiful face ashen pale,
"because,"--she gasped, still clinging to the back of the chintz-covered
chair, "because, although we love each other as passionately and as
dearly as we do, we can never marry--never!  Between us there exists a
barrier--a barrier strong but invisible, that can never be broken--
never--until the grave!"

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

THE PAINFUL TRUTH.

With Her Highness's permission I had despatched a reassuring telegram in
the private cipher to the Emperor prefixed by the word "Bathildis"--a
message which, I think, greatly puzzled the local postmaster at
Lochearnhead.  Another I had sent to Miss West, and then returned to the
small hotel at the loch-side where I intended to spend the night.

I had left the pair together, and strolled out across the lawn.  Of what
happened afterwards I was in ignorance.  The girl had come in search of
me a quarter of an hour later, pale, trembling and tearful, and in a
broken voice told me that they had parted.

I took her soft little hand, and looking straight into her eyes asked:

"Does he know the truth?"

She shook her head slowly in the negative.

"I--I have resolved to return to Russia," she said simply, in a
faltering voice.

"To see the Emperor?"  I asked eagerly.  "To tell him the truth--eh?"

Her white lips were compressed.  She only drew a long, deep breath.

"Dick has gone," she said at last, in a strange, dreamy voice.  "And--
and I must go back again to all the horrible dreariness and formality of
the life to which, I suppose, I was born.  Ah!  Uncle Colin--I--I can't
tell you how I feel.  My happiness is all at an end--for ever."

"Come, come," I said, placing my hand tenderly upon the girl's shoulder.
"You will go back to Petersburg--and you will learn to forget.  We all
of us have similar disappointments, similar sorrows.  I, too, have had
mine."

But she only shook her head, bursting into tears as she slowly
disengaged herself from me.

Then, with head sunk upon her chest in blank despair and sobbing
bitterly, she turned from me, and in the clear, crimson afterglow, went
slowly back up the garden-path to the house.

I stood gazing upon her slim, dejected figure until it was lost around
the bend of the laurels.  Then I retraced my steps towards the little
lake-side village.

At ten o'clock that night, while writing a letter in the small hotel
sitting-room, Richard Drury was shown in.

His face was paler than usual, hard and set.

He apologised for disturbing me at that hour, but I offered him a chair
and handed him my cigarette-case.  His boots were very dusty, I noticed;
therefore I surmised that since leaving his well-beloved he had been
tramping the roads.

"I am much puzzled, Mr Trewinnard," he blurted forth a moment later.
"Miss Gottorp has suddenly sent me from her and refused to see me
again."

"That is to be much regretted," I said.  "Before I left I heard her
declare that there were certain circumstances which rendered it
impossible for you to marry.  I therefore know that your interview this
evening must have been a painful one."

"Painful!" he echoed wildly.  "I love her, Mr Trewinnard!  I confess it
to you, because you are her friend and mine."

"I honestly believe you do, Drury.  But," I sighed, "yours is, I fear,
an unfortunate--a very unfortunate attachment."

I was debating within myself whether or not it were wise to reveal to
him Natalia's identity.  Surely no good could now accrue from further
secrecy, especially as she had resolved to return at once to Russia.

I saw how agitated the poor fellow was, and how deep and fervent was his
affection for the girl who, after all, was sacrificing her great love to
perform a duty to her oppressed nation and to avenge the lives of
thousands of her innocent compatriots.

"Yes.  I know that my affection for her is an unfortunate one," he said,
in a thick voice.  "She has talked strangely about this barrier between
us, and how that marriage is not permitted to her.  It is all so
mysterious, so utterly incomprehensible, Mr Trewinnard.  She is
concealing something.  She has some secret, and I feel sure that you, as
an intimate friend of her family, are aware of it."  Then after a slight
pause he grew calm and, looking me straight in the face, asked: "May I
not know it?  Will you not tell me the truth?"

"Why should I, Drury, when the truth must only cause you pain?"  I
queried.  "You have suffered enough already.  Why not go away and
forget?  Time heals most broken hearts."

"It will never heal mine," he declared, adding: "Her words this evening
have greatly puzzled me.  I cannot see why we may not marry.  She has no
parents, I understand.  Yet how is it that she seems eternally watched
by certain suspicious-looking foreigners?  Why is her life--and even
mine--threatened as it is?"

For a few moments I did not speak.  My eyes were fixed upon his strong,
handsome face, tanned as it was by healthy exercise.

"If you wish to add to your grief by ascertaining the truth, Drury, I
will tell you," I said quietly.

"Yes," he cried.  "Tell me--I can bear anything now.  Tell me why she
refuses any longer to allow me at her side--I who love her so
devotedly."

"Her decision is only a just one," I replied.  "It must cause you deep
grief, I know, but it is better for you to be made aware of the truth at
once, for she knew that a great and poignant sorrow must fall upon you
both one day."

"Why?" he asked, still puzzled and leaning in his chair towards me.

"Because the woman you love--whom you know as Miss Gottorp--has never
yet revealed her true identity to you."

"Ah!  I see!" he cried, starting to his feet.  "I guess what you are
going to say.  She--she is already married!"

"No."

"Thank God for that!" he gasped.  "Well, tell me."

Again I paused, my eyes fixed steadily upon his.

"Her true name is not Gottorp.  She is Her Imperial Highness the Grand
Duchess Natalia Olga Nicolaievna of Russia, niece of His Majesty the
Emperor!"

The man before me stared at me with open mouth in blank amazement.

"The Grand Duchess Natalia!" he echoed.  "Impossible!"

"It is true," I went on.  "At Eastbourne, in her school-days, she was
known as Miss Gottorp--which is one of the family names of the Imperial
Romanoffs--and on her return to Brighton she resumed that name.  The
suspicious-looking foreigners who have puzzled you by haunting her so
continuously are agents of Russian police, attached to her for her
personal protection; while the threats against her have emanated from
the Revolutionary Party.  And," I added, "you can surely now see the
existence of the barrier between you--you can discern why, at last,
foreseeing tragedy in her love for you, Her Highness has summoned
courage and, even though it has broken her heart, has resolved to part
from you in order to spare you further anxiety and pain."

For some moments he did not speak.

"Her family have discovered her friendship, I suppose," he murmured at
last, in a low, despairing voice.

"Her family have not influenced her in the least," I assured him.  "She
told me the truth that she could not deceive you any longer, or allow
you to build up false hopes, knowing as she did that you could never
become her husband."

"Ah! my God! all this is cruel, Mr Trewinnard!" he burst forth, with
clenched hands.  "I have all along believed her to be a girl of the
upper middle-class, like myself.  I never dreamed of her real rank or
birth which precluded her from becoming my wife!  But I see it all now--
I see how--how utterly impossible it is for me to think of marriage with
Her Imperial Highness.  I--I--"

He could not finish his sentence.  He stretched out his strong hand to
me, and in a broken breath murmured a word of thanks.

In his kind, manly eyes I saw the bright light of unshed tears.  His
voice was choked by emotion as, turning upon his heel, poor fellow! he
abruptly left the room, crushed beneath the heavy blow which had so
suddenly fallen upon him.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

AT WHAT COST!

Colonel Paul Polivanoff, Marshal of the Imperial Court, gorgeous in his
pale-blue and gold uniform of the Nijni-Novgorod Dragoons, with many
decorations, tapped at the white-enamelled steel door of His Majesty's
private cabinet in the Palace of Tzarskoie-Selo, and then entered,
announcing in French:

"Her Imperial Highness the Grand Duchess Natalia and M'sieur Colin
Trewinnard."

Nine days had passed since that parting of the lovers at Lochearnhead,
and now, as we stood upon the threshold of the bomb-proof chamber, I
knew that our visit there in company was to be a momentous event in the
history of modern Russia.

As we entered, the Emperor, who had been busy with the pile of State
documents upon his table, rose, settled the hang of his sword--for he
was in a dark green military uniform, with the double-headed eagle of
Saint Andrew in diamonds at his throat--and turned to meet us.

Towards me His Majesty extended a cordial welcome, but I could plainly
detect that his niece's presence caused him displeasure.

"So you are back again in Russia--eh, Tattie?" he snapped in French,
speaking in that language instead of Russian because of my presence.
"It seems that during your absence you have been guilty of some very
grave indiscretions and more than one scandalous escapade--eh?"

"I am here to explain to Your Majesty," the girl said quite calmly, and
looking very pale and sweet in her half-mourning.

"Trewinnard has furnished me with reports," he said hastily, motioning
her to a chair.  "What you have to say, please say quickly, as I have
much to do and am leaving for Moscow to-night.  Be seated."

"I am here for two reasons," she said, seating herself opposite to where
he had sunk back into his big padded writing-chair, "to explain what you
are pleased to term my conduct, and also to place your Majesty in
possession of certain facts which have been very carefully hidden from
you."

"Another plot--eh?" he snapped.  "There are plots everywhere just now."

"A plot--yes--but not a revolutionary one," was her answer.

"Leave such things to Markoff or to Hartwig.  They are not women's
business," he cried impatiently.  "Rather explain your conduct in
England.  From what I hear, you have so far forgotten what is due to
your rank and station as to fall in love with some commoner!  Markoff
made a long report about it the other day.  I have it somewhere," and he
glanced back upon his littered table, whereon lay piled the affairs of a
great and powerful Empire.

Her cheeks flushed slightly, and I saw that her white-gloved hand
twitched nervously.  We had travelled together from Petersburg, and upon
the journey she had been silent and thoughtful, bracing herself up for
an ordeal.

"I care not a jot for any report of General Markoff's," she replied
boldly.  "Indeed, it was mainly to speak of him that I have asked for
audience to-day."

"To tell me something against him, I suppose, just because he has
discovered your escapades in England--because he has dared to tell me
the truth--eh, Tattie?" he said, with a dry laugh.  "So like a woman!"

"If he has told you the truth about me, then it is the first time he has
ever told Your Majesty the truth," she said, looking straight at the
Emperor.

The Sovereign glanced first at her with quick surprise and then at
myself.

"Her Imperial Highness has something to report to Your Majesty,
something of a very grave and important nature," I ventured to remark.

"Eh?  Eh?" asked the big bearded man, in his quick, impetuous way.
"Something grave--eh?  Well, Tattie, what is it?"

The girl, pale and agitated, held her breath for a few moments.  Then
she said:

"I know, uncle, that you consider me a giddy, incorrigible flirt.
Perhaps I am.  But, nevertheless, I am in possession of a secret--a
secret which, as it affects the welfare of the nation and of the
dynasty, it is, I consider, my duty to reveal to you."

"Ah!  Revolutionists again!"

"I beg of you to listen, uncle," she urged.  "I have several more
serious matters to place before you."

"Very well," he replied, smiling as though humouring her.  "I am
listening.  Only pray be brief, won't you?"

"You will recollect the attempt planned to be made in the Nevski on the
early morning of our arrival from the Crimea, and in connection with
that plot a lady, a friend of mine and of Mr Trewinnard's, named Madame
de Rosen, and her daughter Luba were arrested and sent by administrative
process to Siberia?"

"Certainly.  Trewinnard went recently on a quixotic mission to the
distressed ladies," he laughed.  "But why, my dear child, refer to them
further?  They were conspirators, and I really have no interest in their
welfare.  The elder woman is, I understand, dead."

"Yes," the Grand Duchess cried fiercely; "killed by exposure, at the
orders of General Serge Markoff."

"Oh!" he exclaimed, "then you have come here to denounce poor Markoff as
an assassin--eh?  This is really most interesting."

"What I have to relate to Your Majesty will, I believe, be found of
considerable interest," she said, now quite calm and determined.  "True,
I have charged Serge Markoff with the illegal arrest and the subsequent
death of an innocent woman.  It is for me now to prove it."

"Certainly," said His Imperial Majesty, settling himself in his big
chair, and placing the tips of his strong white fingers together in an
attitude of listening.

"Then I wish to reveal to you a few facts concerning this man who wields
such wide and autocratic power in our Russia--this man who is the real
oppressor of our nation, and who is so cleverly misleading and
terrorising its ruler."

"Tattie!  What are you saying?"

"You will learn when I have finished," she said.  "I am only a girl, I
admit, but I know the truth--the scandalous truth--how you, the Emperor,
are daily deceived and made a catspaw by your clever and unscrupulous
Chief of Secret Police."

"Speak.  I am all attention," he said, his brows darkening.

"I have referred to poor Marya de Rosen," said the girl, leaning her
elbow upon the arm of the chair and looking straight into her uncle's
face.  "If the truth be told, Marya and Serge Markoff had been
acquainted for a very long time.  Two years after the death of her
husband, Felix de Rosen, the wealthy banker of Odessa and Warsaw, Serge
Markoff, in order to obtain her money, married her."

"Married her!" echoed the Emperor in a loud voice.  "Can you prove
this?"

"Yes.  Three years ago, when I was living with my father in Paris, I
went alone one morning to the Russian Church in the Rue Daru, where, to
my utter amazement, I found a quiet marriage-service in progress.  The
contracting parties were none other than General Markoff and the widow,
Madame de Rosen.  Beyond the priest and the sacristan, I was the only
person in possession of the truth.  They both returned to Petersburg
next day, but agreed to keep their marriage secret, as the General was
cunning enough to know that marriage would probably interfere with his
advancement and probably cause Your Majesty displeasure."

"I had no idea of it!" he remarked, much surprised.  "Marya de Rosen--or
Madame Markoff, as she really was--frequently went to her husband's
house, but always clandestinely and unknown to Luba, who had no
suspicion of the truth," the girl went on.  "According to the story told
to me by Marya herself, a strange incident occurred at the General's
house one evening.  She had called there and been admitted, by the side
entrance, by a confidential servant, and was awaiting the return of the
General, who was having audience at the Winter Palace.  While sitting
alone, a young woman of the middle-class--probably an art-student--was
ushered into the room by another servant, who believed Marya was
awaiting formal audience of His Excellency.  The girl was highly excited
and hysterical, and finding Marya alone, at once broke out in terrible
invective against the General.  Marya naturally took Markoff's part,
whereupon the girl began to make all sorts of charges of conspiracy, and
even murder, against him--charges which Marya declared to the girl's
face were lies.

"Suddenly, however, the girl plunged her hand deep into the pocket of
her skirt and produced three letters, which, with a mocking laugh, she
urged Marya to read and then to judge His Excellency accordingly.
Meanwhile, the manservant, having heard the girl's voice raised
excitedly, entered and promptly ejected her, leaving the letters in
Marya's hands.  She opened them.  They were all in Serge Markoff's own
handwriting, and were addressed to a certain man named Danilo
Danilovitch, once a shoemaker at Kazan, and now, in secret, the leader
of the Revolutionary Party.

"From the first of these Marya saw that it was quite plain that the
General--the man in whom Your Majesty places such implicit faith--had
actually bribed the man with five thousand roubles and a promise of
police protection to assassinate Your Majesty's brother, the Grand Duke
Peter Michailovitch, from whom he feared exposure, as he had been shrewd
enough to discover his double-dealing and the peculation of the public
funds of which Markoff had been guilty while holding the office of
Governor of Kazan.  Six days after that letter," Her Highness added in a
hard, clear voice, "my poor Uncle Peter was shot dead by an unknown hand
while emerging from the Opera House in Warsaw."

"Ah!  I remember!" exclaimed His Majesty hoarsely, for the Grand Duke
Peter was his favourite brother, and his assassination had caused him
the most profound grief.

"Of the other two letters--all of them having been in my possession,"
Her Highness went on, "one was a brief note, appointing a meeting for
the following evening at a house near the Peterhof Station, in
Petersburg, while the third contained a most amazing confession.  In the
course of it General Markoff wrote words to the following effect: `You
and your chicken-hearted friends are utterly useless to me.  I was
present and watched you.  When he entered the theatre you and your
wretched friends were afraid--you failed me!  You call yourself
Revolutionists--you, all of you, are without the courage of a mouse!  I
thought better of you.  When you failed so ignominiously, I waited--
waited until he came out.  Where you failed, I was fortunately
successful.  He fell at the first shot.  Arrests were, of course,
necessary.  Some of your cowardly friends deserve all the punishment
they will get.  Forty-six have been arrested to-day.  Meet me to-morrow
at eight p.m. at the usual rendezvous.  You shall have the money all the
same, though you certainly do not deserve it.  Destroy this.'"

"Where is that letter?" demanded His Majesty quickly.

"It has unfortunately been destroyed--destroyed by its writer.  Marya
was aghast at these revelations of her husband's treachery and
double-dealing, for while Chief of Secret Police and Your Majesty's most
trusted adviser he was actually aiding and abetting the Revolutionists!
She placed the letters which had so opportunely come into her possession
into her pocket, and said nothing to Markoff when he returned.  But from
that moment she distrusted him, and saw how ingenious and cunning were
his dealings with both yourself and with the leader of the
Revolutionists.  He, assisted by his catspaw, Danilo Danilovitch, formed
desperate plots for the mere purpose of making whole sale arrests, and
thus showing you how active and astute he was.  Danilo Danilovitch--who,
as `The One,' the leader whose actual identity is unknown by those poor
deluded wretches who believe they can effect a change in Russia by means
of bombs--is as cunning and crafty as his master.  It was he who threw
the bomb at our carriage and who killed my poor dear father.  He--"

"How can you prove that?" demanded the Emperor quickly.

"I myself saw him throw the bomb," I said, interrupting.  "The outrage
was committed at Markoff's orders."

"Impossible!  Why do you allege this, Trewinnard?  What motive could
Markoff have in killing the Grand Duke Nicholas?"

"The same that he had in ordering the arrest and banishment of his own
wife and her daughter," was my reply.  "Her Highness will make further
explanation."

"The motive was simply this," went on the girl, still speaking with
great calmness and determination.  "A few days before I left with Your
Majesty on the tour of the Empire, I called upon Marya de Rosen to wish
her good-bye.  On that occasion she gave me the three letters in
question--which had apparently been stolen from Danilovitch by the girl
who had handed them to her.  Marya told me that she feared lest her
husband, when he knew they were in her possession, might order a
domiciliary visit for the purpose of securing possession of them.
Therefore she begged me, after she had shown me the contents and bound
me to strictest silence, to conceal them.  This I did.

"While we were absent in the south nothing transpired, but Danilovitch
had arranged an attempt in the Nevski on the morning of our return to
Petersburg.  The plot was discovered at the eleventh hour, as usual and
among those arrested was Madame de Rosen and Luba.  Why?  Because Your
Majesty's favourite, Serge Markoff, having discovered that the
incriminating letters had been handed to his wife, knew that she, and
probably Luba, were aware of his secret.  He feared that the evidence of
his crime must have passed into other hands, and dreading lest his wife
should betray him, he ordered her arrest as a dangerous political.
After her arrest he saw her, and, hoping for her release, she explained
how she had handed the letters to me for safe-keeping, and confessed
that I was aware of the shameful truth.  She was not, however, released,
but sent to her grave.  For that same reason Markoff ordered his agent
Danilovitch to throw the bomb at the carriage in which I was riding with
my poor father and Mr Trewinnard."

"But I really cannot give credence to all this!" exclaimed the Emperor,
who had risen again and was standing near the window which looked out
upon the courtyard of the palace, whence came the sound of soldiers
drilling and distant bugle-calls.

"Presently Your Majesty shall be given a complete proof," his niece
responded.  "Danilovitch has confessed.  At Markoff's orders--which he
was compelled to carry out, fearing that if he refused the all-powerful
Chief of Secret Police would betray him to his comrades as a spy--he, at
imminent risk of being shot by the sentries, visited our palace on four
occasions, and succeeded at last, after long searches, in discovering
the letters where I had hidden them for safety in my old nursery, and,
securing them, he handed them back to his master."

"Then this Danilovitch is a Revolutionist paid by Markoff to perform his
dirty work--eh?" asked the Emperor angrily.

"He is paid, and paid well, to organise conspiracies against Your
Majesty's person," I interrupted.  "The majority of the plots of the
past three years have been suggested by Markoff himself, and arranged by
Danilovitch, who finds it very easy to beguile numbers of his poor
deluded comrades into believing that the revolution will bring about
freedom in Russia.  A list of these he furnishes to Markoff before each
attempt is discovered, hence the astute Chief of Secret Police is always
able to put his hand upon the conspirators and to furnish a satisfactory
report to Your Majesty, for which he receives commendation."

"Apparently a unique arrangement," remarked the sovereign reflectively.

"In order to close the lips of Madame de Rosen, he contrived that she
should receive such brutal and inhuman treatment that she died of the
effects of cold, hardship and exposure," I went on.  "One of Markoff's
agents made a desperate attempt upon myself while in Siberia, fearing
that Her Highness had revealed the truth to me, and well knowing that I
was aware of Danilovitch's true _metier_.  The attempt fortunately
failed, as did another recently formed by Danilovitch in London at
Markoff's orders.  Therefore--"

"But this Danilovitch!" interrupted His Majesty, turning to me.  "Has he
actually confessed to you?"

"He has, Sire," I replied.  "The sole reason of my journey to Yakutsk
was in order to see Marya de Rosen on Her Highness's behalf and obtain
permission for her to speak and reveal to Your Majesty all that the
Grand Duchess has now told you.  Her Highness had promised strictest
secrecy to her friend, but now that the lady is dead I have at last
induced her to speak in the personal-interests of Your Majesty, as well
as in the interests of the whole nation."

"Yes, yes, I quite understand," said His Majesty very gravely.

"By returning here, by abandoning my _incognita_, I--I have been
compelled to sacrifice my love," declared the girl in a low, faltering
voice, her cheeks blanched, her mouth drawn hard, and her fine eyes
filled with tears.

"Ah!  Tattie!  If what you have revealed to me be true, then the reason
of Markoff's unsatisfactory reports concerning, you is quite apparent,"
His Majesty said, slowly folding his arms as he stood in thought, a fine
commanding figure with the jewelled double eagle at his throat flashing
with a thousand fires.

"And so, Trewinnard," he added, turning to me, "all this is the reason
why, more than once, you have given me those mysterious hints which have
set me pondering."

"Yes, Sire," I replied.  "You have been blinded by these clever
adventurers surrounding you--that circle which, headed by Serge Markoff,
is always so careful to prevent you from learning the truth.  The
intrigue they practise is most ingenious and far-reaching, ever securing
their own advancement with fat emoluments at the expense of the
oppressed nation.  Their basic principle is to terrorise you--to keep
the bogy of revolution constantly before Your Majesty, to discover
plots, and by administrative process to send hundreds, nay thousands,
into exile in those far-off Arctic wastes, or fill the prisons with
suspects, more than two-thirds of whom are innocent, loyal and
law-abiding citizens."

He turned suddenly and, pale with anger, struck his fist upon his table.

"There shall be no more exile by administrative process!" he cried, and
seating himself, he drew a sheet of official paper before him, and for a
few moments his quill squeaked rapidly over the paper.

Thus he wrote the ukase abolishing exile by administrative process--that
law which the camarilla had so abused--and signed it with a flourish of
his pen.

The first reform in Russia--a reform which meant the yearly saving of
thousands of innocent lives, the preservation of the sanctity of every
home throughout the great Empire, and which guaranteed to everyone in
future, suspect or known criminal or Revolutionist, a fair and open
trial--had been achieved.

Surely the little Grand Duchess, the madcap of the Romanoffs, had not
sacrificed her great love in vain, even though while that Imperial ukase
was being written she sat with bitter tears rolling slowly down her
white cheeks.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

DESCRIBES A MOMENTOUS AUDIENCE.

A dead silence fell in that small, business-like room, wherein the
monarch, the hardest-working man in the Empire, transacted the
complicated business of the great Russian nation.

Outside could be heard a sharp word of command, followed by the heavy
tramp of soldiers and the roll of drums.  The sentries were changing
guard.

Slowly--very slowly--His Majesty placed a sheet of blotting-paper over
the document he had written, and then turning to the tearful girl,
asked:

"Will not this individual, Danilo Danilovitch, furnish me with proofs?
He is a Revolutionist, yet that is no reason why I should not see him.
From what you tell me, Markoff holds him in his power by constantly
threatening to betray him to his comrades as a police-spy.  I must see
him.  Where is he?"

"He has accompanied us from London, Your Majesty," was my reply.  "I had
some difficulty in assuring him that he would obtain justice at Your
Majesty's hands."

"He is an assassin.  He killed my brother Nicholas; yet it seems--if
what you tell me be true--that Markoff compelled him to commit this
crime."

"Without a doubt," was my reply.

"Then, Revolutionist or not, I will see him," and he touched the
electric button placed in the side of his writing-table.

A sentry appeared instantly, and at my suggestion His Majesty permitted
me to go down the long corridor, at the end of which the dark,
thin-faced man, in a rather shabby black suit, was sitting in a small
ante-room, outside which stood a tall, statuesque Cossack sentry.

A few words of explanation, and somewhat reluctantly Danilovitch rose
and followed me into the presence of the man he was ever plotting to
kill.

The Emperor received him most graciously, and ordered him to be seated,
saying:

"My niece here and Mr Trewinnard have been speaking of you, Danilo
Danilovitch, and have told me certain astounding things."

The man looked up at his Sovereign, pale and frightened, and His
Majesty, realising this, at once put him at his ease by adding: "I know
that, in secret, you are the mysterious `One' who directs the
revolutionary movement throughout the Empire, and the constant
conspiracies directed against my own person.  Well," he laughed, "I
hope, Danilovitch, you will not find me so terrible as you have been led
to expect, and, further, that when you leave here you will think a
little better of the man whose duty it is to rule the Russian nation
than you hitherto have done.  Now," he asked, looking straight at the
man, "are you prepared to speak with me openly and frankly, as I am
prepared to speak to you?"

"I am, Your Majesty," he said.

"Then answer me a few questions," urged the Imperial autocrat.  "First,
tell me whether these constant conspiracies against myself--these plots
for which so many hundreds are being banished to Siberia--are genuine
ones formed by those who really desire to take my life?"

"No, Sire," was the answer.  "The last genuine plot was the one in
Samara, nearly two years ago.  Your Majesty escaped only by a few
seconds."

"When the railway line was blown up just outside the station; I
remember," said the Emperor, with a grim smile.  "Four of your
fellow-conspirators were killed by their own explosives."

"That was the last genuine plot.  All the recent ones have been
suggested by General Markoff, head of the Secret Police."

"With your assistance?"

The man nodded in the affirmative.

"Then you betray your fellow-conspirators for payment--eh?"

"Because I am compelled.  I, alas! took a false step once, and His
Excellency the General has taken advantage of it ever since.  He forces
me to act according to his wishes, to conspire, to betray--to murder if
necessity arises--because he knows how I dread the truth becoming known
to the secret revolutionary committee, and how I fully realise the
terrible fate which must befall me if the actual facts were ever
revealed.  The Terrorists entertain no sympathy with their betrayer."

"I quite understand that," remarked the Sovereign.  And then, in
gracious words, he closely questioned him regarding the assassination of
the Grand Duke Peter outside the Opera House in Warsaw, and heard the
ghastly truth of Markoff's crime from the witness's own lips.

"I read the letters which I secured from the Palace of the Grand Duke
Nicholas," he admitted.  "They were to the same effect as Your Majesty
has said.  In one of them His Excellency the General confessed his
crime."

"You threw the bomb which killed my brother, the Grand Duke Nicholas?"

"It was intended to kill Her Highness the Grand Duchess," and he
indicated Natalia, "and also the Englishman, Mr Trewinnard.  The
General was plotting the death of both of them, fearing that they knew
his secret."

"And in England there was another conspiracy against them--eh?"

"Yes," replied the man known as the Shoemaker of Kazan.  "But Mr
Trewinnard and the Chief of Criminal Police, Ivan Hartwig, discovered
me, and dared me to commit the outrage on pain of betrayal to my
friends.  Hence I have been between two stools--compelled by Markoff and
defied by Hartwig.  At last, in desperation, I sent an anonymous letter
to Her Highness warning her, with the fortunate result that both she and
her lover--a young Englishman named Drury--disappeared, and even the
Secret Police were unable to discover their whereabouts.  I did so in
order to gain time, for I had no motive in taking Her Highness's life,
although if I refused to act I knew what the result must inevitably be."

"All this astounds me," declared the Emperor.  "I never dreamed that I
was being thus misled, or that Markoff was acting with such cunning and
unscrupulousness against the interests of the dynasty and the nation.  I
see the true situation.  You, Danilo Danilovitch, are a Revolutionist--
not by conviction, but because of the drastic action of the Secret
Police, the real rulers of Russia.  Therefore, read that," and he took
from his table the Imperial ukase and handed it to him.

When he had read it he returned it to the Emperor's hand, and murmured:

"Thank God!  All Russia will praise Your Majesty for your clemency.  It
is the reform for which we have been craving for the past twenty years--
fair trial, and after conviction a just punishment.  But we have, alas!
only had arrest and prompt banishment without trial.  Every man and
woman in Russia has hitherto been at the mercy of any police-spy or any
secret enemy."

"My only wish is to give justice to the nation," declared the Sovereign,
his dark, thoughtful eyes turned upon the dynamitard whose word was law
to every Terrorist from Archangel to Odessa, and from Wirballen to
Ekaterinburg.

"And, Sire, on behalf of the Party of the People's Will I beg to thank
you for granting it to us," said the man, whose keen, highly-intelligent
face was now slightly flushed.

"What I have heard to-day from my niece's lips, from Mr Trewinnard and
from yourself, has caused the gravest thoughts to arise within me," His
Majesty declared after a slight pause.  "Injustice has, I see, been done
on every hand, and the Secret Police has been administered by one who,
it seems, is admittedly an assassin.  It is now for me to remedy that--
and to do so by drastic measures."

"And the whole nation will praise Your Majesty," Danilovitch replied.
"I am a Revolutionist, it is true, but I have been forced--forced
against my will--to formulate these false plots for the corrupt Secret
Police to unearth.  I declare most solemnly to Your Majesty that my
position as leader of this Party and at the same time an
_agent-provocateur_ has been a source of constant danger and hourly
terror.  In order to hide my secret, I was unfortunately compelled to
commit murder--to kill the woman I loved.  She discovered the truth, and
would have exposed me to the vengeance which the Party never fails to
mete out to its betrayers.  Markoff had given me my liberty and immunity
from arrest in exchange for my services to him.  He held me in his
power, body and soul, and, because of that, I was forced to strike down
the woman I loved," he added, with a catch in his voice.  "And--and--"
he said, standing before the Emperor, "I crave Your Majesty's clemency.
I--I crave a pardon for that act for which I have ever been truly
penitent."

"A pardon is granted," was the reply in a firm, deep voice.  "You killed
my brother Nicholas under compulsion.  But on account of your open
confession and the service rendered to me by these revelations, I must
forgive you.  I see that your actions have, all along, been controlled
by Serge Markoff.  Now," he added, "what more can you tell me regarding
this maladministration of the police?"

Danilovitch threw himself upon his knees and kissed the Emperor's hand,
thanking him deeply and declaring that he would never take any further
part in the revolutionary movement in the future, but exercise all his
influence to crush and stamp it out.

Then, when he had risen again to his feet, he addressed His Majesty,
saying:

"The Secret Police, as at present organised, manufacture
revolutionaries.  I was a loyal, law-abiding Russian before the police
arrested my brother and my wife illegally, and sent them to Siberia
without trial.  Then I rose, like thousands of others have done, and
fell into the trap which Markoff's agents so cleverly prepared.  No one
has been safe from arrest in Russia--"

"Until to-day," the Emperor interrupted.  "The ukase I have written is
the law of the Empire from this hour."

"Ah!  God be thanked!" cried the man, placing his hands together
fervently.  "Probably no man can tell the many crimes and injustices for
which General Markoff has been responsible.  You want to know some of
them--some within my own knowledge," he went on.  "Well, he was
responsible for the great plot in Moscow a year ago when the little
Tzarevitch so narrowly escaped.  Seventeen people were killed and
twenty-three were injured by the six bombs which were thrown, and nearly
one hundred innocent persons were sent to Schusselburg or to Siberia in
consequence."

"Did you formulate that plot?" the Emperor asked.

"I did.  Also at Markoff's orders the one at Nikolaiev where the young
woman, Vera Vogel, shot the Governor-General of Kherson and two of his
Cossacks.  Again at Markoff's demand, I formed the plot whereby, near
Tchirskaia, the bridge over the Don was blown up; fortunately just
before Your Majesty's train reached it.  It was I who pressed the
electrical contact--I pressed it purposely a few moments too quickly, as
I was determined not to be the cause of that wholesale loss of life
which must have resulted had the train fallen into the river.  Another
attempt was the Zuroff affair, when an infernal machine charged with
nitro-glycerine was not long ago actually found within the Winter
Palace--placed there by an unknown hand in order to terrify Your
Majesty.  But I tell you the hand that placed it where it was found was
that of Serge Markoff himself--the same hand which killed His Imperial
Highness the Grand Duke Peter in order to prevent His Highness telling
Your Majesty certain ugly truths which he had accidentally discovered.
And," he went on, "there were many other conspiracies of various kinds
conceived for the sole purpose of keeping the Empire ever in a state of
unrest and the arrest of hundreds of the innocent of both sexes.
Indeed, explosives--picric acid, nitro-glycerine, melinite and cordite--
were supplied to us from a secret source.  Sometimes, too, when I
furnished a list of, say, ten or a dozen of those implicated in a plot,
the police would arrest them with probably thirty others besides, people
taken haphazard in the streets or in the houses.  Whole families have
been banished, men dragged from their wives, women from their husbands
and children, and though innocent were consigned to those terrible
oubliettes beneath the level of the lake at Schusselburg, or in the
Fortress of Peter and Paul.  To adequately describe all the fierce
brutality, the gross injustice and the ingenious plots conceived and
financed by Serge Markoff would be impossible.  I only speak of those in
which I, as his unwilling catspaw, have been implicated."

Her Highness and myself had listened to this amazing confession without
uttering a word.

The Emperor, intensely interested in the man's story, put to him many
questions, some concerning the demands of the Party of the People's
Will, others in which he requested further details concerning Markoff's
crimes against persons, and against the State.

"This man in whom for years I have placed such implicit confidence has
played me false!" cried the ruler presently, his face pale as he struck
the table fiercely in his anger.  "He has plotted with the Terrorists
against me!  He has been responsible for several attempts from which I
have narrowly escaped with my life.  Therefore he shall answer to me--
this cunning knave who is actually my brother's assassin!  He shall pay
the penalty of his crimes!"

"All Russia knows that at Your Majesty's hands we always receive
justice," the Revolutionist said.  "From the Ministry, however, we never
do.  They are our oppressors--our murderers."

"And you Revolutionists wish to kill me because of the misdeeds of my
Ministers!" cried the Emperor in reproach.

"If Your Majesty dismisses and punishes those who are responsible, then
there will be no more Terrorism in Russia.  I am a leader; I have bred
and reared the serpent of the Revolution, and I myself can strangle it--
and I promise Your Majesty that as soon as General Markoff is removed
from office--I will do so."

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

THE EMPEROR'S COMMAND.

Again the Emperor turned to his table and scribbled a few lines in
Russian, which he handed to the man.

It was an impressive moment.  What he had written was the dismissal in
disgrace of his favourite, the most powerful official in the Empire.

"I shall receive him in audience to-night, and shall give this to him,"
he said.  "The punishment I can afterwards consider."

Then, after a pause, he added:

"I have to thank you, Danilo Danilovitch, for all that you have revealed
to me.  Go and tell your comrades of the Revolution all that I have said
and what I have done.  Tell them that their Emperor will himself see
that justice is accorded them--that his one object in future shall be to
secure, by God's grace, the peace, prosperity and tranquillity of the
Russian nation."

Then the Emperor bowed as sign that the audience was at an end, and the
man, unused to the etiquette of Court, bowed, turned, and wishing us
farewell, walked out.

"All this utterly astounds me, Trewinnard," said His Majesty, when
Danilovitch had gone.  He was speaking as a man, not as an Emperor.
"Yet what Tattie has revealed only confirms what I suspected regarding
the death of my poor brother Peter," he went on.  "You recollect that I
told you my suspicions--of my secret--on the day of the fourth Court
ball last year.  It is now quite plain.  He was ruthlessly killed by the
one man in my _entourage_ whom I have so foolishly believed to be my
friend.  Ah!  How grossly one may be deceived--even though he be an
Emperor!" and he sighed, drawing his strong hand wearily across his
brow.

After a pause he added: "I have to thank you, Trewinnard, for thus
tearing the scales from my eyes.  Indeed, I have to thank you for much
in connection with what I have learned to-day."

"No, Sire," was my reply.  "Rather thank Her Imperial Highness.  To her
efforts all is due.  She has sacrificed her great love for a most worthy
man in the performance of this, her duty.  Had she not resolved to
return to Russia and speak openly at risk of giving you offence, she
might have remained in England--or, rather, in Scotland, still
preserving her _incognita_, and still retaining at her side the honest,
upright young Englishman with whom she has been in love ever since her
school-days at Eastbourne."

"I quite realise the great sacrifice you have made, Tattie," said the
Emperor, turning to her kindly, and noting how pale was her beautiful
countenance and how intense her look.  "By this step you have, in all
probability, saved my life.  Markoff and his gang of corrupt Ministers
would have no doubt killed me whenever it suited their purpose to do so.
But you have placed your duty to myself and to the nation before your
love, therefore some adequate recompense is certainly due to you."

The great man of commanding presence strode across the room from end to
end, his bearded chin upon his breast, deep in thought.  Suddenly he
halted before her, and drawing himself up with that regal air which
suited him so well, he looked straight at her, placed his hand tenderly
upon her shoulder as she sat, and said:

"Tell me, Tattie; do you really and truly love this Englishman?"

"I do, uncle," the girl faltered, her fine eyes downcast.  "Of course I
do.  I--I cannot tell you a lie and deny it."

"And--well, if Richard Drury took out letters of naturalisation as a
Russian subject, and I made him a Count--and I gave you permission to
marry--what then--eh?" he asked, smiling merrily as he stood over her.

She sprang to her feet and grasped both his big hands.

"You will!" she cried.  "You really will!  Uncle, tell me!"

The Emperor, smiling benignly upon her--for, after all, she was his
favourite niece--slowly nodded in the affirmative.

Whereupon she turned to me, exclaiming:

"Oh!  Uncle Colin.  Dear old Uncle Colin!  I'm so happy--so very happy!
I must telegraph to Dick at once--at once!"

"No, no, little madcap," interrupted the Emperor; "not from here.  The
Secret Police would quickly know all about it.  Send someone to the
German frontier with a telegram.  One of our couriers shall start
to-night.  Drury will receive the good news to-morrow evening, and,
Tattie,"--he added, taking both her little hands again, "I have known
all along, from various reports, how deeply and devotedly you love this
young Englishman.  Therefore, if I give my consent and make your union
possible, I only hope and trust that you will both enjoy every
happiness."

In her wild ecstasy of delight the girl raised her sweet face to his
heavy-bearded countenance, that face worn by the cares of State, and
kissed him fervently, thanking him profoundly, while I on my part craved
for the immediate release of poor Luba de Rosen.

The Emperor at once scribbled something upon an official telegraph form,
and touching a bell, the sentry carried it out.

"The young lady so cruelly wronged will be free and on her way back to
Petersburg within three hours," the Monarch said quietly, after the
sentry had made his exit.

"Oh!  Uncle Colin!" cried Her Highness excitedly to me, "what a
red-letter day this is for me!"

"And for me also, Tattie," remarked His Majesty in his deep, clear
voice.  "Owing to your efforts, I have learned some amazing but bitter
truths; I have at last seen the reason why my people have so cruelly
misjudged me, and why they hate me.  I realise how I have, alas! been
blinded and misled by a corrupt and unscrupulous Ministry who have
exercised their power for their own self-advancement, their methods
being the stirring-up of the people, the creation of dissatisfaction,
unrest, and the actual manufacture of revolutionary plots directed
against my own person.  I now know the truth, and I intend to act--to
act with a hand as strong and as relentless as they have used against my
poor, innocent, long-suffering subjects."  Her Highness was all anxiety
to send a telegram by courier over the frontier to Eydtkuhnen.  If he
left Petersburg by the night train at a quarter-past ten, he would, she
reckoned, be at the frontier at six o'clock on the following evening.
It was half an hour by train from Tzarskoie-Selo to Petersburg, and she
was now eager to end the audience and be dismissed.

But His Majesty seemed in no hurry.  He asked us both many questions
concerning Markoff, and what we knew regarding his dealings with the
bomb-throwers.

Natalia explained what had occurred in Brighton, and how she had been
constantly watched by Danilovitch, while I described the visit of
Hartwig and myself to that dingy house in Lower Clapton.  That sinister,
unscrupulous chief of Secret Police had been directly responsible for
the death of Natalia's father; and Her Highness was bitter in her
invectives against him.

"Leave him to me," said the Emperor, frowning darkly.  "He is an
assassin, and he shall be punished as such."

Then, ringing his bell again, he ordered the next Imperial courier in
waiting to be summoned, for at whatever palace His Majesty might be
there were always half a dozen couriers ready at a moment's notice to go
to the furthermost end of the Empire.

"I know, Tattie, you are anxious to send your message.  Write it at my
table, and it shall be sent from the first German station.  Here, in
Russia, the Secret Police are furnished with copies of all messages sent
abroad or received.  We do not want your secret disclosed just yet!" he
laughed.

So the girl seated herself in the Emperor's chair, and after one or two
attempts composed a telegram containing the good news, which she
addressed to Richard Drury at his flat in Albemarle Street.

Presently the courier, a big, bearded man of gigantic stature, in drab
uniform, was ushered into the Imperial presence, and saluted.  To him,
His Majesty gave the message, and ordered him to take it by the next
train to Eydtkuhnen.  Whereupon the man again saluted, backed out of the
door, and started upon his errand.  What, I wondered, would Dick Drury
think when he received her reassuring message?

Natalia's face beamed with supreme happiness, while the Emperor himself
for the moment forgot his enemies in the pleasure which his niece's
delight gave to him.

Again His Majesty, with darkening brow, referred to the brutal murder of
his favourite brother, the Grand Duke Peter, saying:

"You will recollect, Trewinnard, the curious conviction which one day so
suddenly came upon me.  I revealed it to you in strictest secrecy--the
ghastly truth which seemed to have been forced upon me by some invisible
agency.  It was my secret, and the idea has haunted me ever since.  And
yet here to-day my suspicion that poor Peter was killed by some person
who feared what secret he might reveal stands confirmed; and yet," he
cried, "how many times have I, in my ignorance, taken the hand of my
brother's murderer!"

Colonel Polivanoff, the Imperial Marshal; my old friend, Captain
Stoyanovitch, equerry-in-waiting, both craved audience, one after the
other, for they bore messages for His Majesty.  Therefore they were
received without ceremony and impatiently dismissed.  The subject the
Sovereign was discussing with us was of far more importance than reports
from the great military camps at Yilna and at Smolensk, where manoeuvres
were taking place.

The Emperor turned to his private telephone and was speaking with
Trepoff, the Minister for Foreign Affairs in Petersburg, when the
Marshal Polivanoff again entered, saying:

"His Excellency General Markoff petitions audience of Your Majesty."

Natalia and I exchanged quick glances, and both of us rose.

For a second the Emperor hesitated.  Then, turning to us, he commanded
us to remain.

"I will see him at once," he said very calmly, his face a trifle paler.

Next moment the man whose dismissal in disgrace was already lying upon
the Emperor's desk stood upon the threshold and bowed himself into the
Imperial presence.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

"FROM OUR OWN CORRESPONDENT."

That moment was indeed a breathless one.

The Emperor's countenance was grey with anger.  Yet he remained quite
calm and firm.  He was about to deal with an enemy more bitter and more
dangerous than the most relentless firebrand of the whole Revolutionary
Party.

"I was not aware that Your Majesty was engaged with Her Imperial
Highness," the sinister-faced official began.  "I have a confidential
report to make--a matter of great urgency."

"Well, I hope it is not another plot," remarked the Sovereign with
bitter, weary sarcasm.  "But whatever report you wish to make, Markoff,
may be made here--before my niece and Mr Trewinnard."

He glanced at us suspiciously and then said:

"This afternoon the Moscow police have unearthed a most desperate plot
to wreck Your Majesty's train early to-morrow morning at Chimki.  I
furnished them with information, and twenty-eight arrests have been
made."

"Indeed," remarked his Imperial Master, raising his eyebrows, quite
unmoved.  "Have you the list of names?"

In answer, the General produced a yellow official paper, which he placed
upon His Majesty's table.  Then, with but a casual glance, the Emperor
took up his quill and scribbled some words across the sheet and handed
it back.

Markoff glanced at the words written, then, much puzzled, looked at His
Majesty.

"Yes," the latter said.  "I order their immediate release.  And, let me
tell you, Serge Markoff, that this afternoon I have given audience to a
very intimate friend of yours; your _agent-provocateur_, Danilo
Danilovitch!"

The General's countenance went white as paper.  Such a reception was
entirely unexpected.

"Ah!" exclaimed His Majesty, with a bitter smile, "I see what surprise
and apprehension my talk with Danilovitch causes you.  Well, I will not
give utterance to the loathing I feel towards you--the man in whose
hands I have placed such supreme power, and whom I have so implicitly
trusted.  Suffice it to say that he has revealed to me the ingenious
manner in which plots have been formed in order to terrorise me, and
your inhuman method of sending hundreds of innocent ones into exile,
merely in order to obtain my favour."

"I have never done such a thing!" cried the man in uniform, standing at
attention as his master spoke.  "The fellow lies."

"Enough," said the Emperor, in a loud, commanding voice.  "Hear me!  You
are an assassin.  You killed my brother the Grand Duke Peter with your
own dastardly hand in order to hide your disgraceful tactics.  You sent
your own wife to her grave, and you paid your catspaw to kill the Grand
Duke Nicholas.  To-day there is a plot afoot to close the lips of my
niece and my good friend Trewinnard!  These are only a few of your
disgraceful crimes.  No; do not attempt to deny them, brute and liar
that you are.  Rather reflect upon the terrible fate of the thousands of
poor wretches who have been sent to the Arctic settlements by your
relentless, inhuman hand.  The souls of all those who have been worn out
by the journey and died like dogs upon the Great Post Road, or in other
ways have fallen innocent victims of your plots, call loudly for
vengeance.  And I tell you, Serge Markoff," he said, his dark, heavy
brows narrowing in fierce anger, "I tell you that I shall find means by
which adequate punishment will be awarded to you.  Here is your
dismissal!" he added, taking the document from his table.  "It will be
gazetted to-morrow.  Go back to Petersburg at once and there remain.  Do
not attempt to leave Russia, or even to leave Petersburg, or you will at
once be placed under arrest and sent to the fortress.  Go home, place
your affairs in order, and await until I send for you again."

The Emperor had not yet decided what form his punishment should take.

"But--but surely Your Imperial Majesty will allow me to--" he gasped
with difficulty.

"I will allow you nothing--nothing!  You are my enemy, Serge Markoff--a
crafty, cunning enemy, who now stands revealed as a brutal assassin!
Ah!  I shall avenge my brother Peter's death--depend upon it!  Go!  Get
from my presence!" he commanded, and raising his hand, he pointed with
his finger imperiously to the door.  I had never before seen such a look
upon His Majesty's strong face.

And the man whose evil actions had spread terror into every corner and
every home throughout the Russian Empire, thus receiving his sudden
_conge_, slowly crossed the room, his head bowed, his face ashen.

He was unable to speak or to protest.

For a second he stood still, then, opening the door, he passed out in
silence.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Extract from the second edition of _The Times_ issued on the following
day:

"From Our Own Correspondent.

"St Petersburg, May 16th.

"A startling tragedy occurred just after seven o'clock last evening in
front of the barracks in the Zagarodny Prospect in St Petersburg, just
outside the Tzarskoie-Selo Station.  According to the journal _Novosti_,
His Excellency General Serge Markoff, Chief of Secret Police, and one of
the Emperor's most trusted officials, who had been to Tzarskoie-Selo for
audience with His Majesty, had arrived at the station unexpectedly on
his return to Petersburg, and his carriage not being there, he resolved
to walk down into the city.  He had turned out of the station, when he
was followed by an unknown man, who had, it seems, arrived by the same
train.  In front of the barracks the pair apparently recognised each
other, and, according to a bystander, His Excellency drew a revolver and
fired point-blank at the stranger, who next instant drew his own weapon
and shot the General dead.

"All took place in the space of a few seconds, so suddenly, indeed, that
the stranger, who certainly fired in self-protection, was able to get
clear away before any of the passers-by could stop him.  The General's
body was removed by the military ambulance to his residence facing the
Summer Gardens, and the strange affair created the greatest sensation
throughout the city.

"It is believed that the man so suddenly recognised by His Excellency
must have been a prominent Terrorist from whom the General feared
assassination; but it is proved by an onlooker--a butcher who was
walking only a few feet from them--that His Excellency, who appeared
seized by sudden anger, fired the first shot.

"The police are making every inquiry, and it is believed that the
assassin of the well-known official will be arrested.

"Another curious feature in connection with the strange affair is that
the same journal in another column publishes in the `Official Gazette'
the announcement that His Majesty the Emperor only two hours before the
tragic occurrence dismissed his favourite official in disgrace.  No
reason is given, but it is rumoured in the diplomatic circle that
certain grave administrative scandals have been discovered, and this
dismissal is the first of several which are to follow.  In fact, in
certain usually well-informed quarters it is persistently declared that
the whole Cabinet will be dismissed.

"The Emperor left with the Tzarina for Moscow last evening.  The Grand
Duchess Natalia accompanied them, and Mr Colin Trewinnard, of the
British Embassy, travelled by the same train."

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

DESCRIBES TO-DAY.

Three months later.

It was hot August in Russia--the month of drought and dust.

Luba de Rosen had returned to her mother's house in Petersburg, where
her property and her dead mother's handsome income, which had been
confiscated by the State, had been returned to her.  Several times both
Her Highness and myself had visited her, while one afternoon she had
been received in private audience at Gatchina by the Emperor, who had
sympathised with her and promised to make amends in every way for the
injustice she had suffered.

The camarilla who had so long ruled Russia, placing the onus of their
oppression upon the Emperor, had, thanks to Natalia, been broken up, and
a new and honest Cabinet established in its place.

Danilo Danilovitch, on the day following Markoff's assassination, had
telegraphed openly from Germany to His Majesty, announcing that he had
rid Russia of her worst enemy.  And probably that message did not cause
the Emperor much displeasure.  It was the carrying out of the old
Biblical law of an eye for an eye.  And as the catspaw was beyond the
frontier, and the crime a political one, its perpetrator was immune from
arrest.

Five weeks later, however, the Supreme Council of the People's Will,
held in an upstairs room in Greek Street, Soho, and presided over by
Danilovitch in person, heard from him a long and complete statement, in
which he described his audience at Tzarskoie-Selo, and delivered the
message sent by the Emperor to the Revolutionists.

Unanimously it was then decided to put an end to all militant measures,
now that the Emperor knew the truth, and to trust the assurances given
from the throne.  A loyal reply was drafted to His Majesty's message,
and this was duly despatched by a confidential messenger to Russia and
placed in the Emperor's own hands--a declaration of loyalty which gave
him the greatest gratification.

Diplomatic Europe, in ignorance of what was actually in progress, was
surprised at the sudden turn of events in Russia, and on account of the
unexpected dismissal of Ministers and the establishment of the Duma,
felt that open revolution was imminent.  From the official busybodies at
the various Embassies the truth was carefully concealed.  It was, of
course, known that General Markoff had all along been the worst enemy of
Russia, and in consequence the Revolutionary Party made open rejoicing
at the news of his death.  Yet the actual facts were ingeniously
suppressed, both from the diplomatic corps and from the correspondents
of the foreign newspapers.

The entire change in the Emperor's policy and the granting of many
much-needed reforms were regarded abroad as the natural reaction after
the drastic autocracy.  But nobody dreamed of the truth, how the
Emperor, after all a humane man and a benign ruler, had at last learned
the bitter truth, and had instantly acted for the welfare and safety of
his beloved people.

Many of the London journals published leading articles upon what they
termed "the new era in Russia," attributing it to all causes except the
right one, the popular opinion being that His Majesty had at last been
terrorised into granting justice and a proper representation to the
people.  Exile of political prisoners to Siberia had been suddenly
abolished by Imperial ukase, together with the major powers vested in
the Secret Police.  The safety and sanctity of the home was guaranteed,
and no person could in future be consigned to a dungeon or exiled
without fair and open trial.

All this, it was said, was a triumph of the Revolution.  Journalists
believed that the Emperor had been forced to accord the people their
demand.  Little, indeed, did the world dream the actual truth, the
secret of which was so well kept that only the British Foreign Minister
at Downing Street was aware of it, for by the Emperor's express
permission I was able to sit one day in that sombre private room in the
Foreign Office and there in confidence relate the strange events, the
shadows of a throne, which I have endeavoured to set down in the
foregoing pages.

Since the day of the dismissal of Serge Markoff with five members of the
Cabinet, and the breaking up of that disgraceful camarilla which had
surrounded the Sovereign, suppressing the truth, preventing reforms, and
ruling Holy Russia with a hand of iron, the nation had indeed entered
upon an era of financial and social progress.  Russia has become a
nation of enlightenment, prosperity and industry, even, perhaps, against
the will of her upper classes.

I was present on that August day in the handsome private church attached
to the great Palace of Peterhof, and there witnessed the marriage of Her
Imperial Highness the Grand Duchess Natalia to Richard Drury, Count of
Ozerna, who had become a naturalised Russian subject and been ennobled
by the Emperor.

It was a brilliant function, for all the Ministers, foreign Ambassadors
and the whole Imperial Court, including the Emperor and Empress, were
present.  The Court now being out of mourning for the Grand Duke
Nicholas, the display of smart gowns, uniforms and decorations was more
striking than even at a State ball at the Winter Palace.

Standing beside Captain Stoyanovitch, I was near Natalia, the
incorrigible little madcap of the Romanoffs, when with her husband she
knelt before the altar while the priest, in his gorgeous robes, bestowed
upon them his blessing.  And when they rose and passed out, their
handsome faces reflected the supreme joy of the triumph of their mutual
love.

Some years have now passed.

His Imperial Majesty, alas! lies in his great sarcophagus in Moscow, and
the Tzarevitch reigns in his stead.  But in Russia the Revolutionary
movement is no longer a militant one, for the people know well that
their ruler's aims and aspirations are those of his father, and
patiently await the reforms which, though perhaps slow in progress,
nevertheless do from time to time become law and bestow the greatest
benefits upon the many millions of souls from the German frontier to the
Sea of Japan.

Ivan Hartwig, the Anglo-Russian, still lives on the outskirts of
Petersburg as Otto Schenk, and is still head of the Russian Surete, and
from him I only recently heard that Danilo Danilovitch had been
discovered in Chicago, leading the life of a highly-respected citizen.
He had changed his name into Daniels, and was the proprietor of one of
the largest boot factories in that progressive city.  Miss West has been
pensioned and remains in Brighton, but Davey, the English maid, is still
in the Grand Duchess's service.

As for myself--well, I am still a diplomat, and still a bachelor.

After service as Councillor of Embassy in Berlin, Washington and Paris,
I was appointed by the late King Edward his _Envoy extraordinaire et
Ministre plenipotentiaire_ to a certain brilliant Court in the South of
Europe, where I still reside in the great white Embassy as chief of a
large and brilliant staff.

Sometimes when I go on leave, I manage to snatch a week or two with
Count Drury and his pretty wife, at the Grand Ducal Palace in
Petersburg, where they live together in perfect idyllic happiness, and
where splendid receptions are given during the winter season.  More than
once, too, I have been guest at their great Castle of Ozerna, a gloomy
mediaeval fortress, near Orel in Central Russia, to enjoy the excellent
boar-hunting in the huge forests surrounding.

And often as I have sat at their table, waited on by the gorgeous
flunkeys in the blue-and-gold Grand Ducal livery, headed by old Igor, I
have looked into Natalia's pretty face and reflected how Little the
Russian people ever dream that for the liberty which has recently come
to them they are indebted solely to a woman--to the girl who was once
declared to be an incorrigible flirt, and who had scandalised the
Imperial family--the little Grand Duchess, who, at the sacrifice of her
own great love, boldly exposed and denounced that unscrupulous and
powerful official, Markoff, the one-time Chief of Secret Police, the man
who had sacrificed so many innocent lives as the Price of Power.

The End.