Part 20 (1/2)

”Somebody has overheard!” he gasped in a low, hoa.r.s.e 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 d.u.c.h.ess 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 a.s.suredly 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 pa.s.sage.

”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 a.s.sistance. 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. ”Rea.s.sure 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 pa.s.s 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.”