Stolen Souls Part 19

"It is excellently made, excites no suspicion, and reflects the greatest credit upon you, Fedor. You are indeed a genius!" she said, laughing.

Then, seriously, she asked, "Is every one present prepared to sacrifice his or her life in this attempt?"

"We are," they answered, with one accord.

"I think, then, that we are all agreed both as to the necessity of this action, as well as to the manner the _coup_ shall be accomplished. In order that each one's memory shall be refreshed, I will briefly repeat the arrangements. To-morrow night, punctually at eight o'clock, the man condemned to die will visit the Lyceum Theatre, entering by the private door in Burleigh Street. The person using the sh.e.l.l must stand at the Strand corner of that street, and the blow must be delivered just as the carriage turns from the Strand, so that in the crowd in the latter thoroughfare escape may be easy. It must be distinctly remembered, however, that the personage to be `removed' will occupy the second carriage--not the first."

"Will he be alone?" asked the dark-bearded ruffianly fellow I knew as Sergius Karamasoff.

"Yes. We have taken due precautions. Come, let us decide who shall deliver the blow." And while Fedor wrote a word on a piece of paper, and folding it, placed it with eleven other similar pieces in a Dresden bowl, Sonia Ostroff continued to discuss where they should next meet after the _coup_. At last it was arranged, upon her suggestion, that they should all a.s.semble at the house of Karamasoff in Warsaw at 9 p.m.

on the 21st, thus allowing a fortnight in which to get back to Poland.

The sc.r.a.ps of paper were shuffled, and everyone drew, including myself, for I had taken the oath to the revolutionary section of the Narodnaya Volya, and, being present, was therefore compelled to share the risk.

Judge my joy, however, on opening mine and finding it a blank! The person to whom the dangerous task fell made no sign, therefore all were unaware who would make the attempt. The strictest secrecy is always preserved in a Nihilist Circle, so that the members are never aware of the ident.i.ty of the person who commits an outrage.

But the business of the secret council was over, the cunningly-concealed bomb was removed to a place where it was not likely to be accidentally knocked down, and the remainder of the evening pa.s.sed in pleasant conversation. I had become fascinated by Sonia's beauty, and when I found myself sitting alone with her in a corner of the room where we could not be overheard, I whispered into her ear words of love and tenderness. She, on her part, seemed to have no aversion to a mild flirtation, and admitted frankly that she had pleasant recollections of the sunset hour upon the Thames.

"Who is the man condemned to death?" I asked presently.

"What! are you unaware?" she exclaimed in surprise. "Why, the Tzarevitch."

"The Tzarevitch? And you intend to murder him?"

She shrugged her shoulders, replying, "We have followed him here because he is not so closely guarded as in Petersburg. If we succeed, there will be no heir-apparent, for the Grand Duke George is already dying in the Caucasus, and the days of the autocrat Alexander are numbered. He will die sooner than the world imagines."

The flippant manner in which she spoke of death appalled me; nevertheless, when I bade her farewell, I was deeply in love with her, and promised to be in the vicinity of the scene of the tragedy on the morrow.

I knew all the details of this desperate plot to kill the Russian heir-apparent--then on a brief visit to London with his _fiancee_--yet I dared not inform the police, for the terrible vengeance of the Circle was always swift and always fatal. Helpless to avert the calamity, I pa.s.sed the long day in breathless anxiety, dreading the fatal moment when the blow would be struck. By some strange intuition, I felt that my every action was watched by emissaries of the Nihilists, who feared treachery on my part, for, as a journalist, I was personally acquainted with a number of officers at Scotland Yard. Hour by hour I strove to devise some plan by which I might prevent the foul murder that was about to be perpetrated; but, alas! no solution of the problem presented itself. The plans had been laid with such care and forethought, that undoubtedly the Tzarevitch would fall a victim, and Russia would be plunged into mourning.

At length twilight deepened into night, and as I walked from Charing Cross down the noisy, bustling Strand, the gas lamps were already alight, and the _queues_ were forming outside the theatres. On pa.s.sing the steps leading to Exeter Hall, I was startled by a hand being laid upon my arm, and found beside me an elderly woman, poorly-clad, wearing a faded and battered bonnet, with a black, threadbare shawl wrapped around her.

"You have not failed, then?" she exclaimed in low tones, that in an instant I recognised.

"You, Sonia? And in this disguise!" I cried.

"Hus.h.!.+ or we may be overheard!" she said quickly. "The choice fell upon me, but--but I have had a fainting fit, caused by over-excitement, and I cannot trust myself;" and she caused me to walk back and turn up Exeter Street, a short and practically deserted thoroughfare close by.

"Think, are not the risks too great?" I urged. "Why not abandon this attempt?"

"I have sworn to make it," she answered determinedly.

"And the others--where are they?"

"An alarm has been raised. Baranoff, the chief of the Third Section, suspects, and is in London in search of us. We have all left England, with the exception of Karamasoff, who remains to witness the attempt, and make a report to the council."

"And you will risk your life and liberty by endeavouring to strike this murderous blow, of which you do not feel yourself physically capable?

For my sake, Sonia, defer the attempt until another occasion."

"I cannot, even though _you_ love me;" and her slim fingers tightened upon mine. Then, a second later, she clasped her hands to her forehead, and, reeling, would have fallen, had I not supported her.

"How--how very foolish I am!" she said, a few moments later. "Forgive me." Then, as she steadied herself and strolled slowly by my side, she suddenly asked earnestly--

"Do you really love me, Andrew?"

"I do," I answered fervently.

"Then dare you--dare you, for my sake, Andrew--dare you _throw the bomb_?" she whispered hoa.r.s.ely.

Her suggestion startled me. I halted amazed.

"I--I could not--I really could not," I stammered.

"Ah! it is as I thought--you do not love me," she said reproachfully.

"But it is time I took up my position at the next corner. If I die, it will be because you refused your a.s.sistance. Farewell!"

Before I could detain her, she had turned into the Strand, and was lost among the bustling crowd. Hurrying, I overtook her before she gained the corner of Burleigh Street.

"I have changed my mind, Sonia," I said. "Give it to me; I will act in your stead. Fly to a place of safety, and I will meet you in Warsaw on the day appointed."

From beneath her shawl she carefully handed me the bomb. It was heavy, weighing fully eight pounds. Slipping it into the capacious pocket of the covert coat I was wearing, I stood at the street corner. Sonia refused to leave, declaring that she would remain to witness the death of the son of the Autocrat.

Trembling and breathless, I stood dreading the fatal moment, knowing that my pocket contained sufficient picric acid to wreck the whole street.

Seconds seemed hours.

"As soon as you have thrown it, fly for your life," urged Sonia. Then we remained silent in watchful readiness.

Suddenly, almost before we were aware of it, one of the Marlborough House carriages dashed round the corner past us, and drew up before the small door at the rear of the Lyceum. It was an exciting moment.

Without hesitation I took out the deadly missile, and none too soon, indeed, for a second later the Tzarevitch's carriage followed, and just as it pa.s.sed, I hurled it with all my force against the wheels.

Turning, I dashed away across to the opposite side of the Strand, and was there overtaken, a few seconds later, by Sonia and Karamasoff.

"It has not exploded!" they panted, in one breath.

"No," I said. "How do you account for it?"

"The tube of acid has not broken," Karamasoff said. "I predicted failure when I saw it. But let us go. Sooner or later a horse will kick it, or a wheel will pa.s.s over it, and then--pouf!"

"Farewell," I said, and we hurriedly separated, each going in a different direction, both of my companions momentarily expecting to hear a terrific report.

But they were disappointed, for a quarter of an hour later I dropped Nikiforovitch's bomb into the Thames from Waterloo Bridge, and next day an urchin was rewarded with a s.h.i.+lling for bringing to my chambers a copy of Lamb's works. It was sadly soiled and damaged, but bore on its fly-leaf my name and address. He said he had found it in the gutter in Burleigh Street!

Events have occurred rapidly since that memorable evening. The Tzarevitch, unaware of how near he was to a swift and terrible death, is now Nicholas II of Russia; while the pretty Sonia Ostroff, still in ignorance of how her plot was thwarted, is at the present moment toiling in the gloomy depths of the Savenski mine in Eastern Siberia.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

ONE WOMAN'S SIN.

Frith Street is the centre of the foreign quarter of London. The narrow, shabby thoroughfare retains, even on the brightest day in summer, its habitual depressing air of grimy cheerlessness; but enveloped in the yellow fog of a November evening, its aspect is unutterably dismal. Its denizens are a very shady colony, mostly the sc.u.m of Continental cities, who, owing to various causes, have been compelled to flee from the police and seek a safe asylum in the region between Shaftesbury Avenue and Oxford Street.