AS soon as the door closed behind the Countess Bokara, I threw myself into a chair in a condition of unspeakable dismay, rage, and chagrin at this most unexpected turn.
It spelt ruin to everything and everybody concerned in our scheme. I had seen and heard quite enough of General Kolfort to know full well that the merest hint of such a plot as ours would drive him instantly to desperate extremes. He would put in force every engine of the powerful machinery at his instant disposal to crush and punish us. And that he could crush us as easily as he would pinch a fly between his fingers there was not a doubt. His power was practically absolute, and he would use it mercilessly, like the man of iron that he was.
Nor was that the worst. There was a traitor somewhere in our midst; a recreant who had carried the secret in hot haste to this vengeful woman. I could not hazard even a guess as to whose was the treachery, but that it threatened the future of the scheme, should even she herself be silenced, was as patent as the fingers on one’s hand.
Yet what to do I could not see, plague and rack my wits as I would, as I sat alternating between moods of consternation, rage, and searching reflection.
In the afternoon I had a horse saddled and rode out of the town for a gallop in the country, in the hope that some solution of the problem would suggest itself; and the ride cooled and sobered me.
Two things were imperative. We must find the leakage and blind the traitor as to our real intentions. Our future safety rested on that being done without delay; and for this purpose I must see Zoiloff and consult with him. As soon as we discovered the Judas among us we could take measures to deal with him. If possible, that should be done by cunning; but, failing that, averse as I was to bloodshed and violence, force must be used. But an idea occurred to me by which he could be effectively hoodwinked, and I stored it by for use should the occasion come.
As to the Countess Bokara, there were two courses. One was for me to appear to play into her hands and so gain time for our own plans to ripen—a line of action vastly repulsive to me, with all its necessary paraphernalia of deceit and lies; the other, to kidnap her and put her into safe keeping until the crisis should be passed. I knew that I could lure her to my house, and that then the necessary measures could be taken; but the cowardice of the plan made me entertain it only with disgust.
In the case of a man I would not have hesitated for a moment; indeed I would never have let him leave the house that day. But with a woman I could scarcely bear the thought of it, although this woman was vastly more dangerous than many men.
I sought keenly for some other scheme, and for a moment entertained the idea of going to the Prince himself, telling him all frankly, and begging his aid to deal with her. But I abandoned it. I remembered he had said he would stand by the throne if he could make sure of efficient help, and I calculated that his vacillation would cause him to turn now and claim the help of our party in his defence. A worse than useless effort, as I knew, owing to the impossibility of rallying to his cause the men who had been turned from him by his weakness. Not only could we do no good for him, but we should imperil the great patriotic rising for no purpose.
I was therefore driven back upon the distasteful course of duping the woman who had thus threatened us.
“Would to heaven she were a man!” And each time the thought broke from me in involuntary utterance, I pictured how easy it would then be to act.
As I was riding back, moody and thoughtful, I met the carriage of the Princess. She caught sight of me when I was still at a distance, and her lovely face was wreathed with a radiant smile as she checked her horses and greeted me. Mademoiselle Broumoff was by her side, and her keen, sharp eyes were quick to read trouble in my face.
“You look very thoughtful, Count,” said the Princess, “as if heavy military affairs were weighing upon you.”
“I have been thinking out the answer to a very ingenious problem set me this morning,” I said, trying to speak lightly.
“It has been a trying problem for your horse, I should think,” she said, glancing at his flanks, which were covered with foam, for I had ridden hard.
“Not more so than for his rider, I assure you.”
“I hope it has not distressed you as much.”
“The Count carries the sign of that in his face,” said the little Broumoff, earnestly. “I hope it is no more than a military problem.”
“All problems in Bulgaria have their military side,” I answered gravely.
The Princess’s eyes showed concern. She understood.
“We must not let your horse stand while he is so heated with his problem, Count. If you would like to see me, I shall be at home in an hour from now.”
“With your permission, I will call,” I said, and saluted her as she drove on. “I will have the searchlight of her woman’s wit on the matter,” was my thought as I rode home; and, despite the grave and critical reason for the interview, I was yet half disposed to be glad of it, so much store did I set on the opportunity of being in her presence. I could scarcely wait with patience for the minutes to run out until I could start for her house.
Mademoiselle Broumoff was still with her when I arrived.
“You have news of some kind for me, Count?” said the Princess.
“Unfortunately, I bring you bad news, Madame.”
“It could not come by a more unwilling messenger, I am sure.”
“On my honour, that is true,” I said earnestly, touched by her gentle thought.
“And half its sting will be blunted since I hear it from you. What is it? Tell me frankly.”
“Its sting cannot but be sharp enough to wound. I fear we have a traitor somewhere high up in our ranks;” and with that I told her what had passed in my interview with the Countess Bokara.
“It is ugly news indeed,” she said at the close, profoundly moved. “And as dangerous as it is ugly. What think you of it, Nathalie?”
Mademoiselle Broumoff had turned pale with sudden consternation.
“I cannot think. It is too dreadful. What does the Count propose?”
The Princess turned eagerly to me for my counsel.
“We must either blind the Countess Bokara or get her away to a place of safety until we have had some time to act. But the leakage must be traced.”
“Who can it be, Nathalie?” cried the Princess, in a tone of dismay. “Have you tried to cure this mad woman of her prejudice against me, Count?”
“I have had as yet no opportunity. Since my first meeting with her, I have seen her only once for a few minutes in the presence of the Prince until this morning, when she came to confound me with this news, and to urge me to join her in assassinating you.”
“She chose her companion curiously,” said the Princess, with a smile of confidence that went straight to my heart. “I hope my safety may never be in less trusty hands than yours.”
I did not trust myself to answer with more than a look, and as I turned my eyes away I caught the little Broumoff eying us keenly. Then the Princess startled us both.
“I have made up my mind; I will see her,” she said.
“Christina, it is impossible!” cried Mademoiselle Broumoff quickly. “She would murder you with her own hand.”
“The Count will guard against that at least, and he will arrange the interview. Will you not?”
“I would do much to serve you, but this would be a hazardous step, and one that can scarcely lead to any good. You can have but the faintest idea of her hatred of you.”
“Then I can learn it for myself. I will see her;” and her tone was decision itself. I continued my attempt to dissuade, but without success, and she would not rest until I had agreed to arrange a meeting at my house. One stipulation I insisted upon—that I should be present.
“I should wish that,” she assented. “I do not mean to run any risks, and I should feel safe only if you were there, Count.” The words were sweet enough to my ears, but they did not allay my alarm on the score of the interview. I yielded all against my judgment, and arranged to try to get the Countess Bokara to my house on the following afternoon.
When that was settled I lingered on, inventing pretext upon pretext for my stay that I might steep my senses in the charm of her presence, the light of her eyes, and the music of her voice. Nor did she seem unwilling for me to stay, as I noticed with rare delight.
But under all the pleasure of this fascinating dalliance a current of earnest thought was running in my head, and when I left her I had already formed a plan, for which I proceeded at once to make preparations.
I had no hope that the Princess would reap any benefit from the coming interview, for I could not see a possibility of any good resulting. But I resolved that if she failed I would have my own plan in readiness. If the Countess Bokara came to the house, she should not leave it again except to pass into some place of security until our plans were complete.
I sent at once in quest of Zoiloff, therefore, and, having explained everything that had happened, outlined my scheme.
“You are sure that she really knew, and was not merely making a shrewd guess?” he asked. “I cannot think of any man among us who would turn blabber. But if I find him——” He left the sentence unfinished, but the threat was the more expressive.
“Yes, yes, there are twenty ways of dealing with a man,” said I; “but a woman is different.”
“A traitor is a traitor, never mind the sex; and I see no cause for mercy for one more than another,” he growled into his beard, his look very set and stern. “But what is your plan?”
“That we prepare a couple of rooms here in my house, and keep her until we can find some other place equally safe and secret.”
“Is this secret? Are you sure of your servants? May we not look for the leakage among them?”
“Spernow found them for me,” was my answer.
“Would you change them?”
“Every man and woman to-morrow, if you can fill their places.”
“I can do that,” he assented quickly. “Wait—better—can you let me see them all? I may spot the traitor, or at all events separate the sheep from the goats.”
I rang the bell and sent for my steward. When he came I told him to get the servants all together, and send them in to me one at a time, as I wished to question them separately about a certain paper which I said had been mislaid.
They came in one by one, and we so arranged the position that each stood in a strong light for Zoiloff to be able to watch them as I put a short string of questions. He put a black mark against three whom he regarded as suspicious. The rest, he declared, were above question.
“My opinion is that one of those three men is false and a spy, presumably in the service of this woman. I expect they have been eavesdropping when you and I and Spernow have been together, and perhaps have caught some unguarded words. The thing is very ugly. What shall we do?”
“Fool them with their own tactics,” said I readily, thinking of my original idea. “Let us have a hurried meeting of men whom we can trust, have it to-night, explain the position hurriedly, and pretend that we are disclosing to them the real object of the plot—to work nominally for the Princess, but really for the Russian party—and have these suspects so placed that they can hear what is going on. Then catch them in the very act; and send them packing with this new version of the thing in their minds, after a pretty good fright, and under oath not to reveal the story.”
“Yes, it will serve; but it will want adroit management,” said Zoiloff.
“You say my steward is a man to be trusted?”
“Absolutely. I know him well.”
“Good. Then leave that part to me, while you hurry off and bring in about a dozen of our men. Let their arrival be a little dramatic, to give colour to the drama, so that the spies may think the meeting too important to be missed; and I will answer for the rest.”
As soon as he had gone I called my steward and told him plainly that there was a spy in the house, and that we suspected one of the three men I named. Then I outlined the arrangements he was to make—to get as many of the other servants out of the house as he could without creating suspicion, and to give those who remained work to do in other parts of the house, so that the three should be free to spy upon us; that then he should set them separately some light kind of work close to the room in which I directed the meeting was to be held, of which he was to drop a hint. He was a shrewd fellow, and entered readily into the matter.
“One of them is no traitor, sir,” he said, naming him. “I can answer for him with my life. I have known him for many years, and I am sure of him. The others I do not know and do not like.”
“Never mind, test all three; and as the clock strikes eleven be at hand to watch them and await my orders.”
He went at once to do as I ordered; and that he did the work shrewdly the sequel showed.
Zoiloff returned very soon with Spernow and another man, and I received them in the room which had been prepared as the stage for our little drama. When the others came, I noticed with a smile that each was cloaked; and in all we made a party of fourteen. We smoked and had wine until I calculated that the spies would be at their posts; and then, speaking in a tone lowered but sufficiently distinct to reach any eaves-dropper, I told them that the hour had come when we thought it necessary to make a most important disclosure of our plans. While working apparently for the Princess, we were, in fact, Russian agents pledged to the Czar, and bent upon putting the Princess upon the throne solely in his Majesty’s interests; and I went on to declare that the hour had come to strike the blow, and so on.
A discussion followed, in which objections were raised and answered, while I kept my eye upon the clock until the hand was approaching the hour of eleven, when I rose and declared that this was the moment when each man must declare himself.
My rising was, in fact, an agreed signal, and Zoiloff, Spernow, and another man stole noiselessly to the spots where I knew any listeners would be sure to post themselves.
As the clock was on the point of striking, the two doors and a window opening to a conservatory beyond were flung open, and one of the spies was caught in the very act of eavesdropping.
“We are betrayed, Count,” cried Zoiloff in a voice of thunder, dragging in the man, who, shivering and white with fear, wriggled and struggled to free himself from his stern-faced captor.
A solemn hush fell on the room, while the trembling, panic-stricken wretch was placed in the midst of the men who closed round him. The silence was grim enough to have tried stronger nerves than his.
“What is the meaning of this?” I asked sternly, breaking the silence.
“I was not listening, my lord; indeed——”
“Don’t lie to me. What did you hear? Quick, speak the truth, for your life hangs on it.”
“I heard nothing, I swear I did not. I was only——”
“Silence!” I thundered, “if you have nothing but lies to tell.” He threw himself at my feet and begged for mercy.
“Speak the truth, then,” I said.
He glanced all round the ring of stern, hard-set faces and threw up his hands, and then clasped them before his face in despair.
“Gentlemen, you have seen for yourselves; what say you?” I asked.
“There is but one punishment for such an act—death!” cried Zoiloff, in such a ringing, merciless tone that the rascal’s heart may well have sunk within him. “Death, if he will not speak.”
“Death, if he will not speak,” echoed the rest.
At this Zoiloff drew his sword, and at the clash of the steel in the dead silence the wretch moaned.
“Will you speak, or die?” I said, after a moment.
“I heard only a little,” said the man after a struggle, his lips so dry and parched that he could only speak with an effort.
“Tell it!” I thundered again; and word by word he told us that he heard me declare that we were Russian agents, and all that followed.
His fear of the death that he believed imminent was sickening to behold, and made me anxious to close the scene.
“You have heard this wretch’s confession, gentlemen; what say you?”
“He must die!” cried Zoiloff. “In the name of the Czar I claim his life. Every Russian interest in the country is in peril while he lives.”
“You will vote, if you please,” I said. And we went through a form of writing each man’s decision on paper.
“The verdict is unanimous,” I said, glancing at the paper. “You must die. I would have spared your life, but I am powerless against all present.”
At that he clung to me, clutching at my hands and at my coat, praying, beseeching, imploring, and vowing that he would never say a word of what he had overheard.
“Whose spy are you?” I asked.
“I am in the service of the Countess Bokara.”
“Wait;” and I left the room, wishing to confer with my steward as to the other two suspects. The steward assured me that he had found them just where they had been directed to remain. I went back to the room, and the wretch broke out again with cries and wailings and prayers.
I could bear no more of it, and put an end to the scene at once.
“Gentlemen, I have heard some strange reports with regard to this man. We will, with your leave, postpone his punishment, and I will be answerable for his safe custody.”
“Deal with him as you will, Count,” said Zoiloff. Calling in the steward, I gave the man into his keeping, and they left the room together.
The meeting broke up soon after; and Zoiloff remained only a minute to exchange congratulations upon the success of the ruse.
“We have the spy, and to-morrow we will deal with his employer;” and his look was as black as a thunder-cloud as he spoke.