The Book of All-Power Part 19

The man tried to wrench open the locks which held the covers, but failed. Suddenly he looked up, and glared across at the girl.

He said nothing, but the suspicion in that scowl was emphasized when he moved to the wall near the window and the light of a bracket lamp.

Again he examined the book and for the first time spoke:

"Oh, Highness, was it you who sent for Israel Kensky that the book should be restored----"

So far he got when an arm came from behind the curtain--a hand blue-veined, and it held a yellow handkerchief.

The girl saw it, and her hand went to her mouth.

Then the handkerchief struck full across Boolba's face, covering it from forehead to the mouth.

For a moment the man was paralysed, then he pulled the handkerchief away and clawed at the clay-like substance which adhered to his face.

"Mother of G.o.d!"

He screamed the words and, dropping the book, stumbled forward, rubbing at his face, shrieking with pain.

The girl ran swiftly through the open door, for feet were now pattering along the corridors and the flicker of lights showed through the doorway. Boolba was rolling on the ground in agony when the servants crowded in, followed by the Grand Duke--and he alone was fully dressed.

"Boolba--what is it?"

"The book--the book! It is mine! See ... floor!"

But the book had disappeared.

"Where, Boolba--where, my good Boolba?" The voice of Boolba's master was tremulous. "Show me--did he strike you--he shall suffer, by the saints!

Look for it, Boolba!"

"Look! Look!" yelled the writhing man. "How shall I look? I who am blind--blind--blind!"

CHAPTER X

TERROR IN MAKING

In the spring of 1919 Malcolm Hay came out from the Kursky Voksal carrying his own well-worn valise. An indifferent cigar was clenched between his white teeth, and there was a sparkle of amus.e.m.e.nt in his grave eyes. He stood seventy inches in his stockings, and an excellent judge of men who looked him over, noted the set and width of shoulders, the upward lift of chin, the tanned face and flexibility of body, marked him down "soldier"--either American or English.

Malcolm looked up and down the deserted street and then caught the eye of the solitary _intooski_, a thoughtful-looking man with a short, square beard, looking monstrously stout in his padded green coat, the livery of the Moscow drosky driver.

The man on the sidewalk smiled and walked across the pavement.

"Little brother," he said in fluent Russian, "would you condescend to drive me to the Hotel du Bazar Slav?"

The driver who had noted so approvingly the shape of Malcolm's shoulders did not immediately answer; then:

"British?--I thought you were."

He spoke excellent English, and Malcolm looked up at him bewildered.

"I seem to know your face, too--let me think."

The cab-driver tapped his bearded chin.

"I have it--Hay. I met you four years ago at a dinner party in Kieff--you are the manager of an oil company or something of the sort."

"Right," said the astonished young man, "but--I don't exactly place you."

The drosky driver smiled.

"And yet I dined with you," he said. "I sat next the Grand d.u.c.h.ess Irene--later, when war broke out, I invited you to my headquarters."

"Good G.o.d!" Malcolm's jaw dropped. "General Malinkoff!"

"Commanding the 84th Caucasian Division," said the bearded man dryly, "and now commanding one little horse. If you will get into my excellent cab I will drive you to a restaurant where we may eat and drink and be almost merry for--fifty roubles."

Malcolm stepped into the little drosky like a man in a dream. Malinkoff!

He remembered him, a fine figure on a horse, riding through Kieff at the head of a glittering throng of staff officers. There was a function at the Grand Hotel to meet the new Commander, a great parade at that ancient palace in his honour--Malcolm had come in from the oil-fields partly to meet him at dinner--partly for news of one who had of a sudden vanished from his life.

The drosky drove furiously through the east end of the town, and the pa.s.senger noted that the driver was careful to avoid the big thoroughfares which led to the Krasnaya Plotzad and that centre of Moscow which is the Kremlin.

Presently it drew up before a small eating-house in a poor street, and the driver hoisted himself to the ground. He left his horse unattended and, leading the way, pushed open the swing doors of the restaurant and pa.s.sed down a long, low-ceilinged room crowded with diners, to a table at the far end.

"Sit down, Mr. Hay. I can promise you a fair but by no means sybarite feast--good morning, Nicholas Va.s.silitsky."

He nodded pleasantly to a grey-haired man in a workman's blouse sitting at the next table, and the man addressed rose stiffly, bowed and sat down.

"If you wish your clothes valeted whilst you are in Moscow, I recommend my friend," said the driver, snapping his fingers towards a stout waitress. "Colonel Nicholas Va.s.silitsky is not only an excellent Director of Military Intelligence but he can press a pair of trousers with any man."

He gave his orders briefly, and turned to his companion.

"First of all, let me interrogate you. You are on your way to Petrograd?"

"Yes--I am on my way home. During the war I have been controlling allied supplies in Little Russia--the Revolution stopped that."

"Fortunate man--to have a country," said General Malinkoff, and he spoke seriously and without bitterness. "A country and an army--coherent, disciplined comrades in arms."

He shrugged his padded shoulders.

"Yes--you are on your way to your home? It will take you months to leave the country--if you ever leave it. I tried to leave last month. I am a reactionary with a leaning toward discipline. I cannot breathe the air of democracy. I used to think I had Liberal ideas. There was a time when I thought that a day would dawn when the world would be a great United States of Free People. Ah, well--I am still a reactionary."

Malcolm knew that behind those grave eyes was a world of laughter, that beneath the solemn words was a gentle irony, and yet for the while he could not distinguish how much of tragedy there was in the man's fun.

"But why are you----"