The Price of Power Part 31

"Then to be marked as `dangerous' means that the prisoner is to be treated with brutality--eh?" I cried. "Is that Russian justice?"

"We do not administer justice here in Siberia, Excellency," was the man's quiet reply. "They do that in Petersburg."

"But surely it is a scandal to put a sick woman on the road and compel her to walk four hundred miles in this weather," I cried angrily.

"Alas! That is not my affair," replied the man. "I am merely chief of police of this district and governor of the _etape_. The captain of Cossacks has entire charge of the prisoners on their journey."

What he had told me maddened me. In all that I heard I could plainly detect the sinister hand of General Markoff.

Indeed, when I carefully questioned this official, I felt convinced that the captain in question had received instructions direct from Petersburg regarding Madame de Rosen. The chief of police admitted to me that to the papers concerning the prisoners there had been attached a special memorandum from Petersburg concerning Madame and her daughter.

I smoked a cigarette with him and drank a cup of tea--China tea served with lemon. Then I was shown to a rather poorly-furnished but clean bedroom on the ground floor, where I turned in.

But no sleep came to my eyes. Such hard travelling through all those weeks had shattered my nerves.

While the bright northern moon streamed in through the uncurtained window, I lay on my back, pondering. I reflected upon all the past, the terrible fate of Madame and her daughter, the strange secret she evidently held, and the peril of the Emperor himself, so helpless in the hands of that circle of unscrupulous sycophants, and, further, of my little madcap friend, so p.r.o.ne to flirtation, the irrepressible Grand d.u.c.h.ess Natalia.

I reviewed all the exciting events of those many months which had elapsed since the last Court ball of the season at Petersburg--events which I have attempted to set down in the foregoing pages--and I was held in fear that my long journey might be in vain--that ere I could catch up with the poor wretched woman who, though ill, had been compelled to perform that last and most arduous stage of the journey through the snow, she would, alas! be no longer alive. The vengeance of her enemy Markoff would have fallen upon her.

A sense of indescribable oppression, combined with the hot closeness of the room, stifled me. For hours I lay awake, the moonlight falling full upon my head. At last, however, I must have dropped off to sleep, f.a.gged out after twenty hours of those jingling bells and hissing of the sled-runners over the frozen snow.

A sense of coldness awakened me, and opening my eyes I saw, to my surprise, though the room was practically in darkness with only the reflected light of the snow, that the small treble window stood open.

It had certainly been tightly closed when I had entered there.

I raised my eyes to peer into the darkness for the atmosphere, which when I had gone to sleep was stifling on account of the iron stove, was now at zero. Suddenly I caught sight of a dark figure moving noiselessly near where I lay. A thief had entered by the window! He seemed to be searching the pockets of my coat, which I had flung carelessly upon a chair. Surely he was a daring thief to thus enter the house of the chief of police! But in Siberia there are many escaped convicts roaming about the woods. They are called "cuckoos," on account of their increase in the spring and their return to the prisons when starved out in winter.

A "cuckoo" is always a criminal and always desperate. He must have money and food, and he dare not go near a village, as there is a price on his head. Therefore, he will not hesitate to murder a lonely traveller if by so doing he thinks he can secure a pa.s.sport which will permit him to leave Siberia and re-enter European Russia, back to freedom. Some Siberian roads are in summer infested with such gentry, but winter always drives them back to the towns, and consequently into prison again. Only a very few manage to survive the rigours of the black frosts of the Siberian winter.

Rather more amused than alarmed, I lay watching the dark figure engaged in rifling my pockets. I was contemplating the best method by which to secure him and hand him over to the mercies of my host. A sudden thought struck me. Unfortunately, being guest in the house of the chief of police I had left my revolver in the sled. I never slept at a post-house without it. But that night I was unarmed.

Those moments of watching seemed hours. The man, whoever he was, was tall and slim, though of course I could not see his face. I held my breath. He was securing my papers and my money! Yet he did it all so very leisurely that I could not help admiring his pluck and confounded coolness.

I hesitated a few seconds and then at last I summoned courage to act. I resolved to suddenly spring up and throw myself upon him, so that he would be prevented from jumping out of the window with my property.

But while I was thus making up my mind how to act, the mysterious man suddenly left the chair where my coat had been lying, and turning, came straight towards me, advancing slowly on tip-toe. Apparently he was not desirous of rousing me.

Once again I waited my opportunity to spring upon him, for he fortunately was not yet aware that I was awake and watching him.

I held my breath, lying perfectly motionless, for, advancing to me, he bent over as though to make absolutely certain that I slept. I tried to distinguish his face, but in the shadow that was impossible.

I could hear my own heart beating.

He seemed to be peering down at me, as though in curiosity, and I was wondering what could be his intentions, now that he had secured both my money and my papers.

Suddenly ere I could antic.i.p.ate his intention, his hand was uplifted, and falling, struck me a heavy blow in the side of the neck just beneath the left jaw.

Instantly I felt a sharp burning pain and a sensation as of the running of warm liquid over my shoulders.

Then I knew that the fluid was blood!

I had been stabbed in the side of the throat!

I shrieked, and tried to spring fiercely upon my a.s.sailant, but he was too quick for me.

My eager hand grasped his arm, but he wrenched himself free, and next instant had vaulted lightly through the open window and had disappeared.

And as for myself, I gave vent to a loud shriek for help, and then sank inertly back, next second losing consciousness.

The man had escaped with all my precious permits, signed by the Emperor, as well as my money!

My long journey was now most certainly a futile one. Without those Imperial permits I was utterly helpless. I should not, indeed, be allowed to speak with Madame de Rosen, even though I succeeded in finding her alive.

My loss was irreparable, for it had put an end to my self-imposed mission.

Such were the thoughts which ran through my overstrung brain at the moment when the blackness of insensibility fell upon me, blotting out both knowledge of the present and apprehension of the future.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

IDENTIFICATION!

When again I opened my eyes it was to find a lamp being held close to my face, and a man who apparently possessed a knowledge of surgery--a political exile from Moscow, who had been a doctor, I afterwards discovered--was carefully bathing my wound.

Beside him stood two Cossacks and the chief of police himself. All were greatly agitated that an attack should have been made upon a man who was guest to His Imperial Majesty, their Master.

To my host's question I described in a few words what had occurred, and bewailed the loss of my papers and my money.

"They are not lost," he replied. "Fortunately the sentry outside heard your scream, and seeing the intruder emerge from the window and run, he raised his rifle and shot him."

"Killed him?" I asked.

"Of course. He was an utter stranger in Olekminsk. Presently we shall discover who and what he is. Here are your papers," he added, handing back the precious doc.u.ments to me. "For the present the man's body lies outside. Afterwards you shall see if you recognise him. From his pa.s.sport his name would appear to be Gabrillo Pa.s.s.h.i.+n. Do you know anyone of that name?"

"n.o.body," I replied, my brain awhirl with the crowded events of the past half-hour.

I suppose it was another half-hour before the doctor, a grey-bearded, prematurely-aged man, finished bandaging my wound and strapping my left arm across my chest. Then, a.s.sisted by my host, I rose and went forth, led by men with lanterns, to where, in the snow, as he had fallen beneath the sentry's bullet, lay the would-be a.s.sa.s.sin.

They held their lanterns against the white, dead lace, but I did not recognise him. He seemed to be about thirty-five, with thin, irregular features and shaven chin. He was respectably dressed, while his hands were soft, betraying no evidence of manual labour. The features were perfectly calm, for death had been instantaneous, the bullet striking at the back of the skull.

Near where he lay a small pool of blood showed dark against the snow.

While we were examining the body, Petrakoff, whom I had sent for from the post-house, arrived in hot haste, and became filled with alarm when he saw my neck and arm enveloped in bandages.

In a few words I told him what had occurred, and then advancing, he bent and looked upon my a.s.sailant's face. He remained bent there for quite a couple of minutes. Then, straightening himself, he asked:

"Does his pa.s.sport give his name as Ivan Muller--or Gabrillo Pa.s.s.h.i.+n?"

"You know him!" I gasped. "Who is he?"