The Intriguers

His interview with the formidable and awe-inspiring Beilski had shaken him considerably. His faith in Zouroff was great, but in that brief conversation he had begun to realise the sinister power of the police, at which body, the Prince, in his arrogance, was wont to snap his fingers.

He returned home full of thought and much perturbed. He had already determined in his own mind the cause of the failure to remove Corsini. In an unguarded moment, he had revealed to Katerina certain facts about a travelling carriage whose first stoppage was to be at Pavlovsk. Katerina had blabbed all this to somebody.

But, until his interview with Beilski, he had been content to let matters stand where they were. It did not greatly concern him that Corsini had been rescued and was back again in St. Petersburg. His master would never suspect him: he would rather suspect one of the four other men of having given it away, for the sake of the reward that he would claim. So reasoned Peter in his narrow, but cunning brain. Therefore, for many reasons, he did not tax Katerina at once with the betrayal of his misplaced confidence.

Beilski’s threat set his thoughts working vigorously in the direction of self-preservation. He was devoted to the Prince, but he was still more devoted to himself. If he could have saved Zouroff, he would, but that seemed impossible, the Police knew too much. But he could save himself by telling what he knew. It was necessary therefore to earn that free pardon. It was only a matter of hours before he would go to the General and make a full confession.

It hurt him very much that he should crown so many years of fidelity with such a black act, but it seemed a question of sauve qui peut. Loyal as he had been to his master, he knew enough of his character to be sure that the Prince, in a similar emergency, would have thrown him, and a dozen like him, to the wolves in order to purchase a moment’s respite. Why should he pursue a different policy?

Beilski had promised a free pardon, and also not to implicate him in the transaction. Still Zouroff was a man of extraordinary shrewdness, and when he began to work it out in his mind, might quickly focus his suspicions in the right direction.

How to avert Zouroff’s suspicions from himself! That was the question. His narrow, but cunning brain bent itself upon this for some time. At the end of his cogitations, he sought Katerina, and bluntly taxed her with the betrayal of his confidence.

At first, Katerina, with the natural adroitness of her class and sex, protested indignant denial; she vowed that she had forgotten the incident altogether.

“You are lying,” said her lover sternly. “If you do not confess this instant, I will take you to the Prince himself, and he will wring the truth out of you.”

Katerina’s face went white. She had been very frightened at Beilski, but her terror of Zouroff was greater even than her fear of the Head of the Police. If she saw him in one of the corridors, she would scuttle away like an alarmed rabbit. If he came into her young mistress’s room, she was agitated till he was gone.

In a few moments, what with her fear of Zouroff and her genuine love for Peter, the artful valet had her reduced to a state of tears. It was not long before he forced out of her everything he wanted to know. How she had conveyed the information to the Princess, how she had taken her mistress’s note to Beilski, how, later on, she had been summoned to the presence of that formidable person and confessed much as she was doing now.

Peter uttered no word of reproach; the time of reproaches was past; but he saw clearly that the game was up, so far as the abduction of Corsini was concerned. The sooner he made a clean breast of it to Beilski, the better. At the same time, he wanted to throw suspicion upon somebody else.

He loved Katerina genuinely, too well to harm a hair of her head, even to save himself. In this respect he was several degrees better than his master, who would have sacrificed the whole world for such a laudable purpose.

And to the charming young Princess, with her gracious ways, her sweet friendliness to all, he was also strongly attached. He would not harm a hair of her head, if he could help it. But still, his first instinct was for self.

Besides, if he gave them away, he would be giving himself away, also. What these two women knew, mistress and maid, they must have learned from some member of the Zouroff household.

Was there any member of that household, except himself, who had foreknowledge of the Prince’s plans? He was inclined to doubt it. Confidants he must have, when engaged in so many dark schemes, but Zouroff chose as few as possible. Yet, and yet – if only he could throw suspicion in a likely quarter, on somebody else!

Katerina, embarked on the full tide of confession and genuinely alarmed for her lover’s safety, babbled on artlessly. Peter had drawn a gloomy picture of the vengeance he might expect at the hands of his master for that innocent gossip of a few moments, when discovery came home to him, as it was sure to do. In her revelations she let fall the fact that the celebrated Madame Quéro had paid a visit to the Princess, during her brother’s temporary absence.

Peter pricked up his ears at the information. He knew full well the relations between the Prince and the handsome singer. Here was a fact that might be turned to his advantage. Madame Quéro, he felt assured, participated in all her lover’s secrets.

“Have you any proof of that?” he asked eagerly.

Katerina opened wide her tear-dimmed eyes. “Proof? Do you doubt my word? Why, she gave me her card, and the Princess handed it me back and told me to return it to her, with her excuses for not receiving her. I did not like to be so rude, and I put it in my pocket.”

“Have you still got that card, Katerina?” questioned the valet anxiously.

“Of course I have. I kept it as a souvenir. I regard her as a very distinguished person, and I hear she came from our own class. The Princess, of course, looks upon her as the dirt under her feet, but in her position there is no blame, perhaps, for her doing that.” Thus poor Katerina, divided between loyalty to her young mistress and admiration for the beautiful woman who had overcome such formidable obstacles.

The artful valet put his arm round her waist and imprinted a fond kiss on her pretty cheek.

“Katerina, my little sweetheart, I think you will admit you owe me some amends for your foolish indiscretion. Give me that card, and we will cry quits. But not a word to the Princess. But I forgot. You cannot tell her; you ought to have returned it to Madame Quéro.”

Katerina was glad to be reconciled to her lover on such cheap terms. Five minutes later, the card of La Belle Quéro was in Peter’s hands.

And then Peter thought long and cunningly. He had made up his mind to betray his master – it was a matter of necessity – but he was very particular that his master should not know by whom he was betrayed. There was Fritz, the German, one of the four men implicated in the abduction of Corsini. Fritz was always a shifty person, ready to sell himself to the highest bidder. Peter felt assured that Zouroff’s suspicions were already centred on Fritz. He was one of the two men who had escaped, no doubt with the connivance of the police; anyway, that would be Zouroff’s view.

The possession of Madame Quéro’s card had suggested new lines of thought. Of course, Peter did not know to what extent the beautiful singer was in the Prince’s confidence. Here, naturally, he was groping wildly in the dark. But the more he diverted Zouroff’s attention from himself on to other people, the better.

In divulging what he proposed to do to the Prince, it was more than probable that he would implicate the young Princess Nada. And Peter had a very soft spot in his heart for her. Still, it was simply a question of saving himself. If Zouroff saw red and laid all about him, as it were, Nada must protect herself. Even a ruffian like Zouroff would exercise some compunction when his sister was in question. With regard to La Belle Quéro, who had, at times, treated him a little disdainfully, with the slight arrogance of a person who had emerged from his own class into a superior one, Peter felt no qualms. The Prince and she could adjust their own differences at the proper time and hour.

Later on, he approached Zouroff with his fawning and cringing aspect, and handed him Madame Quéro’s card.

“You know that my eyes and ears are always open in your Excellency’s service,” he whined. “That is what I have found.”

Zouroff’s face grew as black as thunder as he read it. “She has been here, then. To see whom?”

Peter shrugged his shoulders. He wanted to be as non-committal as possible. “That I cannot tell. Your Excellency may guess better than I.”

The Prince looked at him long and intently. Peter was a very cunning rogue; that he knew full well; but he was the last man he was inclined to suspect.

“How did you come into possession of this?” he thundered.

But Peter was determined not to implicate his sweetheart, Katerina. In this respect he was a slightly better man than his master.

“Your Excellency will excuse me; my lips are sealed. One must be faithful to one’s comrades. There are wheels within wheels, as you well know.”

The Prince nodded. He knew Peter well. In many ways he was docile and obedient, but it was always politic not to push him too far; on such occasions the valet was apt to take on a spirit of sturdy independence which his master was compelled to respect. Wild horses would not draw from him how, or through whom, he had discovered that card.

“Leave me, Peter, if you please,” commanded Zouroff. “I must be alone to think this thing over, since you say your lips are sealed.”

He shook his fist angrily in the direction of the retreating valet. “Ah, for my good old father’s days,” he murmured regretfully. “I would have had it out of you with the knout then, my excellent friend.”

Left alone, Zouroff pondered out all these things in his subtle brain. The treacherous Madame Quéro had come to the Palace, to seek whom, and to what purpose?

Rumour, gathered at the stage door, and in the more intimate circles of the profession, averred that the handsome singer was in love with Corsini. He had also his impressions of his sister in connection with the handsome young Italian. He had watched them together in that prolonged conversation on the night of the concert at the Zouroff Palace, on quitting which, Corsini had been abducted.

Rapidly in his own mind, he reconstructed the sequence of events. Madame Quéro was in love with Corsini. He gnashed his teeth as he remembered he had been fool enough to suggest to the Spanish woman that Corsini must disappear. She had acted on that hint and come straight to the Palace to invoke his sister’s assistance in rescuing Corsini.

His sister was in love with Corsini herself. The two rivals had united to save their common lover, and their measures had been well taken. The police had met the carriage at Pavlovsk, rescued the drugged and inanimate Director of the Imperial Opera, and brought him safely back to St. Petersburg. And, in the capital, so Zouroff was assured by his spies, he was being safely guarded by Beilski’s men. The Government and the police were proving themselves very cunning, almost as cunning as Zouroff himself.

So far he had reasoned things out very logically. Now came the one thing for which he could not account. To La Quéro he had given no details, and as he had not given them to her, she could not communicate them to his sister. Here was a final stop.

And yet, the carriage containing Corsini, drugged and bound, had been surrounded at Pavlovsk by the police. Somebody, then, had given information. Who was that somebody?

His suspicion fell at once on Fritz, the German, chiefly, perhaps, because Fritz had been found guilty of minor acts of disloyalty in previous transactions. For a man of his acute intelligence, it was, perhaps, a little surprising that he did not, at first hand, suspect Peter.

But Peter had just disarmed his suspicions by handing to him Madame Quéro’s card. Yes, Peter was loyal, if every other person was tainted with treachery.

There emerged from his strenuous efforts to get at the truth some clear and certain facts, according to his own deductions, which were, of course, erroneous.

Madame Quéro had been informed by Fritz of the actual facts: that Corsini was to be kidnapped just outside the precincts of the Palace, that the carriage was to stop on its first stage on the Moscow road at Pavlovsk.

He had to admit that there were flaws in his reasoning. If Madame Quéro had got this information from Fritz, and she was resolved to save Corsini, she could have informed the police herself. Why had she come to the Palace, to invoke the assistance of Nada?

Pending his cogitations, he had recourse to stimulants, as was his wont on such occasions. Amid the fumes of alcohol he solved the problem, as he thought. Quéro, not wishing to appear herself, had made his sister her instrument. He ground his teeth, and vowed implacable revenge upon his once sweetheart, La Belle Quéro.

But his anger against his sister was hardly less burning. To think that this innocent young girl, only just out of the schoolroom, should dare to thwart his plans.

He burst into her sitting-room, his face red and inflamed from his secret drinking. She recognised the symptoms at once. He had one of his wild fits of brutal and unreasoning rage.

He attacked her at once, in unmeasured language.

“You are a disgrace to your sex,” he shouted wildly, “a disgrace to the noble house of Zouroff, to the name you bear.”

The young Princess looked at him calmly and steadfastly, with her clear gaze. He was a wild beast at the moment – she saw that; also gathered that he had been drinking heavily. Wild beasts are sometimes tamed by the eye. She never took her glance off him.

“Of what do you accuse me?” she asked in cold and cutting accents. “In what way have I, of all the members of our family, disgraced the house of Zouroff?”

The Prince spluttered forth his accusations. “You have disgraced yourself by falling in love with a strolling player, that mountebank, Corsini.”

Of course he was still master enough of himself not to reveal all he knew, or thought he knew.

The Princess drew herself up haughtily. It was not the first time she had encountered her brother in this mood.

“I don’t think you know what you are talking about, Boris; I can see your condition very plainly. Signor Corsini is not a strolling player – that description applies to the destitute members of the theatrical profession. Corsini is a musician, an artist, and the Director of the Imperial Opera. Think of some other expression that will vent your rage and spite, but don’t call him ‘a strolling player.’”

“But whatever he is, you love him,” thundered the Prince, now fairly consumed with rage.

The young Princess kept her temper, her tone was as cutting as before.

“You insult me with these questions,” she said calmly. “Return to me when you are sober and I may perhaps be able to talk with you, reason with you.” She was thinking of a few hints dropped by General Beilski on his brief visit to her.

“And if I do not choose to leave at your bidding,” retorted the Prince, in a jeering tone. “Suppose I insist upon remaining and finishing our conversation!”

“In that case I shall leave the Palace for good.” And suddenly her woman’s strength gave way, opposed to that of this resolute ruffian and bully. “If our dear mother were here, you would not dare to stay in this room a moment longer. You take advantage of my weakness,” she cried tearfully.

“Our dear mother,” mimicked Zouroff, in mocking accents. “You and your mother have always held together against me; you always held against my dear father in the old days.”

“Of whom you are a worthy son,” flashed the Princess, with an angry gesture. She had poignant memories of those old days, when her mother had suffered untold indignities at the hands of Prince Zouroff the elder, indignities which had bitten into the souls of both wife and daughter. Boris was the only member of the family who reverenced the name of his father, for the very simple reason that he partook of his worst qualities.

And then a softer mood came to her. After all, he was her brother, son of the same kind, gentle mother. She went across to him and placed a hand upon his shoulder.

“Be reasonable, Boris, and prudent. I can guess more than you think. I am sure you are playing a very dangerous game. Be certain on your side that your opponents are not stronger than you.”

But Zouroff was in no mood to listen to the tender expostulations of a woman, especially a woman whom he despised as much as his sister, this frail girl who took after her gentle mother, who had in her none of the iron qualities of his brutal father.

He flung her aside, and spoke in a grating voice.

“You will leave the Palace, will you? Yes, you shall, but when and how I choose. There is your own little comfortable Castle of Tchernoff. Perhaps if I sent you there, it might cool your hot blood.”

The Princess flamed up. “You dare not think of such a thing. Brute as you are, you would not dare to do it.”

“We shall see. Remember I am still your legal guardian,” cried the Prince, with a mocking laugh, as he left the room.

The interview had sobered him. All that was now working in his mind was, first, a scheme of revenge upon La Belle Quéro; second, a milder scheme of revenge against his sister.

An hour later Peter, the valet, reported himself to General Beilski and obtained his free pardon by a full confession. And the General, waiting for further developments, stayed his hand for the moment.

CHAPTER XXI

Needless to say that Nada was very much alarmed by the threat which her brother had flung at her when she spoke of leaving the Palace. She tried to reason herself into the belief that her fears were groundless. In their not infrequent quarrels he had more than once threatened to lock her up in that gloomy castle in order to bring her to her senses.

But nothing had ever come of it. He was hotheaded and overbearing, but she did not believe him to be vindictive. Of course, in forming this lenient estimate of a character not to be very easily fathomed, she was grievously mistaken.

To-day he was in one of his blind rages, and he had, moreover, been drinking. At such times he was not always responsible for either his words or actions. In a few hours he would be his normal self, and his senseless anger would have died down.

Still, she wished that she could take counsel with somebody. She could not go to her mother. The Princess’s cold had been the precursor of an acute attack of diphtheria of such an infectious nature that her chamber was barred to everybody except the nurse and doctor.

Relatives, of course, Nada had in abundance, but she shrank from exposing her brother to these. He was unpopular enough with his family as it was.

She could, of course, send round a note to Beilski, informing him of her brother’s threat and claiming his protection; but, from the few hints the General had dropped, she could see that he was already sufficiently inflamed against Zouroff. She did not wish to increase that resentment, unless it were absolutely necessary.

But still she felt imperatively the desire to confide, in somebody to have disinterested counsel as to the course she should pursue.

And suddenly the idea of Corsini occurred to her mind. She knew, with the intuitive instinct of a woman, that the young musician had fallen deeply in love with her, that if for certain reasons he would never go so far as to confess his love, she would ever find in him a true and devoted friend.

When she had sent that letter to his hotel to make sure that he had been safely brought back from Pavlovsk, he had forwarded her the piece of music she had asked for, as an excuse for writing to him.

After the first few formal lines of his answering note, he had written some strange words – words which evidently conveyed a deeper meaning than appeared on the surface. She remembered them perfectly.

“I cannot express to you in grateful enough language my thanks for all you have done for me. Later on, perhaps, I may have the opportunity of rendering them personally.”

Grateful thanks for all she had done for him! There was only one service she had rendered him which could call for such warm expressions. But had he been able to connect her with that? Had he been able to reason it out in his own mind that Zouroff was the man who desired his removal? Or had he learned it all from Beilski?

She could not be sure. She had fenced as well as she could with Beilski, but the fact that that carriage had been drawn up within a few yards of the Palace certainly supported the idea that the Prince was the perpetrator of the outrage. Of course, she knew nothing of the General’s second interview with Katerina; the maid had thought it wiser to keep that to herself. Neither did she know of the other interview with Peter the valet.

Zouroff had gone out, leaving word that he would not be home till late at night, very shortly after that stormy scene between the pair. The coast was clear. She would send round a note to Corsini asking him to come and see her for a few moments. Her maid would be waiting for him and would at once conduct him to her boudoir.

She would then endeavour to find out how much he knew; and if he had discovered the absolute truth, then she would seek his counsel and advice.

Corsini went to the Palace at once, much as he disliked entering the house of which the hateful and treacherous Prince was master.

He could see that the young Princess was very agitated as she greeted him.

“It is very kind of you to come so quickly, Signor. What I really wanted to see you about was this. In that letter you wrote me when you sent me that piece of music I asked for, you made use of certain expressions which I could not quite understand. You spoke of my having done you some service for which you wished to express your thanks.”

The Italian looked at her steadily and intently, but in that deep gaze there was a very tender expression.

“Can you yourself recall no service that you have rendered me, Princess?”

So he knew. Of course, if he had not guessed of his own volition, Beilski would have told him that she had sent that letter of warning.

“Ah, I see you have found out,” she faltered. “Well, on the spur of the moment I did my best, and I am glad that the result was so successful.”

“I shall ever remember it with the deepest feelings of gratitude,” said the young musician fervently. “It could have been no light matter for you to act as you did, to run the risk of being detected.”

There was now no further need of fencing on either side. “Signor, since there is now such a frank understanding between us, I want to ask your advice on a matter that is troubling me very much.”

In tones of unmistakable sincerity he assured her that his services were whole-heartedly at her disposal.

“My mother, alas! cannot help me. She is so seriously ill with diphtheria that we are forbidden to go to her room; only the doctor and the nurse are allowed there.”

Corsini expressed his deep regret at the Princess’s severe indisposition. Nada resumed, in her soft, musical voice:

“This morning my brother and I had a serious quarrel.” A vivid blush spread over her charming face as she recalled how the quarrel had begun with his taunting her with her preference for the man whom he called “a strolling player.”

“We have had many quarrels in our time,” she explained. “He is violent and overbearing, and breaks in the most ungovernable rages. At such times, I think, he goes actually mad for the moment. This particular quarrel, however, has left a deeper impression than most. He has threatened to lock me up in a gloomy old Castle in the Caucasus, as a punishment for my venturing to incur his displeasure.”

“And is there any valid, or sufficiently apparent, reason for his displeasure?” asked Corsini. “Or perhaps I am indiscreet in putting that question.”

“Oh, none at all,” replied the Princess, with a return of that vivid blush; “mere trifles that a less violent man would smile at. He has used this threat once or twice before, but to-day he spoke as if he meant it.”