The International Spy
Almost immediately the Prince resigned his government and went to live in his splendid palace on the Nevsky Prospect, in Petersburg. Before very long, society in the Russian capital was startled to hear of the sudden deaths in rapid succession of both the Prince’s children by his former wife, a son and a daughter. Then, after a brief interval, followed the tragic death of the Prince himself, who was found in bed one morning by his valet, with his throat cut.
The almost satanic beauty and fascination of the youthful Princess had made her from the very first one of the most conspicuous personages at the Imperial Court. These three deaths, following on the heels of one another, roused the most dreadful suspicions, and the Czar Alexander III. personally charged his minister of justice to see that the law was carried out.
Accordingly the police took possession of the palace while the corpse of its late owner still lay where it had been found. The most searching investigations were made, the servants were questioned and threatened, and it was rumored that the widow herself was for a short time under arrest.
Suddenly a great change took place. The police withdrew, professing themselves satisfied that no crime had been committed. The deaths of the son and daughter were put down to natural causes, and that of the Prince was pronounced a suicide, due to grief at the loss of his children. Some of the servants disappeared – it was said into Siberia – and in due course the Princess resumed her place in society and at Court, as though nothing were amiss.
Nevertheless, from that hour, as I have every reason to know, her life was really that of a slave to the head of the secret police. She appeared to go about unfettered, and to revel in the enjoyment of every luxury; but her time, her actions, and the vast wealth bequeathed to her by her husband, were all at the disposal of her tyrant.
Time after time, in half the capitals of Europe, but more especially, of course, in that of Russia, I had come on traces of this terrible woman, not less terrible if it were true that she was herself the most miserable victim of the system of which she formed part.
But singularly enough, though I had heard so much of the Princess I had never actually found myself pitted against her. And, more singularly still, I had never met her.
From this it will be gathered that I experienced a sensation of more than ordinary curiosity and even apprehension as I presented myself at the house in the Nevsky Prospect, and asked to be admitted to the presence of its mistress.
“Her highness is on duty at the Palace to-day,” I was told by the chamberlain who received me in the inner hall. “Her carriage is just ordered to take her there. However, I will take up your letter, and inquire when her highness can see you.”
I sat down in the hall, outwardly a calm, stolid Briton, but inwardly a wrestler, wound up to the highest pitch of excitement and impatient for the sight of his antagonist.
To pass the time suitably, I took my guide-book out of my pocket and began to read. The book opened at Herr Baedaker’s description of the gloomy fortress of the Schlüsselburg, the dreaded prison of the foes of the Czar.
The description did not tend to soothe my nerves, conscious as I was that the woman I was about to meet could consign me to the most noisome dungeon in the fortress by merely lifting her little finger.
I was just closing the book with an involuntary shudder when I heard a light, almost girlish, laugh from above. I looked hastily, and saw the woman I had come to measure myself against standing poised like a bird on the top of the grand staircase.
As I rose hurriedly to my feet, taking in every detail of her superb yet delicate figure, her complexion like a blush-rose, her lustrous eyes – they were dark violet on a closer view – and the cloud of rippling gold that framed her brow, I was moved, yes, positively carried away for a moment, by a sentiment such as few women have been able to inspire in me.
Perceiving, no doubt, that she had produced the desired impression, the Princess ran lightly down the stairs and came toward me holding out two tiny hands, the fingers of which were literally gloved in diamonds.
“My friend! My noble Englishman!” she exclaimed in the purest French. “And since when have you known that dear Monsieur Place?”
I checked myself on the point of replying, pretended to falter, and then muttered in the worst French I could devise on the spur of the moment:
“Parlez-vous Anglais, s’il vous plaît, Madame?”
The Princess shook her head reproachfully.
“You speak French too well not to understand it, I suspect,” she retorted in the same language. Then dropping it for English, marred only by a slight Slavonic accent, she repeated:
“But tell me, – dear Mr. Place, he is a great friend of yours, I suppose?”
“I can hardly claim the honor of his personal friendship,” I replied, rather lamely. “But I have always known and admired him as a public man.”
“Ah! He is so good, is he not? So generous, so confiding, so great a friend of our dear Russia. You know Mr. – ?”
The name she uttered was that of the politician referred to above. She slipped it out swiftly, with the action of a cat pouncing.
I shook my head with an air of distress.
“I am afraid I am not important enough to know such a great man as that,” I said with affected humility.
The Princess hastened to relieve my embarrassment.
“What is that to us!” she exclaimed. “You are an Englishman, you are benevolent, upright, truthful, and you esteem our country. Such men are always welcome in Russia. The Czaritza is waiting for me; but you will come back and dine with me, if not to-night, then to-morrow, or the next day. I will send an invitation to your hotel. My friends shall call on you. You are staying at the – ?”
I mentioned the name of the hotel, murmuring my thanks.
“That is nothing,” the beautiful woman went on in the same eager strain. “I shall have good news for you when we meet again, believe me. Yes – ” she lowered her voice almost to a whisper – “our dear Czar is going to take the negotiations into his own hands. So it is said. His majesty is determined to preserve peace. The odious intrigues of the War group will be defeated, I can assure you. You will not be disappointed, my dear Mr. – ” she snatched the editor’s letter from her muff and glanced at it – “Mr. Sterling, if I tell you that you are going to have your journey for nothing. You will have a good time in Petersburg, all the same. But believe me when I tell you so, your journey will fortunately be for nothing!”
And with the repetition of these words, and another bright bow and look which dazzled my senses, the wonderful creature swept past me to where the chamberlain stood ready to hand her into her carriage.
For nothing?
CHAPTER III
THE HEAD OF THE MANCHURIAN SYNDICATE
No reader can have failed to notice one remarkable point in the interview between the Princess Y – and myself. I refer of course to her invitation to me to dine with her in the course of a day or two.
Unless the etiquette of the Russian Court differed greatly from that of most others in Europe, it would be most indecorous for a lady-in-waiting, during her turn of service, to give entertainments at her private house.
I felt certain that this invitation concealed some trap, but I puzzled myself uselessly in trying to guess what it could be.
In the meantime I did not neglect certain other friends of mine in the city on the Neva, from whom I had some hope of receiving assistance.
Although I have never gone so far as to enroll myself as an active Nihilist, I am what is known as an Auxiliary. In other words, without being under the orders of the great secret committee which wages underground war with the Russian Government, I have sometimes rendered it voluntary services, and I have at all times the privilege of communicating with it, and exchanging information.
While waiting for the next move on the part of the Princess, therefore, I decided to get in touch with the revolutionists.
I made my way on foot to a certain tavern situated near the port, and chiefly patronized by German and Scandinavian sailors.
The host of the Angel Gabriel, as the house was called, was a Nihilist of old standing, and one of their most useful agents for introducing forbidden literature into the empire.
Printed mostly in London, in a suburb called Walworth, the revolutionary tracts are shipped to Bergen or Lubeck, and brought thence by these sailors concealed in their bedding. At night, after the customs officers have departed, a boat with a false keel puts off from a quay higher up the Neva, and passes down the river to where the newly arrived ship is lying; the packages are dropped overboard as it drifts past the side and hidden under the bottom boards; and then the boat returns up the river, where its cargo is transferred to the cellars of the tavern.
The host, a namesake of the Viceroy of Manchuria, was serving in the bar when I came in. I called for a glass of vodka, and in doing so made the sign announcing myself as an Auxiliary.
Alexieff said nothing in reply, but the sailors lounging in the bar began to finish off their drinks and saunter out one by one, till in a short time the place was empty.
“Well?” said the tavern-keeper, as soon as we were alone.
It was not my first visit to the Angel Gabriel, and I lost no time in convincing Alexieff of my identity. As soon as he recognized me, I said: —
“You know the Princess Y – ?”
The expression of rage and fear which convulsed his features was a sufficient answer.
“You know, moreover, that she is at present working her hardest to bring about a war between Russia and Japan, with the hope of ultimately involving Great Britain?”
He nodded sullenly.
“How does that affect your friends?” I asked cautiously. Something in the man’s face warned me not to show my own hand just then.
“We hate her, of course,” he said grudgingly, “but just now we have received orders that she is not to be interfered with.”
I drew a deep breath.
“Then you regard this war – ?”
“We regard it as the beginning of the revolution,” he answered. “We know that the Empire is utterly unprepared. The Viceroy Alexieff is a vain boaster. Port Arthur is not provisioned. The Navy is rotten. The Army cannot be recruited except by force. The taxes are already excessive and cannot be increased. In short, we look forward to see the autocracy humiliated. The moment its prestige is gone, and the moujik feels the pinch of famine, our chance will come.”
I saw that I had come to the wrong quarter for assistance.
“Then you will do nothing against this woman at present?” I remarked, anxious to leave the impression that she was the only object of my concern.
“No. At least not until war is definitely declared. After that I cannot say.”
“And you think the war sure to come?”
“We are certain of it. One of our most trusted members is on the board of the Manchurian Syndicate.”
“The Syndicate which has obtained the concessions in Korea?”
“Against which Japan has protested, yes.”
I felt the full force of this announcement, having watched the proceedings of the Syndicate for some months for reasons of my own.
Every student of modern history has remarked the fact that all recent wars have been promoted by great combinations of capitalists. The causes which formerly led to war between nation and nation have ceased to operate. Causes, or at least pretexts, for war continue to occur, but whether they are followed up depends mainly on commercial considerations. A distant Government is oppressing its subjects, it may be in Turkey, it may be in Cuba, it may be in Africa. No matter, some great Power suddenly discovers it is interested; the drums are beaten, the flag is unfurled, and armies are launched on their path. The next year, perhaps, the same Power sees its own subjects massacred wantonly off its own coasts by a foreign fleet. Nothing happens; a few speeches are made, and the whole incident is referred to arbitration, and forgotten.
It is the consideration of money which decides between peace and war.
Perceiving it was useless to ask any assistance of the Nihilists in my forlorn enterprise, I returned sadly to my hotel.
Hardly had I finished the immense lunch on which I was compelled to gorge myself, when a waiter brought me a card, the name on which gave me an electric shock.
“M. Petrovitch.”
Every one has heard of this man, the promoter of the Manchurian Syndicate, and, if report spoke truly, the possessor of an influence over the young Czar which could be attributed only to some occult art.
I could not doubt that this powerful personage had been instigated to call on me by the Princess Y – .
What then? Was it likely that she would have sent the most influential man in the imperial circle to wait upon a traveling fanatic, a visionary humanitarian from Exeter Hall?
Impossible! Somehow something must have leaked out to rouse the suspicions of this astute plotter, and make her guess that I was not what I seemed.
It was with the sensations of a man struggling in the meshes of an invisible net that I saw M. Petrovitch enter the room.
The celebrated wire-puller, whose name was familiar to every statesman and stock-broker in Europe, had an appearance very unlike his reputation.
He was the court dandy personified. Every detail of his dress was elaborated to the point of effeminacy. His hands were like a girl’s, his long hair was curled and scented, he walked with a limp and spoke with a lisp, removing a gold-tipped cigarette from his well-displayed teeth.
As the smoke of the cigarette drifted toward me, I was conscious of an acute, but imperfect, twinge of memory. The sense of smell, though the most neglected, is the most reliable sense with which we are furnished. I could not be mistaken in thinking I had smelt tobacco like that before.
“I have come to see you without losing a moment, Mr. Sterling,” he said in very good English. “My good friend Madame Y – sent me a note from the Palace to beg me to show you every attention. It is too bad that an ambassador of peace – a friend of that great and good man, Place, should be staying in a hotel, while hundreds of Russians would be delighted to welcome him as their guest. My house is a poor one, it is true, and I am hardly of high enough rank, still – ”
The intriguer was asking me to transfer myself to his roof, to become his prisoner, in effect.
“I cannot thank you enough,” I responded, “but I am not going to stay. The Princess has convinced me that the war-cloud will blow over, and I think of going on to Constantinople to intercede with the Sultan on behalf of the Armenians.”
“A noble idea,” M. Petrovitch responded warmly. “What would the world do without such men as you? But at all events you will dine with me before you go?”
It was the second invitation to dinner I had received that day. But, after all, I could hardly suspect a trap in everything.
“Do you share the hopes of the Princess?” I asked M. Petrovitch, after thanking him for his hospitality.
The syndicate-monger nodded.
“I have been working night and day for peace,” he declared impudently, “and I think I may claim that I have done some good. The Japanese are seeking for an excuse to attack us, but they will not get it.”
“The Manchurian Syndicate?” I ventured to hint, rising to go to the bell.
“The Syndicate is wholly in favor of peace,” he assured me, watching my movement with evident curiosity. “We require it, in fact, to develop our mines, our timber concessions, our – ”
A waiter entered in response to my ring.
“Bring me some cigarettes – your best,” I ordered him.
As the man retreated it was borne in on my guest that he had been guilty of smoking in my room without offering me his case.
“A thousand pardons!” he exclaimed. “Won’t you try one of mine?”
I took a cigarette from the case he held out, turned it between my fingers, and lit it from the end farthest from the maker’s imprint.
“If I am satisfied that all danger is removed I should be inclined to apply for some shares in your undertaking,” I said, giving the promoter a meaning look.
From the expression in his eyes it was evident that this precious scoundrel was ready to sell Czar, Russia and fellow-promoters all together.
While he was struggling between his natural greed and his suspicion the waiter reentered with some boxes of cigarettes.
I smelt the tobacco of each and made my choice, at the same time pitching the half-smoked cigarette given to me by M. Petrovitch into the fireplace, among the ashes.
“Your tobacco is a little too strong for me,” I remarked by way of excuse.
But the Russian was wrapped up in the thought of the bribe at which I had just hinted.
“I shall bear in mind what you say,” he declared, as he rose.
“Depend upon it, if it is possible for me to meet your wishes, I shall be happy to do so.”
I saw him go off, like a fish with the bait in its mouth. Directly the door closed behind him I sprang to the fireplace, rescued the still burning cigarette and quenched it, and then, carefully brushing away the dust, read the maker’s brand once more.
An hour later simultaneous messages were speeding over the wires to my correspondents in London, Amsterdam and Hamburg:
Ascertain what becomes of all cigarettes made by Gregorides; brand, Crown Aa.
CHAPTER IV
THE CZAR’S AUTOGRAPH
The next morning at breakfast I found the two invitations already promised. That of the head of the Manchurian Syndicate was for the same night.
Resolved not to remain in the dark any longer as to the reason for this apparent breach of etiquette, I decided to do what the Marquis of Bedale had suggested, namely, approach the Dowager Empress in person.
Well accustomed to the obstacles which beset access to royalty, I drove to the Palace in a richly appointed carriage from the best livery stable in Petersburg, and sent in my card to the chamberlain by an equerry.
“I have a message to the Czaritza which I am instructed to give to her majesty in person,” I told him. “Be good enough to let her know that the messenger from the Queen of England has arrived.”
He went out of the room, and at the end of ten minutes the door opened again and admitted – the Princess Y – !
Overpowered by this unlucky accident, as I at first supposed it to be, I rose to my feet, muttering some vague phrase of courtesy.
But the Princess soon showed me that the meeting did not take her by surprise.
“So you have a message for my dear mistress?” she cried in an accent of gay reproach. “And you never breathed a word of it to me. Mr. Sterling, I shall begin to think you are a conspirator. How long did you say you had known that good Mr. Place? But I am talking while her majesty is waiting. Have you any password by which the Czaritza will know whom you come from?”
“I can tell that only to her majesty, I am afraid,” I answered guardedly.
“I am in her majesty’s confidence.”
And bringing her exquisite face so near to mine that I was oppressed by the scent of the tuberoses in her bosom, she whispered three syllables in my ear.
Dismayed by this proof of the fatal progress the dangerous police agent had already made, I could only admit by a silent bow that the password was correct.
“Then come with me, Mr. Sterling,” the Princess said with what sounded like a malicious accent on the name.
The reception which I met from the Dowager Empress was gracious in the extreme. I need not recount all that passed. Her imperial majesty repeated with evident sincerity the assurances which had already been given me in a different spirit by the two arch-intriguers.
“There will be no war. The Czar has personally intervened. He has taken the negotiations out of the hands of Count Lamsdorff, and written an autograph letter to the Mikado which will put an end to the crisis.”
I listened with a distrust which I could not wholly conceal.
“I trust his majesty has not intervened too late,” I said respectfully, my mind bent on framing some excuse to get rid of the listener. “According to the newspapers the patience of the Japanese is nearly exhausted.”
“No more time will be lost,” the Czaritza responded. “The messenger leaves Petersburg to-night with the Czar’s letter.”
I stole a cautious glance in the direction of the Princess Y – . She was breathing deeply, her eyes fixed on the Czaritza’s lips, and her hands tightly clenched.
I put on an air of great relief.
“In that case, your majesty, I have no more to do in Petersburg. I will wire the good news to Lord Bedale, and return to England to-morrow or the next day. I beg your pardon, Princess!” I pretended to exclaim by a sudden afterthought, “after the next day.” And turning once more to the mother of the Czar, I explained:
“The Princess has honored me with an invitation to dinner.”
The Dowager Empress glanced at her attendant in evident surprise.
“I must implore your pardon, Madam,” the Princess stammered, in real confusion. “I am aware I ought to have solicited your leave in the first place, but knowing that this gentleman came from – ”
She broke off, fairly unable to meet the questioning gaze of her imperial mistress.
I pretended to come to her relief.
“I have a private message,” I said to the Empress.
“You may leave us, Princess,” the Empress said coldly.
As soon as the door had closed on her, I gave a warning look at the Czaritza.
“That woman, Madam, is the most dangerous agent in the secret service of your Empire.”
I trusted to the little scene I had just contrived to prepare the mind of the Czaritza for this intimation. But she received it as a matter of course.
“Sophia Y – has been all that you say, Monsieur V – . I am well acquainted with her history. The poor thing has been a victim of the most fiendish cruelty on the part of the Minister of Police, for years. At last, unable to bear her position any longer, she appealed to me. She told me her harrowing story, and implored me to receive her, and secure her admission to a convent. I investigated the case thoroughly.”
“Your majesty will pardon me, I am sure, if I say that as a man with some experience of intrigue, I thoroughly distrust that woman’s sincerity. She is intimate with M. Petrovitch, to my knowledge.”
“But M. Petrovitch is also on the side of peace, so I am assured.”
I began to despair.
“You will believe me, or disbelieve me as your majesty pleases. But I am accustomed to work for those who honor me with their entire confidence. If the Princess Y – is to be taken into the secret of my work on your majesty’s behalf, I must respectfully ask to be released.”
As I offered her majesty this alternative in a firm voice, I was inwardly trembling. On the reply hung, perhaps, the fate of two continents.
But the Dowager Empress did not hesitate.
“What you stipulate for shall be done, Monsieur V – . I am too well aware of the value of your services, and the claims you have on the confidence of your employers, to dispute your conditions.”
“The messenger who is starting to-night – does the Princess know who he is?”
“I believe so. It is no secret. The messenger is Colonel Menken.”
“In that case he will never reach Tokio.”
Her majesty could not suppress a look of horror.
“What do you advise?” she demanded tremulously.
“His majesty the Czar must at once write a duplicate of the despatch, unknown to any living soul but your majesty, and that despatch must be placed by you in my hands.”
The Dowager Empress gazed at me for a moment in consternation.
But the soundness of the plan I had proposed quickly made itself manifest to her.
“You are right, Monsieur V – ,” her majesty said approvingly. “I will communicate with the Czar without delay. By what time do you want the despatch?”
“In time to catch the Siberian express to-night, if your majesty pleases. I purpose to travel by the same train as Colonel Menken – it is possible I may be able to avert a tragedy.
“And since your majesty has told me that the Princess Y – is aware of the Colonel’s errand, let me venture to urge you most strongly not to let her out of your sight on any pretense until he is safely on his way.”