The Price of Power Part 19

SUCH IS THE LAW.

"Now," Hartwig said, a.s.suming a firm, determined att.i.tude, "I hope you entirely understand me. I am well aware of the despicable double game you are playing, therefore if you refuse me the information I seek I shall go downstairs and tell them how you are employed by His Excellency General Markoff."

The traitor's face was ashen grey. He was, I could see, in wonder at the ident.i.ty of his visitor. Of course he knew me, but apparently my companion was quite unknown to him. It was always one of Hartwig's greatest precautions to remain unknown to any except perhaps a dozen or so of the detective police immediately under his direction. From the Secret or Political Police he was always careful to hide his ident.i.ty, knowing well that by so doing he would gain a free hand in his operations in the detection of serious crime. At his own house, a neat, modest little bachelor abode just outside Petersburg, in the Kulikovo quarter, he was known as Herr Otto Schenk, a German teacher of languages, who, possessing a small income, devoted his leisure to his garden and his poultry. None, not even the agents of Secret Police in the Kulikovo district, who reported upon him regularly each month, even suspected that he was the renowned head of the Surete.

Standing there presenting such a bucolic appearance, so typically English, and yet speaking Russian perfectly, he caused Danilovitch much curiosity and apprehension.

Suddenly he asked of the spy:

"You were at Brighton last night? With what motive? Tell me."

The man hesitated a moment and replied:

"I went there to visit a friend--a compatriot."

"Yes. Quite true," exclaimed the great police official, leaning against the end of the narrow iron bedstead. "You went to Brighton with an evil purpose. Shall I tell you why? Because you were sent there by your employer General Markoff--sent there as a paid a.s.sa.s.sin!"

The fellow started.

"What do you mean?" he gasped.

"Just this. That you followed a certain lady who accompanied this gentleman here--followed and watched them for two hours." And then, fixing his big, expressive eyes upon the man he was interrogating, he added: "You followed them because your intention was to carry out the plot conceived by your master--the plot to kill them both!"

"It's a lie!" cried the traitor. "There is no plot."

"Listen," exclaimed Hartwig, in a low, firm voice. "It is your intention to commit an outrage, and having done so, you will denounce to the police certain persons living in this house. Arrests will follow, if any return to Russia, the General will be congratulated by the Emperor upon his astuteness in laying hands so quickly upon the conspirators, and half-a-dozen innocent persons will be sentenced to long terms of imprisonment, if they dare ever go back to their own country. You see," he laughed, "that I am fully aware of the remarkably ingenious programme in progress."

The man's face was pale as death. He saw that his secret was out.

"And now," Hartwig went on: "when I tell these people who live below-- your comrades and fellow-workers in the revolutionary cause--what will they say--eh? Well, Danilo Danilovitch, I shall, when I've finished with you, leave you to their tender mercies. You remember, perhaps, the fate of Boutakoff, the informer at Kieff, how he was attached to a baulk of timber and placed upon a circular saw, how Raspopoff died of slow starvation in the hands of those whom he had betrayed at Moscow, and how Mirski, in Odessa, was horribly tortured and killed by the three brothers of the unfortunate girl he had given into the hands of the police. No," he laughed, "your friends show neither leniency nor humanity towards those who betray them."

"But you will not do this!" gasped the man, his eyes dilated by fear, now that he had been brought to bay.

"I have explained my intention," replied Hartwig slowly and firmly.

"But you will not!" he cried. "I--I implore you to spare me! You appear to know everything."

"Yes," was the reply. "I know how, by your perfidious actions, dozens, nay hundreds, of innocent persons have been sent into exile. To the revolutionists throughout the whole of Russia there is one great leader known as `The One'--the leader whose ident.i.ty is unknown, but whose word is law among a hundred thousand conspirators. You are that man! Your mandates are obeyed to the letter, but you keep your ident.i.ty profoundly secret. These poor misguided fools who follow you believe that the secrecy as to the ident.i.ty of their fearless leader whom they only know as `The Wonder Worker,' or generally `The One,' is due to a fear of arrest. Ah! Danilo Danilovitch," he laughed, "you who lead them so cleverly are a strong man, and a clever man. You hold the fate of all revolutionary Russia in your hand. You form plots, you get your poor, ill-read puppets to carry them out, and afterwards you send them to Siberia in batches of hundreds. A clever game this game of terrorism.

But I tell you frankly it is at an end now. What will these comrades of yours say when they are made aware that `The One'--the man believed by so many to be sent providentially to sweep away the dynasty and kill the enemies of freedom--is identical with Danilo Danilovitch, the bootmaker of Kazan and police-spy. Rather a blow to the revolutionary organisation--eh?"

"And a blow for you," I added, addressing the unkempt-looking fellow for the first time. Though I confess that I did not recognise him as the man who threw the bomb in Petersburg, I added: "It was you who committed the dastardly outrage upon the Grand Duke Nicholas, and for which many innocent persons are now immured in those terrible cells below the water at Schusselburg--you who intend that His Imperial Highness's daughter and myself shall die!" I cried.

He made no reply. He saw that we were in possession of all the facts concerning his disgraceful past. I could see how intensely agitated he had become, and though he was striving to conceal his fear, yet his thin, sinewy hands were visibly trembling.

"You admit, by your silence, that you were author of that brutal outrage!" exclaimed Hartwig quickly. "In it, my friend here narrowly escaped with his life. Now, answer me this question," he demanded imperiously. "With what motive did you launch that bomb at the Grand Duke's carriage?"

"With the same motive that every attempt is made," was his bold reply.

"You lie!" Hartwig said bluntly. "That plot was not yours. Confess it."

"No plot is mine. The various revolutionary circles form plots, and I, as the unknown head, approve of them. But," asked the spy suddenly, "who are you that you should question me thus?"

"I have already given you my name," he said. "Ivan Arapoff, of Petersburg."

"Then, Mr Arapoff, I think we may change the topic of conversation,"

said the man, suddenly quite calm and collected. I detected that, though an unprincipled scoundrel and without either conscience or remorse, his was yet a strong and impelling personality--a man who, among the enthusiastic students and the younger generation of Russia, which form the bulk of the revolutionists, would no doubt be listened to and obeyed as a leader.

"Good. If you wish me to leave you, I will do so. I will go and have a little chat with your interesting and enlightened friends downstairs,"

exclaimed Hartwig with a triumphant laugh. Then, turning to me, he added: "Come, Mr Trewinnard, let's go."

"No!" gasped the spy. "No, stop! I--I want to fully understand what your intentions are--now that you know the truth concerning the ident.i.ty of `The One' and other recent matters."

"Intentions!" echoed the great detective. "I have none. I have merely forewarned you of what you must expect--the fate of the informer, unless--"

"Unless what?" he cried.

"Unless you confess the object of the outrage upon the Grand Duke."

"I tell you I do not know."

"But the plot was your own. None of your comrades knew of it."

"It was not my own."

"You carried it out?"

"And if I admit anything you will hand me over to the police--eh?"

"Surely you know that is impossible in England. You cannot be arrested here for a political crime," Hartwig said.

"I saw you throw the bomb," I added. "You were dressed differently, but I now recognise you. Come, admit it."

"I admit nothing," he answered sullenly. "You are both of you entirely welcome to your opinions."

"Forty persons are now in prison for your crime," I said. "Have you no remorse--no pity?"

"I have nothing to say."

"But you shall speak," I cried angrily. "Once I nearly lost my life because of the outrage you committed, and last night you followed me in Brighton with the distinct purpose of killing both Her Highness and myself. But you were frustrated--or perhaps you feared arrest. But I tell you plainly, if ever I catch you in our vicinity again I shall hand you over to the nearest policeman. And at the police-court the truth concerning `The One' will quickly be revealed and seized upon by the halfpenny press."

"We need not wait for that, Mr Trewinnard," remarked Hartwig. "We can deal with him this evening--once and for all. When we leave here we shall leave with the knowledge that `The One' no longer exists and the revolutionary party--Terrorists, as they are pleased to call themselves on account of the false bogy which the Secret Police have raised in Russia--will take their own steps towards punishing the man to whom they owe all the great disasters which have befallen their schemes during the past couple of years. Truly, the vengeance of the Terrorist against his betrayer is a terrible vengeance indeed."

As he spoke the creak of a footstep was heard on the landing outside the locked door.

I raised my finger to command silence, whereupon the man known throughout all revolutionary Russia as "The One" crossed the room swiftly, and unlocking the door, looked out. But he found no one.

Yet I feel certain that someone had been lurking there. That slow creak of the bare boards showed that the pressure of a foot had been released.

Yet whoever had been listening had escaped swiftly down the stairs, now dark and unlighted. Danilovitch reentered the bedroom, his face white as a sheet.