Part 41 (2/2)
Again in an authoritative tone I demanded to be taken to Krasiloff, and presently, after being marched as prisoners across the town, past scenes so horrible that they are still vividly before my eyes, we were taken into the chief police-office, where the hated official, a fat red-faced man in a general's uniform--the man without pity or remorse, the murderer of women and children--was sitting at a table. He greeted me with a grunt.
”General,” I said, addressing him, ”I have to present to you this order of your Amba.s.sador, and to demand safe conduct. Your soldiers found me and my----”
I hesitated.
”Your pretty Jewess--eh?”--and a smile of sarcasm spread over his fat face. ”Well, go on”--and he took the paper I handed him, knitting his brows again as his eyes fell upon the British royal arms and the visa.
”We were found in a cellar where we had hidden from the revolt,” I said.
”The place has been used for the manufacture of bombs,” declared one of the Cossacks.
The General looked my pretty companion straight in the face.
”What is your name, girl?” he demanded roughly.
”Luba Lazareff.”
”Native of where?”
”Of Petersburg.”
”What are you doing in Ostrog?”
”She is with me,” I interposed. ”I demand protection for her.”
”I am addressing the prisoner, sir,” was his cold remark.
”You refuse to obey the order of the Emperor's representative in London!
Good! Then I shall report you to the Minister,” I exclaimed, piqued at his insolence.
”Speak, girl!” he roared, his black eyes fixed fiercely upon her. ”Why are you in Ostrog? You are no provincial, you know.”
”She is my affianced wife,” I said, ”and in face of my statement and my pa.s.sport she need make no reply to any of your questions.”
A short, stout little man, shabbily dressed, pushed his way forward to the table, saying:
”Luba Lazareff is a well-known revolutionist, your Excellency. The German maker of bombs, Gustave Englebach, is her lover--not this gentleman. Gustave only left Ostrog yesterday.”
The speaker was, I afterwards discovered, one of Hartmann's agents.
”And where is Englebach now? I gave orders for his arrest some days ago.”
”He was found this morning by the patrol on the road to Schumsk, recognised, and shot, your Excellency.”
At this poor little Luba gave vent to a piercing scream and burst into a torrent of bitter tears.
”You fiends!” she cried. ”You have shot my Gustave! He is dead--_dead!_”
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