The Intriguers Part 22

Corsini looked at her, his artist soul beaming in his expressive eyes.

"It is one of the tragedies of life, Princess. You, like my good friend Salmoros, desire to be an executant, and your fingers refuse to obey the impulses of your soul. You want to be a composer, and you cannot express your ideas. You do not create, you only imitate."

"Alas, yes," answered the Princess mournfully.

Corsini half rose from his seat in his agitation. "With me, Princess, it is different. The executive part comes easily to me; I do not worry about that; it is, of course, a gift. But, as I told you, I long to be a composer. That is the reason why I always walk whenever the distance is not too long."

"Ah, yes, we have wandered far from the original subject," answered the Princess, realising that Corsini had got upon the great theme of self, and was no longer keen to listen to the recital of her small aspirations.

"Playing in these gilded saloons, shut up in my office at the Opera, my imaginative past is dull and dead. When I walk through the silent streets watching the tide of life as it flows by, the n.o.bleman rolling by in his carriage, the beggar cringing for alms, great thoughts come to me. Overhead at night, the stars, full of mystery and wonder, this petty world beneath! Then, Princess, my imagination awakes. I feel in me some of that divine fire which must have informed the great Beethoven when he composed 'The Moonlight Sonata,' some of that inspiration which moved Chopin, Wagner, and the other great masters."

He waved his arms with a dramatic gesture. "That is why I walk rather than ride. Speaking as a composer, when I am confined in a close s.p.a.ce, I am dead artistically. When I walk and look round on life, I find inspiration."

He was very glowing, very impa.s.sioned. Nada felt her pulses thrill as she listened to him. But perhaps, because she was not the full and complete artist that Corsini was, she always leaned to the practical side.

"Oh, please do not think I am not capable of understanding you," she said. "If I were the artist you are, I should break away from the narrow confines of this Palace and seek inspiration, like you, from the moon and stars, even in the silent streets."

She paused a moment, and then added, with her full knowledge of what was lying in wait for him, "But all the same, Signor, in spite of the inspiration you may derive, I wish you would not walk home to-night.

Give the moon, the stars, the silent streets the go-by for once. Wait for your inspiration till to-morrow."

He was flattered by that direct appeal to him from such a beautiful girl, but of course, he had no idea of the reason that had prompted it.

"But, Princess, why put an embargo on this exquisite night? As I walk along, great ideas will come to me. I may be able to think of something worthy of Chopin, Schumann, even of the great Wagner himself."

She leaned forward to him a little from her side of the divan, and her flower-like face was very close to his. He could catch the subtle perfume of her hair, the scent of the roses at her breast.

"It is just a little whim of mine, Signor Corsini. You work very hard, you are devoured by your artistic ambitions which nourish the soul, but consume the body to ashes. Do not incur unnecessary fatigue. You have your carriage waiting?"

"No, Princess, I have never any carriage waiting. I nearly always walk to my hotel--the longer the distance, the better, because I have a longer time for inspiration."

"I know, I know," answered Nada quietly. "I fully appreciate all this, but one may sometimes overdo it. I do not think you are looking very well to-night, Signor. You have put too great a strain upon yourself lately. You say you have no carriage waiting. Permit me to supply you with one. The courtyard is choked up with vehicles. You have only to say the word and my maid will bring you one to the side door of the Palace. You can get in there and be driven home at once, without any tedious delay."

A delightful thought crossed his brain. Was it possible that the Princess had appreciated his respectful homage, his silent devotion?

Or was this solicitude for his welfare merely the expression of a womanly compa.s.sion for the man outside her world, but claiming the common kins.h.i.+p of art?

His voice broke as he declined her offer. "Ten thousand thanks, but I would not put you to such trouble. You have so many guests to see to.

I have already taken up too much of your time. I will walk home as usual and seek my inspiration under the stars."

Her troubled gaze sought his. If he would only prove amenable, she could still save him--at any rate for a time--from her ruthless brother, with the aid of her faithful maid, Katerina, out of the reach of those scoundrels who were waiting to convey him--she hoped into the arms of General Beilski's police.

But Corsini was not to be saved to-night, although two women had done their best for him. He took the hand that the Princess offered him.

"You have been so very kind. I shall always cherish you in a warm corner of my heart, for were you not one of my earliest friends? At that time, I had not many friends, Heaven knows."

"I shall always be your friend, Signor Corsini. I only wish you would allow me to order the carriage to take you home." The concluding words almost sounded like an entreaty.

But Corsini would pay no attention. He was resolved on walking home to seek inspiration from the clear skies and the silent streets.

At the top of the great staircase the Prince was standing, to all appearances cordiality itself. But, from a far corner of the music-salon, he had been watching with angry eyes the conversation between his sister and Corsini.

But he could afford to be indifferent; he could afford to greet the young Italian with a smile. He had laid his plans cunningly.

Zouroff accompanied him to the door, guarded by a big hall-porter. In a corner of the hall lounged a small dapper man, Peter, his valet, the lover of Katerina.

"Good-night, Signor. Have you no carriage waiting? Ah, no, I understand it is a habit of yours to walk. Good! Exercise is a fine tonic. My secretary will send you a cheque to-morrow for your services. Again, good-night!"

The door closed on the retreating Corsini. Zouroff turned swiftly to the small, dapper man, and whispered in his ear.

"After him, Peter. Come back and tell me that they have done their work."

The hall-porter opened the door at a sign from his imperious master, and the valet went out with a slow, stealthy tread.

He followed in the wake of Corsini, who marched along gaily, his violin-case swinging from his hand, his thoughts full of the Princess Nada, who had been so sweet to him, so gracious.

He hummed one of the gayest of the many gay airs from "Il Barbiere" as he walked along. It was one of his favourite operas, one in which La Belle Quero was inimitable.

He was in a very happy frame of mind to-night as he walked through the silent streets. He even thought tenderly of La Belle Quero, and went to the length of forgiving her for what he had once considered her groundless jealousy of the Princess.

In the midst of these happy thoughts, four black shadows loomed up against him, four men surrounded him.

What a fool he had been not to take the Princess's advice and drive home! St. Petersburg, like every other populous city, was full of thieves.

Blindly he struck out with his disengaged hand. Shrilly he called out for help.

One of the burly men who had surrounded him threw a handkerchief over his face. In a few seconds his struggles had ceased.

His almost inanimate form was conveyed to the waiting carriage, standing in a side street not far from the Zouroff Palace. It was bundled inside, two of the men mounted the box, the others sat inside, and the horses set off at a fast trot in the direction of the Moscow road.

The valet, Peter, strolled back home. His master was lounging about in the vestibule to await the news. Peter whispered them in his ear.

Zouroff smiled a slow smile of gratified malice.

"The bird is trapped," he exulted as he ascended the staircase, to mingle once more with his guests.

CHAPTER XVI

After having delivered her letter in the way recorded in a previous chapter, Katerina had sped away with the swiftness of the proverbial arrow. She was well on her way home before it reached the hands of General Beilski, who was closeted with an official of high importance and could not be disturbed till the interview was finished.

The Chief of Police was, above all things, a man of action. There was nothing in the letter itself to give the least clue as to the writer, but it was evidently genuine. He came to the conclusion that the woman who had sent it was unwillingly mixed up in some plot against which her conscience revolted.

He immediately called in one of his subordinates to make arrangements for the immediate despatch of a body of mounted police to Pavlovsk, where they would lie in wait for the arriving carriage.

The man who had taken the letter from the somewhat frightened maid was called in and questioned, but his evidence was of no value. His recollections of the appearance of the young woman were very hazy.

She was young, slim, and rather good-looking, but he had taken so little notice of her that he admitted that he would not be sure of recognising her if he met her again. There were other callers at the time and his attention had been distracted.