The Red Symbol

I guessed that would fetch him, for I felt him thrill – it was scarcely a start – under the touch.

“I will come, Excellency; I will not fail,” he answered promptly. “But go you now, – not hurriedly.”

I hadn’t the least intention of hurrying, but passed on without further parley, and reached the inn unhindered. Mishka had not yet returned, and I told the landlord a pedler was coming to see me, and he was to be brought up to my room at once.

As I closed the shutters I wondered if he would come, or if he’d give me the slip as he did in Westminster, but within half an hour Barzinsky brought him up. The landlord looked quite scared, his ear-locks were quivering with his agitation.

“Yossof is here, Excellency,” he announced, so he evidently knew my man.

I nodded and motioned him out of the room, for he hovered around as if he wanted to stay.

Yossof stood at the end of the room, in an attitude of humility, his gray head bowed, his dingy fur cap held in his skinny fingers; but his piercing dark eyes were fixed earnestly on my face, and, when Barzinsky was gone and the door was shut, he came forward and made his obeisance.

“I know the Excellency now, although the beard has changed him,” he said quietly. His speech was much more intelligible than it had been that time in Westminster. “I remember his goodness to me, a stranger in the land. May the God of our fathers bless him! But I knew not then that he also was one of us. Why have you not the new password, Excellency?”

“I have but now come hither from England at the peril of my life, and as yet I have met none whom I knew as one of us,” I answered evasively. “What is this new word? It is necessary that I should learn it,” I added, as he hesitated.

“I will tell you its meaning only,” he answered, watching me closely. “It means ‘in life and in death,’ – but those are not the words.”

“Then I know them: à la vie et à la mort; is it not so?” I asked, remembering the moment he spoke the names by which Anne was known to others besides members of the League; for the police officer who had superintended the searching of my rooms at Petersburg, and later, young Mirakoff, had both mentioned one of them.

I had hit on the right words first time, and Yossof, evidently relieved, nodded, and repeated them after me, giving a queer inflection to the French.

“And where is she, – the gracious lady herself?” I asked. It was with an effort that I forced myself to speak quietly; for my heart was thumping against my ribs, and my throat felt dry as bone dust. What could – or would – this weird creature tell me of Anne’s present movements; and could – or would – he tell me the secret of Cassavetti’s murder? Through all these weeks I had clung to the hope, the belief, that he himself struck the blow, and now, as he stood before me, he appeared more capable, physically, of such a deed than he had done then. But yet I could scarcely believe it as I looked at him.

He met my question with another, as Mishka so often did.

“How is it you do not know?”

“I have told you I have but now come to Russia.”

He spread his hands with a deprecatory gesture as if to soften his reply, which, however, was spoken decisively enough.

“Then I cannot tell you. Remember, Excellency, though you seem to be one of us, I have little knowledge of you. In any matter touching myself I would trust you; but in this I dare not.”

He was right in a way. Such knowledge as I had of the accursed League was gained by trickery; and to question him further would arouse his suspicion of that fact, and I should then learn nothing at all.

“Listen,” I said slowly and emphatically. “You may trust me to the death in all matters that concern her whom you call your gracious lady. I was beside her, with her father and one other, when the Five condemned her, – would have murdered her if we had not defended her. She escaped, God be thanked, but that I only learned of late. I was taken, thrown into prison, taken thence back to England, to prison again, accused of the murder of Vladimir Selinski, – of which I shall have somewhat more to say to you soon! When I was freed, for I am innocent of that crime, as you well know, I set out to seek her, to aid her if that might be; and, if she was beyond my aid, at least to avenge her. I was about to start alone when I heard that she was no longer threatened by the League; that she was, indeed, once more at the head of it; but I failed to learn where I might find her. Therefore I go to join one who is her good friend, in the hope that I may through him be yet able to serve her. For the League I care nothing, – all my care is for her. And therefore, as I have said, you may trust me.”

He watched me fixedly as I spoke, but his gaunt face remained expressionless; though his next words showed that he had understood me well enough.

“I can tell you nothing, Excellency. You say you care for her and not for the League. That is impossible, for she is its life; her life is bound up in it; she would wish your service for it, – never for herself! This I will do. If she does not hear otherwise that you are at Zostrov, as you will be to-morrow – though it is unlikely that she will not have heard already – I will see that she has word. That is all I can do.”

“That must serve. You will not even say if she is near at hand?”

“Who knows? She comes and goes. One day she is at Warsaw; the next at Wilna; now at Grodno; again even here. Yes, she has been here no longer than a week since, though she is not here now.”

So I had missed her by one week!

“I do not know where she is to-day, nor where she will be to-morrow; in this I verily speak the truth, Excellency,” he continued. “Though I shall perchance see her, when my present business is done. Be patient. You will doubtless have news of her at Zostrov.”

“How do you know I am going there?”

“Does not all the countryside know that a foreigner rides with Mishka Pavloff? God be with you, Excellency.”

He made one of his quaint genuflexions and backed rapidly to the door.

“Here, stop!” I commanded, striding after him. “There is more, – much more to say. Why did you not keep your promise and return to me in London? What do you know of Selinski’s murder? Speak, man; you have nothing to fear from me!”

I had clutched his shoulder, and he made no attempt to free himself, but drooped passively under my hand. But his quiet reply was inflexible.

“Of all that I can tell you nothing, Excellency. It is best forgotten.”

There was a heavy footstep on the stair and next moment the door was tried, and Mishka’s voice exclaimed: “It is I. Open to me, Herr Gould.”

There was no help for it, so I drew back the bolt. The door had no lock, – only bolts within and without.

As Mishka entered, the Jew bowed low to him, and slipped through the doorway. Mishka glanced sharply at me, muttered something about returning soon, and followed Yossof, closing the door behind him and shooting the outer bolt.

CHAPTER XXXVI

STILL ON THE ROAD

“Will you never learn wisdom?” demanded Mishka, when, after a few minutes, he returned. “Why could you not rest here in safety?”

“Because I wanted to walk some of my stiffness off,” I replied coolly. “I had quite a good time, and met an old acquaintance.”

“Who gave you much interesting news?” he asked, with a sardonic inflection of his deep voice that made me guess Yossof had told him what passed at our interview.

“Why, no; I can’t say that he did that,” I confessed. Already I realized that I had learned absolutely nothing from the Jew save the new password, and the fact that he was, or soon would be, in direct communication with Anne.

Mishka gave an approving grunt.

“There are some who might learn discretion from Yossof,” he remarked sententiously.

“Just so. But who is he, anyhow? He might be ‘the wandering Jew’ himself, from the mysterious way he seems to get around the world.”

“Who and what he is? That I cannot tell you, for I do not know, or seek to know, since it is no business of mine. I go to bed; for we must start betimes in the morning.”

Not another word did he speak, beyond a surly “good night;” but, though I followed his example and got into bed, with my revolver laid handily on the bolster as he had placed his, hours passed before sleep came to me. I lay listening to Mishka’s snores, – he was a noisy sleeper, – and thinking of Anne; thinking of that one blissful month in London when I saw her nearly every day.

How vividly I remembered our first meeting, less than five months back, though the events of a lifetime seemed to have occurred since then. It was the evening of my return from South Africa; and I went, of course, to dine at Chelsea, feeling only a mild curiosity to see this old school-fellow of Mary’s, whose praises she sang so enthusiastically.

“She was always the prettiest and smartest girl in the school, but now she’s just the loveliest creature you ever saw,” Mary had declared; and though I wasn’t rude enough to say so, I guessed I was not likely to endorse that verdict.

But when I saw Anne my scepticism vanished. I think I loved her from that first moment, when she came sweeping into Mary’s drawing-room in a gown of some gauzy brown stuff, almost the color of her glorious hair, with a bunch of white lilies at her bosom. She greeted me with a frank friendliness that was much more like an American than an English girl; indeed, even then, I never thought of her as English. She was, as her father had told his friend Treherne he meant her to be, “cosmopolitan to her finger-tips.” She even spoke English with a curious precision and deliberation, as one speaks a language one knows perfectly, but does not use familiarly. She once confided to me that she always “thought” either in French or German, preferably French.

Strange that neither Mary nor I ever imagined there was any mystery in her life; ever guessed how much lay behind her frank allusions to her father, and the nomadic existence they had led. I wondered, for the thousandth time, how it was that Jim first suspected her of concealing something. How angry I was at him when he hinted his suspicions; and yet he had hit on the exact truth! I knew now that her visit to Mary was not what it had seemed, – but that she had seized upon the opportunity presented by the invitation to snatch a brief interval of peace, and comparative safety. If she had happened to encounter Cassavetti earlier, doubtless her visit would have terminated then. Yes, that must be the explanation; and how splendidly she had played her dangerous part!

I hated to think of all the duplicity that part entailed; I would not think of it. The part was thrust on her, from her birth, by her upbringing, and if she played it gallantly, fearlessly, resourcefully, the more honor to her. But it was a bitter thought that Fortune should have thrust all this upon her!

As I lay there in that frowzy room, staring at a shaft of moonlight that came through a chink in the shutters, making a bar of light in the darkness like a great, unsheathed sword, her face was ever before my mind’s eyes, vividly as if she were indeed present, – the lovely mobile face, “growing and fading and growing before me without a sound,” now sparkling with mirth, now haughty as that of a petulant young queen towards a disfavored courtier. Mary used to call her “dear Lady Disdain” when she was in that mood. Again, it appeared pale and set as I had seen it last, the wide brilliant eyes flashing indignant defiance at her accusers; but more often with the strange, softened, wistful expression it had worn when we stood together under the portico of the Cecil on that fatal night; and when she waved me good-bye at Charing Cross.

In those moments one phase of her complex nature had been uppermost; and in those moments she loved me, – me, Maurice Wynn, not Loris Solovieff, or any other!

I would not have relinquished that belief to save my soul; although I knew well that the mood was necessarily a transient one. She had devoted her beauty, her talents, her splendid courage, her very life, to a hopeless cause. She was as a queen, whose realm is beset with dangers and difficulties, and who therefore can spare little or no thought for aught save affairs of state; and I was as the page who loved her, and whom she might have loved in return if she had been but a simple gentlewoman. Once more I told myself that I would be content if I could only play the page’s part, and serve her in life and death, “à la vie et à la mort” as the new password ran; but how was I even to begin doing that?

An unanswerable question! I must just go on blindly, as Fate led me; and Fate at this moment was prosaically represented by Mishka. Great Scott, how he snored!

We were astir early; I seemed to have just fallen asleep when Mishka roused me and announced that breakfast was waiting, and the horses ready.

We rode swiftly, and for the most part in silence, as my companion was even less communicative than usual. I noticed, as we drew near to Zostrov, a change for the better in the aspect of the country and the people. The last twenty versts was over an excellent road, while the streets of the village where we found our change of horses waiting, and of two others beyond, were comparatively clean and well-kept, with sidewalks laid with wooden blocks. The huts were more weather-tight and comfortable, – outside at any rate. The land was better cultivated, too, and the moujiks, though most of them scowled evilly at us, looked better fed and better clothed than any we had seen before. They all wore high boots, – a sure sign of prosperity. Yesterday boots were the exception, and most of the people, both men and women, were shod with a kind of moccasin made of plaited grass, and had their limbs swathed in ragged strips of cloth kept clumsily in place with grass-string.

“It is his doing,” Mishka condescended to explain. “His and my father’s. He gives the word and the money, and my father and those under him do the rest. They try to teach these lazy swine to work for their own sakes, – to make the best of their land; it is to further that end that all the new gear is coming. They will have the use of it – these pigs – for nothing. They will not even give thanks; rather will they turn and bite the hand that helps them; that tries to raise them out of the mud in which they wallow!”

He spat vigorously, as a kind of corollary to his remarks.

As he spoke we were skirting a little pine wood just beyond the village, and a few yards further the road wound clear of the trees and out across an open plain, in the centre of which rose a huge, square building of gray stone, crowned with a cupola that gleamed red in the rays of the setting sun.

“The castle!” Mishka grunted.

“It looks more like a prison!” I exclaimed involuntarily. It was a grim, sinister-looking pile, even with the sun upon it.

Mishka did not answer immediately. There was a clatter and jingle behind us, and out of the wood rode a company of horsemen, all in uniform. Two rode ahead of the rest, one of them the Grand Duke himself.

Mishka reined up at the roadside, and sat at the salute, and I followed his example.

The Duke did not even glance in our direction as he passed, though he acknowledged our salute in soldierly fashion.

We wheeled our horses and followed well in the rear of the imposing escort, – a whole troop of cavalry.

“You are right,” Mishka said, in a husky growl, that with him represented a whisper. “It is a prison, and yonder goes the prisoner. You will do well to remember that in your dealings with him, Herr Gould.”

CHAPTER XXXVII

THE PRISONER OF ZOSTROV

The castle stood within a great quadrangle, which we entered through a massive stone gateway guarded by two sentries. Two more were stationed at the top of a steep and wide marble stairway that led up to the entrance hall, and the whole place seemed swarming with soldiers, and servants in handsome liveries. A couple of grooms came to hold our horses, and a third took possession of my valise, containing chiefly a dress suit and some shirts. My other belongings were coming on in the wagon.

Mishka’s manner underwent a decided change from the moment we entered the castle precincts. The bluff and often grumpy air of familiarity was gone, and in its place was the surly deference with which he had treated me at first. As we neared the end of our journey, he had once more warned me to be on my guard, and remember that I must appear as an utter stranger to the Duke and all about him, except Mishka himself.

“You have never been in Russia before,” he repeated. “And you speak only a few words of Russian, which I have taught you on our way. That will matter little, since most here speak French and German.”

He parted from me with a deferential salute, after handing me over to the care of a gorgeously attired functionary, whom I found to be a kind of majordomo or house steward. This imposing person welcomed me very courteously; and I gathered that I was supposed to be a new addition to the Grand Duke’s suite. I had rather wondered on what footing I should be received here, especially since Mishka’s remark, a while back, about the “prisoner.” But some one – Loris himself or Mishka, or both of them – had planned things perfectly, and I am sure that no one beyond ourselves and the elder Pavloff, who was also in the secret, had the slightest suspicion that I was other than I appeared to be.

My new acquaintance himself conducted me to the rooms prepared for me, – a spacious bedroom and sitting-room, with plain, massive furniture, including a big bookcase that occupied the whole of an alcove between the great Russian stove and the outer wall. Facing this was a door leading to a smaller dressing and bath room, where the lackey who had carried up my valise was in waiting.

“This Nicolai will be in attendance on you; he speaks German,” my courteous guide informed me in French. “He will bring you all you need; you have only to give him orders. You will dine at the officers’ mess, and after dinner his Highness will give you audience.”

“Does Monsieur Pavloff – the land steward – live in the castle?” I asked, thinking it wise to emphasize my assumed rôle. “I understand that I’ll have to work with him.”

“No; his house is some two versts distant. But he is often in attendance here, naturally. Perhaps you will see him to-night; if not, without doubt, you will meet him to-morrow. Nicolai awaits your orders, and your keys.”

He bowed ceremoniously, and took himself off.

That Nicolai was a smart fellow. He already had the bath prepared, – I must have looked as if I wanted one, – and when I gave him the key of my bag, he laid out my clothes with the quick deftness of a well-trained valet.

I told him I shouldn’t want him any more at present, but when I had bathed and changed, I found him still hovering around in the next room. He had set a tea-table, on which the silver samovar was hissing invitingly. He wanted to stay and wait on me, but I wouldn’t have that. Smart and attentive as he was, he got on my nerves, and I felt I’d rather be alone. So I dismissed him, and, in obedience to some instinct I didn’t try to analyze, crossed the room softly, and locked the door through which he had passed.

I had scarcely seated myself, and poured out a glass of delicious Russian tea, – which is as wine to water compared with the crude beverage, diluted with cream, which Americans and western Europeans call tea, – when I heard a queer little sound behind me. I glanced back, and saw that one section of the big bookcase had moved forward slightly. With my right hand gripping the revolver that I had transferred from my travelling suit to the hip pocket of my evening clothes, I crossed swiftly to the alcove, just as some three feet of the shelves swung bodily inwards, revealing a doorway behind, in which stood none other than Mishka.

“The fool has gone; but is the outer door locked?” he asked in a cautious undertone.

“Yes,” I answered, noticing as I spoke that he stood at the top of a narrow spiral staircase.

“That is well. Approach, Highness; all is safe,” he whispered down the darkness behind him, and flattened himself against the narrow wall space, as a second figure came into sight, – the Grand Duke Loris himself, who greeted me with outstretched hand.

“I do not care for this sort of thing, – this elaborate secrecy, Mr. Wynn,” he said softly in English. “But unfortunately it is necessary. Let us go through to your dressing-room. There it is less likely that we can be overheard.”

I followed him in silence. He sat himself down on the wide marble edge of the bath, and looked at me, as I stood before him, as though his brilliant blue eyes would read my very soul.

“So you have come; as I thought you would. And you are very welcome. But why have you come?”

“Because I hope to serve your Highness, and – she whom we both love,” I answered promptly.

“Yes, I was sure of that, although we have met only twice or thrice. I am seldom mistaken in a man whom I have once looked in the eyes; and I know I can trust you, as I dare trust few others, – none within these walls save the good Mishka. He has told you that I am virtually a prisoner here?”

I bowed assent.

“I am closely guarded, my every word, my every gesture noted; though when the time is ripe, or when she sends word that she needs me, I shall slip away! There is a great game, a stern one, preparing; and there will be a part for us both to play. I will give you the outline to-night, when I shall come to you again. That staircase yonder leads down to my apartments. I had it made years ago by foreign workmen, and none save myself and the Pavloffs – and you now – know of its existence, so far. In public we must be strangers; after the formal audience I give you to-night I shall probably ignore you altogether. But as Gould, the American farming expert, you will be able to come and go, riding the estates with Pavloff – or without him – and yet rouse no suspicion. To-night I shall return as I said; and now au revoir.”

He left just in time, for a minute or two after I had unlocked the door, Nicolai reappeared, and conducted me to an ante-room where I found quite a throng of officers, one of whom introduced himself as Colonel Grodwitz, and presented me to several of the others. They all treated me with the easy courtesy which well-bred Russians assume – and discard – with such facility; but then, and later, I had to be constantly on guard against innumerable questions, which, though asked in what appeared to be a perfectly frank and spontaneous manner, were, I was convinced, sprung on me for the purpose of ascertaining how much I knew of Russia and its complicated affairs.

But I was quite ready for them, and if they had any suspicions I hope they abandoned them for the present.

After dinner a resplendent footman brought a message to Grodwitz, who thereupon told me that he was to conduct me to his Highness, who would receive me now.

“Say, what shall I have to do?” I asked confidentially as we passed along a magnificent corridor. “I’ve been to a levee held by the King of England, but I don’t know anything of Russian Court etiquette.”

He laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

“There is no need for you to observe etiquette, mon ami. Are you not an American and a Republican? Therefore none will blame you if you are unceremonious, – least of all our puissant Grand Duke! Have you not heard that he himself is a kind of ‘Jacques bonhomme’?”

“That means just a peasant, doesn’t it?” I asked obtusely. “No, I hadn’t heard that.”

He laughed again.

“Did the good Mishka tell you nothing?”

“Why, no; he’s the surliest and most silent fellow I’ve ever travelled with.”

“He is discreet, that Mishka,” said Grodwitz, and drew himself up stiffly as the footman, who had preceded us, threw open a door, and ushered us into the Duke’s presence.

He was standing before a great open fireplace in which a log fire crackled cheerily, and beside him was the little fat officer I had seen him with before; while there were several others present, all ceremoniously standing, and looking more or less bored.

Our interview was brief and formal; but I noted that the fat officer and Grodwitz were keenly observant of all that passed.

“Well, that’s all right,” I said with a sigh of relief, when Grodwitz and I were back in the corridor again. “But there doesn’t seem to be much of the peasant about him!”