CHAPTER II
ON THE DEVIL’S STAIRCASE
I HAD not walked three hundred yards towards the village when I met the police agent hurrying stationwards at a pace which would quickly bring him face to face with Count Peter and his companion.
This must be prevented at any cost, so I stopped him.
“I wish to speak to you.”
“They told me you had gone to the station.”
This was all right, for it showed he was following me. “Our interview ended hastily this morning because I thought you doubted my word and I was angry. I see now that you were doing your duty. Come back with me to the inn, and let us talk things over.”
“You can say what you have to say here,” he answered. He was a surly dog: but I dared not let him pass me.
“Scarcely that; because I can adopt your suggestion and prove to you, by letters and so forth, that I am what I told you; an Englishman and not a spy.”
“Why do you change like this?” His suspicious tone again.
“The reason is simple. I have decided to leave here to-morrow probably, and don’t wish to be bothered by your spies meanwhile. It is simpler to convince you with proofs.” I linked my arm in his. “Come along, we must understand one another better. I am not the suspicious individual you think and you are no doubt a better fellow than I deemed.”
He was a little beast, only fit to be kicked; but I thought of the girl and smothered my natural inclinations.
By the time we reached my rooms I had worked some of his suspicions loose; and when I laid before him letters from my sister and friends at home, and showed him such things as my cheque book, letter of credit, and so on, he was sufficiently satisfied to have a bottle of wine with me.
Over this his tongue was loosened and we discussed the conspiracy, which he admitted was widespread and in some respects more dangerous than any which had threatened the Empire for years. Its especial danger lay in the skill with which the leaders had attempted to blend industrial discontent with political intrigue; and so form a union among vast masses of the population in many industrial cities.
The practical grievances of the workers and the many wrongs of the rural population were being used by the democratic theorists, the dreamers and the political agitators to foment discontent; and I knew enough of Russia to be aware that such highly inflammable materials as these might easily be heaped together and then fanned into one huge simultaneous explosion all over the Empire, terrible enough to startle the world.
In Russian Poland the cause was the old one—national independence; and it was in this that Count Peter Valdemar had taken a part and that my friend Ladislas was involved.
I repeated my surprise that my friend should be regarded as dangerous.
“He is a leader; and at such times any man may be a source of danger,” was the reply.
“And this Count Peter—where is he?” I asked casually.
“He is probably making for the German frontier, with the intention of flying to England. He was at Warsaw; but disappeared. Your country has much to answer for in harbouring all these plotters.”
“If it comes to that we have a few anarchists of our own, and they are harboured on this side of the Channel.”
“Not in Russia. But I don’t think the Count will escape us this time. He is well known to so many of us.”
“And if you catch him?” A significant smile answered me and a tilt of the eyebrows.
“You have a wonderful police system,” said I, admiringly.
“We shall catch him on the frontier, sir. Make no mistake. No man can get through the net we have spread there.”
I emptied my glass. “Well, here’s luck to all who deserve it. And now, about myself?”
“I will communicate with Warsaw; and meantime go where you will or stay here if you prefer.”
I had succeeded in detaining him nearly a couple of hours, and by this time the Count and his companion ought to be out of the place; so I ordered my horse, resolved to go for a ride to test the truth of the little beggar’s assurance that I was not to be watched.
I chose the southern road and as the ground was very hard I went at a leisurely pace. I was not followed; and as soon as I had satisfied myself of this, my thoughts slipped back to the incident at the railway station, and a pair of blue eyes that had looked with such desolate wistfulness into mine. Would the Count get away? Had they gone already? Would chance ever bring us together again? Could I not do something on my own account to help chance? That was more my way; and I set to work thinking how I could use my friendship with Ladislas to accomplish my end.
I was still following this train of thought when I reached the hill known locally as the “Devil’s Staircase.” Bratinsk stands on a plateau; and about five miles to the south, this hill, one of the most dangerous I have ever seen on account of its fearful gradient and deadly twists and turns, leads to the plains below. From the top there is a fine view over the Batak Levels, a stretch of fertile country extending for miles to the foot-hills beyond. It was a favourite spot of mine and on reaching it now I dismounted, tethered my horse near and strolled to smoke a cigar and continue my reverie.
I was inclined to shake hands with myself at the thought of using Ladislas. He would surely be able to tell me enough of Count Valdemar to put me on the track; and I was just thinking how to describe the girl whose initials I believed to be “V. D.” when I caught the grating of wheels, followed rapidly by the throbbing sound of horses’ feet.
Some one must be in a deuce of a hurry, I thought, as I looked back along the road. Some one was, surely enough. Not a couple of hundred yards from the brink of the hill came a light caleche with two occupants drawn by a pair of horses at full gallop. What was the fool of a driver about? To dash down the Devil’s Staircase at that mad pace meant death. No horses ever foaled could make the sharp turns and twists of that zigzag, treacherous, deadly incline at a gallop.
I shouted a warning at the top of my voice; and then my heart seemed to leap in my breast and every vein in my body to chill like ice as the occupants of the caleche looked up, and I recognized Count Peter Valdemar and the girl who had been in my thoughts all that day.
As the runaways reached me I leapt down on to the road and I made a spring for the reins of the horse nearest me. I missed them and was rolled over and over, while the frightened beasts dashed on, the Count tearing and tugging and straining at the reins in a futile effort to stop them.
I jumped up and ran down the hill in pursuit. Just below, the road made an S-shaped curve, and the horses were round this and out of sight like a flash; and while I was racing after them round the first bend, I heard a shout in a man’s voice, a girl’s scream, and then the crashing sound of a smash.
I reached the scene in a few moments. The wreck had come at a point where the road turned at less than a right angle; and the sight of it sickened me with fear.
One horse was down, lying against a bank, bleeding profusely and kicking spasmodically in what I judged to be a death struggle. The other was on its feet and was plunging and tugging to free itself from the reins and harness which had got entangled in the wreck of the caleche. Under the body of the vehicle lay the Count, and as I did not for the moment see his companion, I guessed that she must be hidden under the wreckage too.
With a big effort I hoisted the vehicle sufficiently to drag out the Count; but the girl was not there.
Then I saw her lying behind a bush by the roadside. I ran to her and laid my finger on her pulse. With intense relief I found the beat; feeble it is true, but steady; and I poured some brandy into the cup of my flask and managed to get a little of it between her lips. A trembling sigh escaped her; and I returned to the Count.
The police agent was right. The Count would never cross the German frontier—he had crossed the farther one. I knew enough of first aid work to ascertain the cause. His neck was broken; and I guessed he had been thrown sideways on to his head, snapping the vertebrae. I drew the body to the side of the road and threw one of the rugs over it.
Next I freed the sound horse—thinking he might be needed—soothed him a bit and tethered him to a tree.
By this time the girl was fast recovering and I went back to her. I was administering another dose of the brandy when she opened her eyes.
“You!” she said.
“Yes, fortunately. Don’t worry about things. May I help you to sit up and take this, or can you manage it alone? That’s good,” I smiled as she sat up unaided.
“What has happened? Oh, I remember. The hill and then——” and she put her hands before her eyes for a moment.
“You have had a wonderful escape.”
The word confused her. “Did we escape then? Is he not following us? My uncle thought—oh, I understand; I thought you meant—but is he hurt?”
“Yes, badly.”
I had placed her so that her back was towards the wrecked carriage and the Count’s body; but at my words she turned and looked round. Her eyes were wide with horror. “Is he dead?” she asked.
“But for a miracle you would have shared his fate.”
She was silent for a moment and lifted her hands and let them fall with a sigh. “He would rather have had it so than have been captured; and he feared that this time. He was a hard, desperate man.”
There was no sign of any strong emotion or great personal grief in this reference to him. It was far better so under the circumstances. But I did not quite know what to say.
Then she surprised me. “He told me to come to you if anything happened to him. You recognized him, he said.”
“Yes, as Count Peter Valdemar. I warned him this morning.”
“He told me. You are a friend of—Count Ladislas Tuleski?” She said this with just a suspicion of hesitation.
“An intimate friend. Do you know him?”
“Yes—I know him,—oh, yes: I——” she hesitated, glanced at me and stopped.
“He is one of my most intimate friends and one of the best fellows in the world,” I said enthusiastically.
She made no reply, but glanced swiftly at me again and lowered her head.
“I think I can walk now,” she said presently; and I helped her to rise. “I am not hurt, you see. It was only fright and shock.”
“Thank God it was no worse,” I cried. She did not seem to hear this. “Now, what do you wish to do?”
“I don’t know. What ought I to do? My uncle—do you know the Count was my uncle?—or, rather, not my own uncle, no real blood relation.”
“No, I had no idea.”
“When the trouble came at Warsaw he had to fly, and he was carrying certain papers with instructions to friends of the Fraternity to Cracow. A raid is expected there; and there are papers which threaten us all. Even my own dear mother is in danger. He told me to carry those papers through to Cracow at any cost; to get your help if need be, and to say that your friend, Count Ladislas, was also involved. I was to tell you this, if you showed any reluctance to help me. But now what can we do?” and she looked the picture of dismay.
“You were travelling as an English girl?”
“Yes, as Miss Mary Smith. He got passports for me in that name and for himself as Ivan Grubel, my servant.”
“Where are they?”
“He has them and the rest of the papers. They are sewn into his coat.”
“Why did he make all this methodical preparation?”
“He was recognized, I think, in Bratinsk. That was why we were driving away. He expected to be pursued.”
“If I get the coat, can you find the papers?”
“Yes, but—he is—dead;” and she shuddered.
“We have to think of the living. Yourself, my friend, and your mother.”
It is not a pleasant thing to strip the coat off a dead man; but it had to be done. So I went and did it as quickly as I could. I took it back to her and she was hurriedly searching for the papers when she gave a little gasp of alarm and shrank close to me as a horseman appeared, picking his way very gingerly down the hill. It was my friend, the police agent from Warsaw. In a moment he took in the scene. He recognized me at once, and my companion a moment later.
“Ah, this is better luck than I expected. A smash, eh? So you didn’t get far away after all? I knew I should catch you, but didn’t hope to do it so soon. Where’s Count Peter Valdemar?”
“You again, is it?” I said, with a smile. “This young lady, a country-woman of mine, Miss Mary Smith, has met with an accident and her servant, named Ivan Grubel, has been killed. The horses ran away.”
“Killed, eh? That’s his coat then. Give that to me.” My companion caught her breath and clutched my arm.
“You guessed too fast, my friend; you did so this morning, you know, as I showed you afterwards. This coat is mine;” and with that I slipped my arms into it and put it on.
“Yes, it’s easy to see it’s yours by the way it fits you,” he sneered. My arms were some three inches too long for the sleeves and the body was ridiculously short. “I know you by this time. You must give me that coat. I saw the woman there searching the pockets for something.”
“If you want it, you’d better come and take it. I shan’t give it up unless you do.”
“For your own sake don’t mix up any more with this. If you are an Englishman, go away and leave me to deal with this woman. But give me that coat. You know to whom it belonged; and I must have it.”
He dismounted and walked toward me.
“You had better keep your distance,” I said quietly.
“You resist? Then I must do my duty. You are my prisoner.”
The threat of arrest seemed to scare the girl badly, but without a second’s hesitation she tried to shield me by taking everything on her own shoulders.
“I alone am responsible,” she cried, stepping forward. “Give up the coat, Mr. Anstruther. It is I who should be the prisoner.”
She acted pluckily, like the little brick she was, and with the best intentions in the world. But it was a huge mistake. She had practically given the whole thing away.
The significant leer of triumph on the police agent’s face made it plain that he appreciated this.