The Red Symbol Part 31

A big surly-looking man. Could it be Mishka? I scarcely dared hope it was, remembering how and where I parted from him; but that underlined "Johann" might--must mean "Ivan," otherwise the Grand Duke Loris. To give the German rendering of the name was just like Mishka, who was the very embodiment of caution and taciturnity.

"Well, I've got my marching orders," I announced. "I'll have to go back to London to-day, Mary, to meet Southbourne. Where's the time-table?"

Mary objected, of course, on the score that I was not yet strong enough for work, and I rea.s.sured her.

"Nonsense, dear; I'm all right, and I've been idle too long."

"Idle! When you've turned out that Russian series."

"A month ago, and I haven't done a stroke since."

"But is this anything special?" she urged. "Lord Southbourne is not sending you abroad again,--to Russia?"

"No fear of that, little woman; and if he did they would stop me at the frontier, so don't worry. Harding mentioned the States in his note."

"Oh, that would be lovely!" she a.s.sented, quite rea.s.sured. I was thankful that she and Jim were settled down in this out-of-the-way place for the next few weeks, any way. It would be easy to keep them in ignorance of my movements, and, once away, they wouldn't expect to hear much of me. In my private capacity I was a proverbially remiss correspondent.

They both came with me the seven-mile drive to the station; and even Jim, to my relief, didn't seem to have the least suspicion that my hurried departure was occasioned by any other reason than that I had given.

Anne's name had never been mentioned between him and myself since my release. Perhaps he imagined I was forgetting her, though Mary knew better.

I sent a wire from Exeter to "M. Pavloff," and when I arrived at Waterloo, about half-past ten at night, I drove straight to the Charing Cross Hotel, secured a room there, and asked for Herr Pavloff.

I was taken up to a private sitting-room, and there, right enough, was Mishka himself. In his way he was as remarkable a man as his master; as imperturbable, and as much at home in a London hotel, as in the cafe near the Ismailskaia Prospekt in Petersburg.

He greeted me with a warmth that I felt to be flattering from one of his temperament. In many ways he was a typical Russian, almost servile, in his surly fashion, towards those whom he conceived to be immeasurably his superiors in rank; more or less truculent towards every one else; and, as a rule, suspicious of every one, high or low, with whom he came in contact, save his master, and, I really believe, myself.

At an early stage in our acquaintanceship he had abandoned the air of sulky deference which he had shown when we first met on the car returning to Dunaburg after the accident, and had treated me more or less _en camarade_, though in a kind of paternal manner; and yet I doubt if he was my senior in years. He was a man of considerable education, too, though he was usually careful to conceal the fact. To this day I do not know the exact position he held in his master's service. It may perhaps be described as that of confidential henchman,--a mediaeval definition, but in Russia one is continually taken back to the Middle Ages. One thing, at least, was indubitable,--his utter devotion to his master.

"So, the little man kept his word, and sent for you. That is well. And you have come promptly; that also is well. It is what you would do," he said, eying me quite affectionately. "We did not expect to meet again,--and in England, _hein_?"

"That we didn't!" I rejoined. "Say, Mishka, how did you get clear; and how did you know where to find me?"

"One thing at a time. First, I have brought you a letter. Read it."

With exasperating deliberation he fetched out a bulky pocket-book, and extracted therefrom a packet, which proved to be a thick cream envelope, carefully protected from soilure by an outer wrapping of paper.

Within was a letter written in French, and in a curiously fine, precise caligraphy. It was dated August 10th, from the Castle of Zostrov, and it conveyed merely an invitation to visit the writer, and the a.s.surance that the bearer would give me all necessary information.

"I can offer you very little in the way of entertainment, unless you happen to be a sportsman, which I think is probable. There is game in abundance, from bear downwards," was the last sentence.

It was a most discreet communication, signed merely with the initial "L."

"Read it," I said, handing it to Mishka. He glanced through it, nodded, and handed it back. He knew its contents before, doubtless; but still I gathered that he could read French as well as German.

"Well, are you coming?" he asked.

"Why, certainly; but what about the information his Highness mentions?"

He put up his hand with a swift, warning gesture, and glanced towards the door, muttering:

"There is no need of names or t.i.tles."

"Or of precautions here!" I rejoined impatiently. "Remember, we are in England, man!"

"True, I forgot; but still, caution is always best. About this information. What do you wish to know?"

"Why, everything, man; everything! How did you escape? What is--he--doing at this place; have you news of _her_? That first, and above all!"

"That I cannot give, for I have it not. I think he knows somewhat, and if that is so he himself will tell you. But I have heard nothing--nothing! For the rest, I crawled further into the forest, and lay quiet there. I heard enough through the night to know somewhat at least that was befalling, but I kept still. What could I have done to aid? And later, I made my way to a place of safety; and thence, in due time, to Zostrov, where I joined my master. It is one of his estates, and he is banished there, for how long? Who can say? Till those about the Tzar alter their minds, or till he himself sees reason to go elsewhere! They dare do nothing more to him, openly, for he is a prince of the blood, when all is said, and the Tzar loves him; so does the Tzarina (G.o.d guard her), though indeed that counts for little! It is not much, this banishment,--to him at least. It might have been worse. And he is content, for the present. He finds much work ready to his hand. We get news, too; much more news than some imagine,--the censor among them.

We heard of your deliverance almost as soon as it was accomplished, and, later, of your--what do you call it?"

"Acquittal?" I suggested.

"That would be the word; you were proved innocent."

"Not exactly; there was not sufficient evidence of my guilt and so I was discharged," I answered; and as I spoke I remembered that, even now, I was liable to be rearrested on that same charge, since I had not been tried and acquitted by a jury.

"We know, of course," he continued, "that you did not murder that swine Selinski."

"How do you know that?" I demanded.

"That I may not tell you, but this I may: if you had been condemned, well--"

He blew a big cloud of smoke from his cigar, a cloud that obscured his face, and out of it he spoke enigmatically:

"Rest a.s.sured you will never be hung for the murder of Vladimir Selinski, although twenty English juries might p.r.o.nounce you guilty!

But enough of that. The question is will you return with me, or will you not? He has need of you; or thinks he has, which is the same thing; and I can smooth the way. There will be risks."

"I know all about that," I interrupted impatiently. "And I shall go with you, of course!"

"Of course," he acquiesced phlegmatically. But, as he spoke, he held out his big blunt hand; and I gripped it hard.

CHAPTER x.x.xII

BACK TO RUSSIA ONCE MORE

Two days later I saw Lord Southbourne, and resigned my position as a member of his staff. I felt myself mean in one way, when I thought of how he had backed me right through that murder business,--and before it, when he set Freeman on my track.

He showed neither surprise nor annoyance; in fact he seemed, if anything, more nonchalant than usual.

"Well, of course you know your own affairs best. I haven't any use for men who cultivate interests outside their work; and you've done the straight thing in resigning now that you 'here a duty divided do perceive,' as I heard a man say the other day."

"Von Eckhardt!" I exclaimed.