Part 25 (1/2)
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 circ.u.mstances, 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 a.s.sured 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 pa.s.sed out together into the autumn suns.h.i.+ne 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 a.s.sist 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.