MICHAEL DANEVITCH (continued 5)

‘Unless I’m mistaken, you reek of the salt sea.’

‘I suppose I do,’ answered the other brusquely. ‘Any way, I’ve been soaked with it often enough. Where are you from?’

‘Constantinople.’

‘So. A trader, I suppose?’

‘Yes.’

‘What do you trade in?’

‘Anything on earth, so long as it will turn me in money.’

‘Bah!’ sneered one of the young men—‘just like you Jew dogs. It’s always money with you—money, money. It’s your only prayer.’

‘In that respect I’m not sure that there is much difference between the Jew dog and the grasping Christian. But I don’t want to quarrel with you. I’m a stranger in the town. Will you drink at my expense?’

‘Yes,’ answered the three as one man.

So drink was ordered, and for a time the conversation was friendly and general, and when it flagged a little the Jew said:

‘That’s a curious robbery that has taken place lately.’

‘What robbery?’ asked one of the young men, eyeing the Jew keenly.

‘The robbery of the Crown jewels.’

‘Oh yes; very curious.’

‘By Father Abraham!’ exclaimed the Jew, with a great puffing out of his breath, ‘but I should like to call some of the precious stones mine. The God of Jacob! I wonder what has become of them. They haven’t caught the thieves yet, I suppose?’

‘No,’ was the curt answer.

‘Ah! they are clever fellows; must be wonderfully clever to do such a deed. But I expect they’ll be laid by the heels yet.’

‘No fear,’ answered one of the youngsters. ‘You can depend upon it they know what they are about.’

‘Ah! just so, just so,’ mused the Jew—‘just so. It’s a clever bit of business—clever, clever; by God it is! I wonder, now, what has become of those jewels. They are worth risking body and soul for.’

‘I say, stranger,’ remarked the seafarer, ‘you had better be careful what you say, or you may land yourself in trouble.’

‘True, true, true!’ moaned the Jew. ‘But, God in heaven, only to think of all those precious gems! It almost turns one’s brain.’

He sank into a moody silence, and stared fixedly at the stove, as though he was dreaming dreams about the gems. The other three men conversed in low tones for a little time, until the two younger ones rose up, said ‘Good-night,’ and left, for the hour was getting late. Then the Jew seemed suddenly to wake up from his reverie, and he asked the seafarer if he was going.

‘No; I am lodging here,’ was the answer.

‘So. That reminds me. Landlord, can I have a bed?’

He was told he could. There was some haggling about the price to be paid, but the matter was amicably settled in the end, and the Jew invited the seafarer to have some more vodka. True to the traditions of his kind the world over, the sailor man accepted the invitation, and the two sat drinking until the landlord came to remind them it was time they retired.

The sailor was pretty far gone in his cups, and the Jew offered to assist him up the stairs to bed. With some difficulty the pair managed to mount the greasy, rickety stairs to where the sleeping chambers were, and the Jew accompanied the sailor man to his room, and then from his capacious pocket he produced a bottle of vodka, and they set to work to discuss it. Presently the Jew murmured in a maudlin way, as his thoughts still ran upon the gems:

‘By Father Abraham, but it was a big haul! Why, there must have been a million roubles’ worth of them.’

‘Of what?’ asked the skipper, who, though pretty well soaked, seemed to have his wits about him.

‘The stolen jewels,’ mumbled the Jew. ‘I would buy every one of them at a price; I would, so help me God!’

‘Now, what price would you give?’

‘How could I tell—how could I tell, unless I saw them?’

The sailor man became thoughtful and silent, and the Jew sank down in a corner like a sack, mumbling incoherently guttural sentences, in which the words ‘gems, jewels, gold,’ predominated. Presently the sailor was overcome by his potations, and stretching himself on the bed, boots and all, was soon snoring in drunken sleep. A couple of hours later the Jew crept from the room, sought his own chamber, and was speedily sound asleep in the bed.

The next morning the two men drank their tea together, and having lighted one of his long black cigars, the sailor invited the Jew forth into the city.

‘You say you are from Constantinople?’ asked the sailor, as they walked together.

‘Yes.’

‘Do you reside there?’

‘Yes.’

‘In what part?’

‘The Jews’ quarter.’

‘And, I suppose, like all your tribe, you don’t know your own wealth?’

The Jew sighed dolefully.

‘Alas, alas!’ he exclaimed; ‘by Abraham in heaven, I swear I am very poor.’

‘Ah! you all say that.’

‘It’s true, it’s true. But why do you ask?’

‘Oh, nothing; only, if you had been rich, I might have put something in your way by which you could have doubled your riches.’

‘What is it? What is it?’ cried the Jew eagerly. ‘Tell me; I can get money. Thousands, tens of thousands, millions of roubles, if needs be. But tell me what it is. I want to grow rich; I want money—want it by sackfuls. It is my dream; I worship it.’

‘Ah,’ grunted the sailor, with a smack of his lips, ‘you are all alike. Have you any friends in Moscow?’

‘No; I am a stranger. I have come to trade. I will lend money at interest on good security, or I will buy anything that I can sell again.’

The sailor became very thoughtful. He puffed away at his rank cigar like a man who was deeply absorbed, and the Jew ambled on by his side, mumbling to himself. Presently the sailor addressed him:

‘Do you stay in the same lodgings to-night?’

‘I do.’

‘Good. I’ll meet you at nine o’clock, and may be able to put something in your way. I must leave you now.’

‘Count on me,’ said the Jew. ‘If we can do a deal together, I’ll put money in your purse.’

‘You bet you will! You don’t suppose I’m going to serve you without serving myself. I don’t love your race enough for that. It’s a matter of convenience. But till to-night, adieu.’

‘By the way, how are you called?’

‘I am known as Captain Blok. I command a small trader doing business in the Black Sea.’

‘Where is she now?’

‘She is being overhauled at Azov.’

‘Will you be alone to-night?’

‘No. The two friends you saw last night may be with me.’

‘Good. This looks like business. I will meet you without fail.’

The sailor went off, and the Jew continued his jaunt through the town. When nine o’clock came, it found him by the big stove in the restaurant. There were several other customers there, but he held aloof from them, for one had a little before called him ‘a dog of a Jew,’ saying he had no business to be there amongst Christians, and tried to pick a quarrel with him. As a quarter-past nine struck, Captain Blok entered. He was alone. He addressed a few preliminary remarks to the Jew, then requested that he would follow him to his bedroom.

‘What is your name, Jew?’ asked Blok, as he shut the door.

‘Nikolai—Israel Nikolai.’

‘Are you a Russian?’

‘I was born in Poland, but have been trading in Constantinople and the Levant for many years.’

‘You are good for a deal in a big way?’

‘Yes.’

‘And can be secret?’

‘As the grave.’

At this point the door opened, and Blok’s companions of the previous night entered. They looked at Blok inquiringly, then at the Jew suspiciously.

‘He’s right,’ said Blok. Then turning to the Jew, he continued: ‘Now look here, Israel Nikolai, you say you can command money?’

‘Yes, to any extent.’

‘Very well; now, we’ve got some stuff to sell, and we are going to take you to see it. The stuff is contraband, therefore you must be careful. And if you play us false, just as sure as God Almighty is up in heaven, your throat will be cut, and your dirty carcase will be flung into the river Maskva.’

The Jew smote his breast, and wailed out with passionate eagerness:

‘Trust me—trust me! To those whom I serve, I am as stanch as steel.’

‘That’s right. Now, then, come with us.’

The four men descended the greasy staircase, and went forth into the street. It was an intensely dark night. A few hazy stars were alone visible in the black sky. The street-lamps in that part were very poor affairs, and gave but little light. The four proceeded for a short distance; then Blok said:

‘Nikolai, before we go any further, you must let us blindfold you.’

The Jew protested, but at last yielded, and a thick scarf was bound about his eyes. Then one of the men took his hand and led him. They walked along in silence for quite half an hour, until, by the sound of flowing water, the Jew knew he was near the river. A halt was made. There was the grating of keys in a lock, a door was opened, and Israel was led forward into a passage, while the door was locked and barred. He was then taken down a flight of stairs, where the bandage was removed from his eyes, and a light was procured. He found himself in a cellar, with an arched brick roof, from which water dripped, while the floor of red brick was slimy and foul. The place was furnished with a single trestle table and a stool or two. In one corner was a large trunk, bound with cowhide. This was opened, and some bundles lifted out, placed on the table, and untied, and there were revealed to the wondering Jew heaps of precious stones, including diamonds, rubies, amethysts, pearls, sapphires, turquoises. At the sight of the gems the Jew rubbed his hands together, and his eyes glistened with almost unnatural brilliancy.

‘Father Abraham!’ he exclaimed. ‘What wealth! what a fortune! Are they all real? Let me feel them; let me examine them.’

Blok so held the lamp that its rays were thrown full on to the heaps of gems, and the three men watched the Jew’s every movement. He examined the stones carefully, picked out some of the finest, weighing them in his hands, holding them close to the light so as to see them better, then placing them in little heaps.

A full hour was spent in this way. But few remarks were made, though every now and again the Jew broke into an exclamation of delight. At length Blok asked Nikolai what he thought of them.

‘Splendid! wonderful! magnificent!’ was the gasped answer.

‘Now, then, are you open to trade?’

‘Yes.’

‘Will you buy the lot?’

‘At what figure?’

‘A million roubles.’

The Jew started back with a look of disgust on his face.

‘It is too much—too much!’ he almost screamed. ‘They are not worth it.’

‘You lie, you dog!’ put in one of the young men. ‘You know they are worth a good deal more. But we want to sell them quickly, and you shall have them as a bargain for a million roubles.’

Nikolai groaned, swore, protested, declared by all the fathers that the price was outrageous, and at last, when he had exhausted himself, he wound up by offering seventy-five thousand roubles for the lot. After much haggling, the three men agreed to take the price, and Nikolai said he would go next day to the Bank of Moscow, to which he had letters, and draw the money, and it was arranged that the four men were to meet the following night outside of the restaurant, and proceed again to the cellar, where the money would be exchanged for the jewels. And Blok added:

‘As soon as the bargain’s completed, you had better clear out. You can travel with me to Azov, if you like, and I’ll give you a cheap passage to Constantinople.’

The Jew turned to Blok, with a glance full of meaning, and replied:

‘I may sail with you, but I’ll send my jewels a safer way.’

The business, so far, being concluded, Nikolai was once more blindfolded. The lamp was extinguished, and they all left the house together. After going some distance, the bandage was removed from the Jew’s eyes. The two young men went away, and Blok and Israel continued their walk to their lodgings.

The following morning Nikolai told Blok that he was going to the bank to arrange about the money, but that the deal would have to take place that evening in their bedroom at the café, as he would not trust himself with them in the cellar with so much money about him. To this Blok answered that the transaction would have to be arranged in the cellar, that everything would be perfectly square and fair.

Reluctantly the Jew yielded, and went away. He met the captain again in the evening at the restaurant, and Blok anxiously inquired if he had got the money, whereupon the Jew pulled from a deep pocket inside his vest a bundle of notes, the sight of which caused the captain’s eyes to sparkle.

A little later they set off, being met on the route by the two young men. Nikolai resolutely declined to be blindfolded again. He said there was no necessity for it. He also warned his companions that he was well armed, and was prepared to resent any treachery. They laughed, and said he was a fool not to see that they were anxious to trade, and not likely to offer violence, which would imperil their own safety.

The house by the river was at last reached. It had formerly been a store of some sort, but had apparently long been untenanted, and was falling into decay. One of the young men had inserted the key into the lock of the door, and was about to turn it, when a whistle was blown, and almost as if it was by magic the four found themselves surrounded by armed men, who seemed to come through the earth. Before they could offer the slightest resistance, Blok and the two young men were seized and ironed, and a guard set over them. Then a police officer, the Jew, and three or four other men, entered the premises, descended to the cellar, and, having ascertained that the gems were in the trunk, they bore the trunk out, and placed it on a cart that was in readiness, and under a strong escort the stolen jewels were conveyed to the Treasury, where several high officials were waiting to receive them; and Blok and his companions realized that they had been tricked, trapped, and betrayed by the ‘dog of a Jew,’ who was none other than Danevitch.

He says it was one of the proudest moments of his life, for his part had been played with consummate art, and his triumph was complete. It remains now to explain how he managed to get on the track of his men, and net them so cleverly.

After his interview with Anna Ivanorna, he began to think that she could throw some light on the mystery if she liked, and he had her shadowed. He ascertained from Lydia that Ivanorna had a son about five-and-twenty. He had paid court to Lydia, but she did not like him. A few months before the robbery this young man had spent a fortnight with his mother during the temporary absence of General Kuntzler. His mother was blindly devoted to him, although he was known to be an idle, dissolute vagabond. He had been well educated, and had once held a position in the Post Office, but had been discharged for some irregularity. His name was Peter, and one night, some days after the robbery, he and his mother were seen to meet in a lonely part of the suburbs.

From that moment a close watch was kept on Peter’s movements, and it was ascertained that he was associated with another young man, called Maiefski. They were always together, and in a little while were joined by Blok, who was Peter’s half-cousin. The old disused store on the banks of the river was taken in Maiefski’s name, ostensibly to store grain there; but little by little the gems from the stolen articles, which were ruthlessly broken up, were conveyed from a house in the Kremlin which Peter rented to the place on the river bank.

Blok had secured lodgings in the miserable restaurant in the poor quarter of the earthen city, as he hoped thereby to escape attracting any notice. At this restaurant the three rascals were in the habit of meeting. Then it was that Danevitch, being sure of his ground, assumed so successfully the rôle of the Jew.

On the night when he and Captain Blok staggered up to the latter’s room, Danevitch was perfectly sober, although he assumed the gait and manner of an intoxicated person. When Blok had gone to sleep, Danevitch searched his person, and in a pocket-book found letters of a most compromising character. They seemed to show that the first idea was that the three men were to travel singly to Azov, each man carrying as many of the gems as he could without causing suspicions. They were to be deposited on Blok’s vessel, and when all was ready Blok and his companions were to sail away to Constantinople, where they hoped to dispose of the gems, but if not, they were to take a journey to Persia, where precious stones could always be sold.

The appearance of the Jew on the scene altered their plans, and they thought if they could only get him to buy them their risk would be greatly lessened, and the moment they touched the money they were prepared to clear out, and seek safety in some other country. Their little scheme, however, was entirely frustrated, thanks to the cleverness of Danevitch.

At Peter’s lodgings the battered gold of the stolen property was found, but ultimately the Polish crown was restored almost to its original state, and may still be seen in the museum at Moscow.

As the plot of the robbery was gradually unfolded, it was proved that Anna Ivanorna was the victim of her perfidious son. She was a weak, rather stupid woman—at any rate, where he was concerned—and she fell a victim to his wiles and wickedness. If she did not actually assist him, she shut her eyes while he made wax impressions of various keys, and on the night of the robbery she unquestionably helped him and his companion, Maiefski, who was secretly admitted. It is possible that, when Kuntzler heard of the crime, he had some suspicion that his sister knew something about it, and, unable to face the awful shame of exposure, he took his life.

Neither Maximoff nor his subordinates had anything to do with the robbery. They were all exonerated after a most exhaustive investigation, which led to the conviction of the guilty parties, who, with the exception of Anna, were sent to the Siberian mines for life. She was condemned to ten years’ incarceration in the prison fortress of Schlusselburgh. That was practically a living death.

THE STRANGE STORY OF A SECRET TREATY.

‘I received orders,’ says Danevitch, ‘to proceed without delay to the official residence in St. Petersburg of Prince Ignatof,[A] who was then Minister of Foreign Affairs. He had the reputation of being one of the most powerful Ministers who had ever held the position in Russia. It was said of him, as it used to be said of Bismarck, that he was a man of blood and iron. He was dead to emotion; he had no nerves; he was pitiless; he was anti-everything that wasn’t Russian; but he was also a born diplomatist—clever, brilliant, unscrupulous, far-seeing, polished as a rapier, and as deadly as a rapier when occasion called for it.

‘Such was the common report about him, and no doubt it was, in the main, true. He was a widower, with one grown-up daughter. There was a deadly feud, however, between them, and he had disowned her, as she had chosen to marry against his will, and very much beneath her, as her father averred. Her husband was in the consular service. His name was Kasin; he was a member of a middle-class family who had made money in trade; but Kasin himself was said to be poor, and almost entirely dependent upon his salary.

‘These facts were common property, and naturally it must have caused the Prince great annoyance to know that his daughter’s name was in everyone’s mouth, and that she was vulgarly referred to as the wife of a poor devil of a consul, who found it difficult to rub two roubles together. Caste is very strong in Russia, and the line of demarcation separating class from class is exceedingly well defined.

‘The Prince was an utter stranger to me; I had heard much about him, but had never seen him. On being ushered into his bureau, I beheld a small-made, delicate-looking man, with a remarkable and striking face. The mouth was small and firm; the nose prominent; the eyes deep-set, and of exceptional brilliancy; the eyebrows were thin, but well defined; and the forehead, in proportion to the small, sharply-cut features, seemed enormous. He was slightly bald in front, and such hair as he had was turning gray. His face was clean-shaven. When his lips parted, he revealed a splendid set of teeth, absolutely without a flaw.

‘As I looked upon this remarkable man, everything I had heard about his personal character seemed to me to be more than confirmed. It was impossible to study the mouth without feeling that it was capable of uttering cruel, cutting, bitter things. It was no less impossible not to understand that the small, brilliant eyes could peer into men’s brains, and almost read their secret thoughts. Every line of his face, every feature, every glance, indicated an iron, a relentless, will; and when he spoke, the smooth, incisive tones confirmed this. His hands were small, well shaped, but sinewy, as were his wrists. This was no doubt due to many years’ practice with the sword and the foil. He was a noted swordsman, had fought many duels, and had always succeeded in either severely wounding or killing his man. Physically and mentally he could be a deadly antagonist; one glance at him was sufficient to determine that fact, for fact it was.

‘He was perusing a document as I entered. He glanced over the edge of the paper, motioned me to be seated, and went on reading.

‘For ten minutes the silence was unbroken, save for the rustle of the paper as he turned over the leaves. Only a man of very pronounced characteristics could have remained silent so long under such circumstances.

‘He finished his manuscript, folded it up, and placed it in a safe. Then he condescended to address me.

‘“You have the reputation of being able to unravel mysteries when other men fail?” he commenced.

‘I could only bow to this.

‘He drew an elegant little penknife from his pocket, and began to trim his nails, but I noted that all the time his piercing eyes were fixed on me.

‘“You are reliable?” was his next remark.

‘It was put in the form of a question. In other men the remark might have seemed commonplace. Coming from the Prince’s lips, it was full of meaning; it even covered a menace. That is to say, it carried with it the implication, “Woe betide you if you are not!”

‘“If I were otherwise,” I answered, “I should not occupy the position I do.”

‘“True,” he replied. “Now, the matter in which I am going to enlist your services is a delicate one.”

‘He paused, and fixed his eyes upon me again, and toyed daintily with the penknife.

‘“I have had to do with many delicate cases,” I said.

‘“Ah! And have been successful?”

‘“More frequently than not.”

‘“You’ve been employed in Government business before?”

‘“Yes,” I answered shortly, as I felt somewhat annoyed at the manner in which he put his questions.

‘“I am impressed with you,” he was good enough to say.

‘I returned no answer to that, merely making a very formal motion of the head.

‘“Our little introduction places us en rapport with each other,” he continued, closing the blade of his penknife with a snap. Even this remark was pregnant with meaning. It really meant that he understood me, or believed that he did. “And now I will tell you the business.”

‘He had been standing up to this moment, but here he seated himself, crossed his legs, and thrust his hands into his pockets. To the ordinary observer he would have appeared as the most unconcerned person in the world, but I could not fail to see that he was a master in the art of restraint. It was not difficult to determine that, beneath the cold, passionless, immobile face was tremendous anxiety, and a suppressed nervous energy, that could only be kept in subjection by extraordinary will-power.

‘“A special, confidential, and trusted courier,” he continued, “arrived here yesterday afternoon, and placed in my hands the draft of a secret treaty of the very greatest importance.”

‘Here he paused again, and looked at me in his peculiar manner, as if he was trying to thoroughly understand how I was affected by the information he was giving me. Or, on the other hand, it might have been that he had not quite made up his mind whether or not I was a fit and proper person to be entrusted with State business of such a momentous nature.

‘“Pray proceed, Prince,” I said, with the greatest unconcern.

‘“Bah!” he muttered, almost inaudibly, allowing irritation to display itself for a brief instant. His irritation arose, I inferred, because he failed to read me as easily as he imagined he could do. Perhaps that was not quite the case, but it was something of the kind. The exclamation had scarcely left his lips when he broke into a smile—a cold, cynical smile, but full of meaning. “That draft has been stolen,” he added abruptly, and watched to see what effect that announcement would have upon me.

‘But I merely said:

‘“I anticipated that.”

‘“Why?” he asked sharply.

‘“By your manner, Prince.”

‘He smiled again, and said caustically:

‘“I didn’t know I was so shallow, and could be so easily fathomed. But pardon me; I had forgotten for the moment that you are a master in your craft. We shall get on together. Yes, you are clever; the draft has been stolen. What that means you will better understand when I tell you that it may possibly plunge this country into war.”

‘“I recognise the seriousness of the matter, Prince,” I said, “and, seeing how very serious it is, I would suggest that there should be no restraint, no reserve. If I am to be of use, I must not only have a free hand, but be trusted absolutely.”

‘“You are right, you are right,” he replied quickly. “But the whole business is fraught with such terrible potentialities that extreme caution is needed.”

‘He rose, and paced up and down for some moments, still keeping his hands in his pockets. His face betrayed no agitation, but his manner did. Nevertheless, his self-restraint was very remarkable. I waited for him to continue the conversation, and presently he stopped and faced me.

‘“Ah, yes!” he said, speaking in an absorbed way. “Well, these are the particulars: The courier, who had been travelling night and day, arrived, as I have already said, yesterday afternoon, and delivered to me a draft of a treaty. Having perused it, I placed it in a despatch-box and locked the box in that safe; but, notwithstanding the precaution, it has been stolen.”

‘“The box?” I asked.

‘“No; the treaty only.”

‘“When did you make that discovery?”

‘“This morning.”

‘“At what time?”

‘“Soon after eight o’clock.”

‘He did not proceed to give me all the particulars in narrative form, as another person might have done, but I had to drag them from him, so to speak, by question and answer.

‘“Where did the courier come from, Prince?” I asked.

‘“Bulgaria.”

‘“Was he aware of the importance of the despatches he carried?”

‘“Certainly.”

‘“You don’t doubt his honesty, I suppose?”

‘“I don’t see the slightest reason for doing so. He is one of the best men in the service.”

‘“Has he been here since?”

‘“No. He was excessively fatigued with his long and trying journey, and being relieved of his responsibility, he said he should sleep for the next twenty-four hours.”

‘“I suppose you have caused a search to be made?”

‘“No,” answered the Prince, with great decisiveness; “what was the use of doing that? The thief who steals a State document of that kind is not likely to leave much trace behind.”

‘“Of course a good many persons have access to your establishment?”

‘“Yes—that is, to the business part of the establishment; but my official residence is private; and this bureau is sacred to myself; no one but very privileged people can enter here.”

‘“Do you suspect anyone?”

‘“No. It’s a mystery.”

‘“But is it clear that, whoever the person is, he must have been well acquainted with this place?”

‘“Yes,” answered the Prince thoughtfully, as he stroked his chin.

‘“He must also have known that the draft had been delivered to you?”

‘“True, true,” the Minister responded, with increased thoughtfulness.

‘“That argues that he was behind the scenes; he knew a good deal of what was going on, and was particularly well acquainted with the importance of the treaty.”

‘“Obviously.”

‘“And the document has been stolen for political purposes?”

‘“Obviously, again.”

‘“Or the thief, being a traitor to his country, if he belongs to this country, was actuated by mercenary motives only, and stole the draft to sell it to our enemies?”

‘The Prince fixed his eye upon me again, and answered very slowly, and with emphasis on every word:

‘“It might be so—perhaps it is so.”

‘“Very well,” I said. “Now, Prince, I must ask you to let your mind dwell upon everyone in touch with you, and tell me if there is a single one of them against whom you might justifiably entertain some suspicion.”

‘“There is no one,” he answered, after a thoughtful pause.

‘“And yet an utter stranger to the place could hardly have committed such a theft?” I suggested.

‘“That seems a feasible theory.”

‘“You’ve no reason to suppose, Prince,” I asked, “that the despatch-box was opened on the bare chance of its containing something of value?”

‘“No. My deliberate opinion is the thief wanted that draft, and that alone. He is an enemy—a traitor; and if he can be identified the penalty of his crime will be death.”

‘“If your opinion is right, the thief, of course, must have known the draft of the treaty was there?”

‘“Quite so.”

‘“Who was likely to have known it, do you think?”

‘Another long pause ensued before the Prince answered. Then he said:

‘“Legitimately, very few indeed. It is one of the State secrets. There are many people who come and go here, and an alert traitor might learn much. I see no sign to guide me. Clearly enough, the thief must have been in possession of certain information supposed to be known to this bureau alone, and he has availed himself of the knowledge to purloin a document of extraordinary political importance. Heaven and earth will have to be moved to stop the thief leaving the country; but, what is of more consequence, he must be prevented sending the document away, or any abstract of it.”

‘“That is easily said,” I remarked, with a smile, for he seemed to me to be underrating the difficulties of the case.

‘“And it must be done,” came from him in a tone so commanding, so authoritative, so decisive, that it revealed the man in his true character. Moreover, his face wore a look of iron determination, and his eyes appeared to glow with a strange, almost unnatural, light. After a pause, he added: “You have the resources of an empire behind you—a well-organized police force, an army of spies, the telegraph system. These things, added to your own skill, should enable you to bring the miscreant to justice, and save the State secret from passing to our enemies.”

‘He spoke with a great deal of subdued force, and I could see that his mental anxiety was painful; and yet there was an outward semblance of calm. The extraordinary power of self-subjection which the man possessed enabled him to almost entirely hide the nervous excitement which would have entirely overcome any ordinary man.

‘The situation was certainly a singularly trying one; for here was a responsible minister of the Crown, who, being entrusted with a State document of stupendous importance, had to confess to its having been stolen within twenty-four hours of its coming into his possession. There appeared to have been great carelessness somewhere, and I could see that the Prince was terribly anxious, in spite of his self-possession.

‘“You say that the document was delivered to you yesterday afternoon, Prince?” I remarked, for I found it necessary to still question, in order to make clear certain points which were very necessary for my own guidance, and his natural reticence kept him from giving me every detail right off.

‘“Yes,” he answered shortly, as though he considered the question superfluous, for he had already told me what I now wanted repeating, but I intended that the question should lead up to others.

‘“How long did the courier remain with you after he had delivered the papers into your hands?”

‘“Not more than five minutes.”

‘“When he left did anyone else come into your bureau?”

‘“No.”

‘“You perused the document, of course?”

‘“I did. And to-day it was to have been laid before his Majesty the Emperor.”

‘“How long did you remain here after the departure of your courier?”

‘“An hour.”

‘“And you are sure nobody came in during that time?”

‘“Absolutely certain.”

‘“And are you as certain, Prince, that nobody was concealed in the room without your knowing it?”

‘The question seemed to startle him, but in an instant he controlled himself again, and, with a cold smile, remarked, as he glanced round the room:

‘“I am quite as certain. You can see for yourself that there is no place where a person could conceal himself.”

‘I had to admit that that was so.

‘“If I have not misunderstood you,” I went on, “when you had perused the document, you placed it in the despatch-box?”

‘“I did. Both safe and box were afterwards locked. I locked them myself, and took the keys with me.”

‘“When did you discover the loss?”

‘“About an hour and a half ago.”

‘“Had the lock of the safe been tampered with?”

‘“Not at all.”

‘“It was intact?”

‘“Certainly.”

‘“And the despatch-box?”

‘“That was intact also.”

‘“Then, both safe and box must have been opened with keys that fitted them?”

‘“That is obvious.”

‘“Are there any duplicate keys in existence?”

‘“Yes; there are duplicate keys of all the despatch-boxes and all the safes in this department, but they are in possession of the Emperor himself. They are kept to guard against any possible contingency.”

‘“But presumably it would be very difficult for any unauthorized person to obtain possession of them?”

‘“I should say that the difficulties in the way are so great that we may dismiss it as being practically impossible.”

‘“That throws us back, then, on the theory that somebody must have got possession of your keys.”

‘“There, again, the difficulties are so great that I cannot think it possible. Come with me, and I will show you the safeguards that are adopted.”

‘I followed him out of the room. At the door of his bureau was an armed sentry. We traversed a long corridor. On each side were doors. At the end of the corridor another sentry was posted. We gained a large square hall, where several liveried servants stood. Two came forward, and partly drew aside the massive velvet curtains hung before the marble stairs; these stairs were covered with massive carpet, into which the feet sank.

‘On the landings more liveried servants were posted. We passed along a carpeted passage to the Prince’s official residence, and entered a magnificent room, and thence into a luxuriously furnished boudoir, where a lady sat alone, perusing a book. For a moment she did not notice me, as I was some little distance behind the Prince, and partly screened by the velvet portière at the door. She jumped up, and was about to throw her arms around his neck, but catching sight of me, she blushed, drew back, and said to him:

‘“I did not expect you so soon.”

‘“I am engaged on some important business, Catarina,” he replied, a little brusquely. “You had better retire for a time.”

‘Without another word she withdrew. She was a young woman, about four or five-and-twenty, and one of the few I have seen whose beauty might be said to be without blemish. Complexion, features, eyes, teeth, lips, hair—the whole figure was perfect. She was ravishing—a woman for whom a man would have perilled his soul.

‘From the boudoir we entered a spacious and magnificently arranged and furnished sleeping apartment. In one corner was a large cupboard. The Prince drew a peculiarly constructed key from his pocket, opened the door, and flung it back, remarking as he did so:

‘“That door is of steel. In that niche in the cupboard all my keys are deposited every night. The door is then secured, and the key of the door, together with many other keys, are given into the charge of the confidential clerk, Vladimir Nicolayeff. He is an institution here, and has been in the Government service upwards of forty years.”

‘“Does he reside on the premises?” I asked the Prince.

‘“He does,” was the answer; “and you will now see how difficult it is, with all these precautions, for anyone to abstract the keys.”

‘In answer to this, I could not refrain from remarking:

‘“And yet, Prince, there is the hard fact that your safe and despatch-box have been opened, and a State document stolen.”

‘He looked very thoughtful and grave as he replied somewhat sternly:

‘“That is so. And what you have got to do is to endeavour to find out how they have been opened, who opened them, and where the papers have gone to. Please commence your work at once, as every hour’s delay is in favour of the thief.”

‘“You must pardon me, Prince,” I remarked; “but I have a few more questions to ask, and you must allow me to work in my own way.”

‘“Oh, certainly!” he exclaimed, a little peevishly, which somewhat astonished me, having regard to the way he had controlled himself so far; but it was another indication of the anxiety that was consuming him.

‘Nor was it to be wondered at, for he himself had hinted that if this State secret was made known to the enemies of Russia it was quite within the bounds of possibility that war might ensue.[B]

‘No man, much less the Prince, could have been indifferent to that, for it was an open political secret that Russia at that moment was far from being in a fit condition to take the field against a powerful foe. The signs of the times pointed to a coming conflict at no distant date, and fully aware of that, it was known, or believed, that the Prince, who was intensely patriotic, intensely ambitious, and no less intensely desirous of enormously expanding the Czar’s dominions, had been making herculean efforts to consolidate the Empire, and gain the allegiance, or at least the neutrality, of certain States, without which Russia’s aims might, and in all probability would, be frustrated. Bearing all this in mind, the reader will be at no loss to understand how a man like the Prince would be distressed by the danger which confronted him; for if anyone did know, he certainly did, that the internal weakness of Russia was too great just then for a responsible Minister to risk a great war.

‘By further questioning the Prince, I ascertained that he had a private and confidential secretary, in addition to twelve ordinary secretaries. But not one of them was admitted to the private bureau, where for the time being the State papers were deposited, without the Prince’s permission. His official business was transacted in another department, and the inner sanctum sanctorum was in a measure sacred to the Prince himself. A sentry was always posted at the door, and he had strict orders to allow no one to enter who had not special business, and who was not furnished with a pass.

‘Being hedged round with these precautions, it seemed very difficult to comprehend how anyone could have gained access to the room in order to obtain possession of the precious documents. In constructing a theory, there were many points that could not possibly be overlooked. The chief of them was the all but absolute certainty that there had been a conspiracy, and a traitor and a spy was in the camp. He had known of the negotiations that were going on with respect to the treaty; he knew that the special courier was travelling post-haste to Russia; that the draft was delivered into the Prince’s hands, and deposited temporarily in the Prince’s safe, where all documents relating to the Prince’s department—that is, political documents—requiring the Foreign Minister’s close personal attention were placed for his convenience.

‘In the case of a document of such paramount importance as this secret treaty, no copy of it could be made at first. This was another point the thief was obviously aware of, and it was also certain that he must have been pressed for time, or he would have made a copy of the draft himself, or extracts from it, which it was presumable might have answered all the purposes for which the document had been stolen. Such a course would not only have prevented the hue and cry being raised, but all the resources of a great Empire being put in motion against him.

‘Examining the matter in this light, the question necessarily arose, Who was there who, having access to the Foreign Office, was enabled, in spite of all the stringent regulations and safeguards, to penetrate to the very centre of the temple—if one may use such an expression—and carry off a secret which was known to comparatively few people?

‘This question was, of course, the crux of the whole affair, but I felt satisfied in my own mind about one thing. The guilty person was someone who knew the working of the Foreign Office, was well acquainted with the internal arrangements, and in close contact with the Prince. It need scarcely be said, perhaps, that the Prince was exceedingly anxious to prevent the matter leaking out and becoming public property. It would necessarily have caused great excitement and grave anxiety, and I agreed with him that on many grounds it was highly desirable to keep it from the public.

‘There was one other point I ought to refer to, and it is a very important one; the theft was clearly committed during the night, or, at any rate, after business hours. On the first view that might seem to narrow the inquiry somewhat, though, as a matter of fact, it presented the affair in a more complex aspect; but, on the other hand, it seemed to me to point conclusively to several persons being concerned.

‘In setting to work to read the riddle, I proceeded on the analytical principle, and searched, to begin with, for the motive. That seemed very apparent. Firstly, it was a secret treaty; secondly, it was framed against Turkey; thirdly, it was conceivable that it was of vital importance to Turkey to know what the treaty was likely to do, what it aimed at; therefore, somebody in the pay of Turkey, or somebody as a speculation, had stolen the document with a view to pecuniary gain.

‘The latter supposition seemed to me hardly tenable—at any rate, not so likely as the idea that Turkey had her spies even in the Russian Foreign Office. I don’t mean to say these spies were Turks themselves. As can be understood, it would have been next to impossible for a Turk to have gained entrance to the Foreign Office; but Turkey, of course, had her emissaries, and Russians were to be found so debased, so dead to all patriotism, so lost to every sense of honour, so mercenary, that they were ready to sell their country for the gain of gold. Of course, black sheep of this kind are numbered in every nation, therefore Russia was no exception.

‘Everything pointed to the thief being a Russian, and, being a Russian, he also had some connection with the Foreign Office, a connection which gave him the right of being under the roof all night.

‘It is necessary to explain that the Foreign Minister in Russia is provided with an official residence in the Foreign Office itself; that is to say, a portion of the actual building is set apart for the accommodation of himself and family and suite. An official of this kind keeps up a great deal more state than an English Minister does, and his suite and servants are generally very numerous.

‘In the Prince’s case, there were fewer people about him than usual, for the reason that he had no family. Nevertheless, I found that, including footmen, pages, and lower servants, there were forty persons in his ménage, and his domestic affairs were attended to and presided over by the lady whom he had addressed as Catarina, and whose ravishing beauty had so struck me. It is not necessary to refer to her by any other name. This lady had two private maids, and she exercised very considerable influence over the Prince’s personal and domestic affairs.

‘At this stage of my theorizing it seemed to me very clear that the miscreant would be found amongst the personnel of the Prince. The consideration of all the facts forced me to this, the most feasible conclusion. But I did not lose sight of the almost absolute certainty of a conspiracy, because it was hardly conceivable that one person, and one person only, would have committed such a daring act of treason; for an act of that kind was very foul treason indeed, and in Russia was punishable with death.

‘Assuming that I was right with regard to my surmises, it would seem that a member of the household had been tampered with; pressure and temptation had been brought to bear upon him from outside. The temptation must have been great; heavy payment would be made; the traitor had been willing to sell his country for blood-money, and I was at pains to try and ascertain if any member of the Prince’s personnel had given indications of being in possession of an unusual amount of money.

‘I have endeavoured so far to make clear to those who may read this narrative the mental process by which I tried to lay hold of a clue. I need scarcely say that at the outset in a case of this kind one gropes in the dark. There is not a ray of light at first to guide him, and he must proceed cautiously and warily lest he go astray, and, while he is straining his eyes in one direction, his quarry is safely flying in another. Seeming impossibilities have to be reconciled with probabilities, and probabilities reduced to certainties. And when a clue, no matter how faint, has once been struck, it must be followed up patiently, intelligibly, and doggedly. There are three golden rules to be strictly observed by him who would succeed in connecting crime with its author. They are patience, silence, watchfulness.

‘Human craft and human cunning are very difficult things to deal with, nor can one deal with them at all unless he is deeply read in human nature. In this instance craft of no ordinary kind had to be encountered. The criminal, to begin with, was not of the ordinary type. It was probable that up to this time he had lived a seeming virtuous life, and knowing how terrible was the penalty attaching to his wrong-doing, he would strain every nerve to prevent suspicion falling upon him. I had necessarily to consider all these little details, for they were essential to success.

‘Although the Prince bore the reputation of being a cool, calculating diplomatist, who had outwitted every other diplomatist in Europe with whom he had had dealings, I found that in this matter of the stolen treaty he somewhat discredited his reputation; for he was by no means cool, and seemed unable to enter into the calculations which were necessary to a clear understanding of the course to be pursued if the mystery was to be unravelled. He had at the outset reminded me that I had the resources of an empire at my command, and he insisted on the telegraph being set instantly to work, and the police throughout the country being placed in possession of the facts. I was opposed to that course myself; I thought it was as likely as not to frustrate our efforts. But, of course, he had his own way, and he soon began to display not only irritation, but decided anger, when he found that I narrowed my search to the Foreign Office, and showed no inclination to go further afield. “It seems to me,” he cried warmly, “that you are simply wasting time, and giving the enemy a chance. While you are hanging about here the traitor is making good his escape. Is it not certain that, whoever it is who stole the document, he is now hurrying to Turkey with it as fast as he can?”

‘“No, Prince,” I replied; “it is by no means certain that such is the case. On the contrary, I incline very strongly indeed to the belief that the traitor will be found here under this roof; that he has not stirred away, and is not likely to stir away.”

‘“You are wrong,” he said sharply.

‘“We shall see,” I answered. “I admit that it is highly probable the document is being conveyed to the Turkish Government. If that is so, we cannot hope to overtake it, and another move will have to be made on the diplomatic board in order to checkmate those who have circumvented you. Your splendid skill in the game will enable you to determine the move. You may depend upon it that those who have entered into this conspiracy to convey valuable information to our country’s enemy have well calculated the chances of success, and have taken means to ensure the information reaching its destination. But the key of the puzzle must be searched for here. If we find that key quickly, we may be able to prevent the information reaching the Turkish Government; but it is useless trying to do so without the key.”

‘“Then, you suspect someone in the department?” the Prince asked.

‘“I don’t suspect anyone at present,” I answered.

‘“What I mean to say is, you think the thief is one of the employés of the Foreign Office?”

‘“I think the thief is a member of your own household, Prince.”

‘He looked at me in astonishment; then something like a smile of incredulity flitted across his stern face as he exclaimed, “Oh, nonsense!”

‘“Why do you think it nonsense?” I asked.

‘“It seems to me simply impossible that it could be so. No member of my household could have gained access to the bureau.”

‘At this I reminded him that, whereas in the daytime the corridors of the Foreign Office were patrolled by sentries, they were withdrawn when business hours closed, though sentries were on duty all night outside.

‘“But all communication between my residence and the office is shut off at night by locked doors,” he answered.

‘“That only serves to show how very cunning and very clever the thief was to succeed in reaching your room and opening the safe in spite of bolts and bars,” I said.

‘The Prince grew very thoughtful. He seemed greatly struck by my theory, and ultimately confessed that he had not seen the matter from that point of view before. The result was he said I was to work in my own way, to follow my own lead, and to have an absolutely free hand.

‘“It is a dastardly business,” he exclaimed with warmth, “and even if the traitor were to turn out to be my own brother, I would not hesitate to shoot him, for nothing short of instant death would be a fitting punishment.”’

Of course, all the resources peculiar to the Russian police system were utilized so far as they could be in a case of this kind. But the difficulties in the way will at once be apparent when it is borne in mind that the fact of a treaty having been stolen from the Foreign Office had to be kept as secret as possible. If the matter had leaked out, and become generally known to the public, the excitement would necessarily have been tremendous, and the objects in view—that is, the capture of the thief and the recovery of the missing document—would, in all probability, have been frustrated.

It will not be out of place here to explain that in Russia there is an armed police answering to the French gendarme; then there is a municipal police, very similar to the police of Great Britain; and lastly there is a vast army of spies, or mouchards, as the French call them. In this army both sexes are represented, and they overrun Russia. The three branches of the police service are not worked and controlled from one centre, owing to the vastness of the country; and this want of centralization has always been a flaw in the administration, as it is sometimes difficult to bring the various centres into complete harmony.

From these particulars, it will be gathered that a great deal must depend on individual effort, for while in the concrete the system may present weak parts and differences that are irreconcilable, in the abstract there is a unity of motion which gives the individual tremendous power, in this way: An accredited Government agent moving from point to point could demand, and would receive, every possible assistance, and the lumbering methods of the bureaucracy would be dispensed with.

In our own country we often complain very bitterly about the red-tapeism which so seriously clogs and hampers freedom of movement. But this red-tapeism of ours is nothing as compared with Russia. Russian red-tapeism is responsible for tremendous evils, and it often retards in a painful manner the administration of justice.

It will now be clear, probably, to the mind of the reader that an individual in Russia, endowed with faculties beyond the ordinary, has a chance of very signally distinguishing himself. This was certainly the case with Danevitch; and while nominally he was under the control and subject to the authorities in St. Petersburg, he was allowed a latitude and a freedom of action accorded to but few. His peculiar talents and his individuality begot him this distinction, and while it placed great responsibility on him, it left him so far untrammelled that he was enabled to exercise his independent judgment, and pursue the course which seemed to him, according to the circumstances of the hour, the right one.

After all, this was but another illustration of the fact that nothing succeeds like success. Danevitch had been singularly successful, though his success was due to talents only one remove from genius.

He has already, in his own words, made it plain that, in the case of the missing treaty, he believed, and in fact felt certain, that the culprit would be found amongst the Prince’s household, though this did not prevent him availing himself of all the resources of the police department, which of course he had a right to do. But necessarily he was hampered by the secrecy it was so important to observe. What he did was to request by telegraph that the authorities in all the principal towns, seaports, and frontier stations should issue orders for a more than ordinarily strict examination of the passports and papers of people passing out of the country; that every person from St. Petersburg should be closely questioned, and should suspicion be aroused by his answers, he should be detained, and his luggage searched.

This is a measure permissible in Russia, but would not be tolerated in England. But in the vast dominion over which the Czar rules it is a necessity, and through its means many a crime has been detected and many a plot frustrated. It is right to say that the seizure of luggage is only resorted to when there is strong reason for believing that the owner is a dangerous person.

Although Danevitch took the steps indicated, he did not believe for a moment that anything would result beyond a great number of people being seriously inconvenienced, some innocent persons being arrested, and a great deal of blundering on the part of jacks in office, and of boorishness on the part of local police, who, dressed in a little brief authority, like to exercise it with all the brutal brusqueness peculiar to ignorant minds. He relied upon his own methods, and felt convinced that, if the mystery was ever to be unravelled, it could only be done by his own individual efforts. The more he dwelt upon all the details of the case as he had gathered them, the more he was convinced the guilty person would be found to be somebody who was in close communication with the Prince. Working on this basis, he classified the household under three heads for the purpose of giving his theory a somewhat practical form:

Firstly, there were the lower servants of the ménage.

Secondly, the upper servants.

Thirdly, the body servants of the Prince and his close personal attendants, including his secretaries, clerks, shorthand-writers, and amanuenses.

Those in the first category he dismissed from his calculations altogether, since it was so highly improbable that any one of them could have had the opportunities for committing such a crime. Obviously, in an establishment so constituted as the official residence of the Prince was, an inferior servant could not have gained access to the Prince’s private rooms without running the gauntlet of many vigilant eyes, and incurring so much risk as to make it all but impossible that he could succeed.

Those who fell into the second category were not passed over without a little more consideration and a critical examination of the possibilities which were presented, when they were weighed individually and collectively. But when all this had been done, Danevitch scored them off the slate, too, and the sphere of his inquiry was so far narrowed.

In the third category there were necessarily included persons of intelligence which ranked higher than that to be found in the other two. But, as Danevitch progressed with the working out of his theory, he deemed it important to subdivide this third category, because his investigations made it clear that only a few of these individuals were so situated as to have the chance of abstracting the document.

Let it be distinctly borne in mind that the paper was in a despatch-box, locked. The despatch-box was in a safe, locked. The safe was in the Prince’s private bureau, where none but the privileged were allowed to enter, and the door of which was also locked. Now, then, let it be still further remembered that the keys necessary to open the door of the safe and the despatch-box were kept in a safe in the Prince’s bedroom, and the key of that safe was one of a number which every night were given into the custody of Vladimir Nicolayeff, the Clerk of the Keys.

There was another point which had to be very closely considered. It was this: the person who stole the document must have known it was there. He could not have known it was there if he had not occupied a position which enabled him to learn a good deal of what was going on; but as it could not be supposed for a moment that a Minister like the Prince would have lightly made a confidant of an inferior and irresponsible person, it was difficult to believe that the crime was the work of one individual; and here again Danevitch had to build up a theory, which he did as follows:

A was in possession of a secret that a draft treaty was being conveyed from Bulgaria to Russia, and would reach the Prince at a certain hour on a certain day, and for political or mercenary motives imparted the information to B, who, probably for political motives only, wished to make it known to the Government of the country against which the treaty was framed. B had to fall back upon C to procure the keys, without which the documents could not be carried off.

Here at once a conspiracy was suggested, and, a conspiracy admitted, it was impossible to dismiss the courier and Vladimir Nicolayeff from it. These two men, of course, represented extremes of position. The courier, whose name was Boruff, was a trusted and confidential Government officer of good birth and high social position. Nicolayeff, on the other hand, was a porter—a trusted servant, it was true, but a servant of humble origin and low rank. His services, if they had been given and used, must have been bought; that is, he had been corrupted, tempted from his allegiance by money. Next, the third or middle person had to be considered. What position did he occupy? It was not easy to answer that beyond saying it was obviously someone very close to the Prince.

Having arranged these various points, and set them forth in their order, he felt satisfied that his theory was a feasible one, and, if acted upon, was more likely to yield results than the search-for-the-needle-in-the-bottle-of-hay process of stopping people at the frontiers. At any rate, while that process was being carried out, Danevitch proceeded on his own lines, and his first step was directed to learning some particulars about Boruff.

In age the courier verged on forty. He had been in the Government service for fifteen years. Every confidence was reposed in him, and he was greatly respected. He had been engaged on courier duty for something like four years, and had made many journeys between Turkey and Russia. Formerly he had been a confidential clerk at the Russian Consulate at Smyrna.

He was a married man, and had four children, but lived apart from his family. There had been serious disagreements between him and his wife, owing, so it was stated, to his infatuation for another lady, which had led to all sorts of complications, difficulties, and domestic jars. These, of course, were purely family matters, and had not affected his Government position, as it was considered there were faults on both sides. Boruff was not well off. Such officials are poorly paid in Russia; and as he was forced to keep up two establishments, and moreover was extravagant, his resources were severely taxed.

So much did Danevitch learn of Boruff. Not much, if anything at all, to suggest a probability that Boruff had any guilty knowledge. He was a poor man; that was the worst that could be said about him. But poverty lays a man open to many temptations. Starving virtue is sorely tested when gold is jingled in its ears. It is so easy to be honest when one wants for nothing.

Such were Danevitch’s reflections, and he put Boruff in his note-book, as he says, for future use if necessary. He thought it was just possible that ultimately the courier would prove one of the pieces necessary to complete the puzzle.

He next turned his attention to Vladimir Nicolayeff, a man of a totally different stamp. He was an old man—well, that is, he was close on sixty. He had been in the army, and had seen service in his youth, but, having been severely wounded, was discharged, and ultimately got employment under the Government. He had served at the Foreign Office a great many years. His position, though humble, was an important one. In his lodge in the entrance-hall all the keys not in use were kept. He also received messages and parcels, answered questions of inquirers, and pointed out the way to the different departments.

At this stage Danevitch sought another interview with the Prince, who cast a quick, keen glance at the detective, and asked curtly:

‘What news?’

‘None,’ was the equally curt answer.

‘Have you entirely failed?’ asked the Prince.

‘At present I can say nothing.’

‘But you have got no clue?’

‘No.’

A look of annoyance swept across the face of the Prince, and he shrugged his shoulders, as if in disgust.

‘I suppose it is hopeless now to expect any results from your inquiries?’

‘You forget, Prince,’ said Danevitch, with dignity, ‘it is not many hours since you instructed me in the matter. I cannot perform impossibilities.’

‘True, true,’ was the irritable response. ‘But tell me, do you see any likelihood of being able to bring the guilt home to anyone?’

‘Excuse me, Prince,’ answered Danevitch firmly, ‘I am not given to expressing ill-formed opinions, and, not being a prophet, I decline to run the risk of prophesying.’

‘Forgive me,’ said the Prince; ‘I am afraid I have allowed my anxiety to blind me to common-sense. But the fact is, this loss has preyed upon my mind terribly. It is a very serious affair indeed—very serious. Moreover, it shows that there is a traitor somewhere. If we have traitors about, the State is in danger. Therefore it is imperative that this matter should be sifted to the very bottom. No time, no money, no patience, no skill, must be spared. The truth will have to be revealed.’

‘I would venture to remind you, Prince,’ said Danevitch, ‘that the virtue of patience is one which, above all others, should be exercised in a case of this kind.’

The Prince was not indifferent to the point of the remark, and, bowing with consummate politeness, said:

‘Pardon me, Danevitch; I have perhaps been hasty. You understand your art better than I do. I have no right to dictate to you. Pray proceed on your own lines.’

‘Thank you,’ Danevitch replied. ‘We shall get on now. My object in requesting this interview is to ask who conveys your keys to Nicolayeff at night?’

‘No one. It is his duty to come to me and receive them. But as it often happens that it is not convenient for me to see him myself, the keys are then given to him by my valet—a fine youth named André.’

‘Did André give them to him the night before last, when the papers were stolen?’

‘No; I gave him the keys myself.’

‘There is no mistake about that, Prince?’

‘None whatever.’

‘One more question: Did you go out that night?’

‘I did. I went to the opera.’

‘What time did you return?’

‘About two in the morning.’

‘Did you note if the door of the safe in your sleeping apartment was closed then?’

‘I haven’t a doubt about it.’

‘But you didn’t try the door?’

‘No.’

‘Were the keys in their proper places in the morning?’

The Prince did not answer immediately. He appeared to be reflecting. At last he said:

‘Yes, of course they were. I remember now taking them out of the safe myself, and handing them to my private secretary, who proceeded with me to my bureau. There is one point I forgot to tell you at our last interview. When I opened the safe in the bureau, I noticed that the lid of the despatch-box was wide open. It was that that aroused my suspicions, and led to my discovering immediately that the papers had gone.’

‘But the despatch-box had been locked overnight?’

‘I am certain of it.’

‘So that the thief must have forgotten to close it again after abstracting the papers.’

‘Precisely so.’

After this interview, Danevitch felt more than ever convinced that someone in very close personal relations with the Prince had been a party to the deed, and began to look round to see if suspicion could be justifiably entertained against any one of the inner household, so to speak. With a view to this end, he arranged the following plan with the Prince. He was to spend two days at the official residence in the character of a foreign visitor—the Prince’s guest. André, the valet, was to be told off to personally attend him.

In due course Danevitch arrived. He was driven to the residence in one of the Prince’s carriages, which was sent to the station to meet him. He had a certain amount of luggage, which was deposited in the handsome bed-chamber allotted to him. He was a German on a secret mission, and did not understand Russian. His get-up would have deceived his own mother. He found André a smart, intelligent young man, who seemed to wear his heart upon his sleeve. There was nothing whatever in his manner or bearing which caused Danevitch to mistrust him.

The beautiful Catarina presided over the Prince’s household, but never sat at his table. The detective was a little puzzled at first to understand the reason of that; and, in fact, Catarina was a kind of mystery, but in a few hours he had defined her position. Ostensibly she was his ward. She was the daughter of a very old friend of his, a military man, who had been killed on active service, and, in accordance with a solemn compact made between the two men, the Prince undertook to be a father to the orphan daughter. That was the story generally believed; at any rate, people affected to believe it. Danevitch did not. He found that Catarina had great influence over the Prince at times; but at others he seemed to treat her with coldness, even disdain, according to his mood. Danevitch came to the conclusion that Catarina was, in her way, almost as much a diplomatist as the Prince himself; but he saw signs—trifling ones, but significant to him—that whatever love or affection there was was on the Prince’s side. He was sure that Catarina was not happy, but led a lonely, fretting life in that splendid palace.

Danevitch went for two days, but his visit was extended to a week. When he was taking his departure, the Prince asked him if he was any wiser than when he went.

‘A little,’ answered Danevitch.

‘But is there anybody in my household whom you suspect?’ asked the Prince with some anxiety.

‘Frankly there is,’ said the detective.

‘Who is it?’ the Minister demanded in a peremptory tone.

‘Pardon me,’ said Danevitch, ‘for declining to answer you now. But unless I am very much mistaken, I shall be able to give you some valuable information before many days have passed.’

In less than a week Danevitch sought another interview with the Prince.

‘I have a request to prefer this time,’ said Danevitch after some preliminary remarks.

‘What is it?’ asked the Minister quickly, and possibly reading in his visitor’s face that he had made a discovery.

‘You have a daughter?’

‘Yes,’ gasped the Prince, who, in spite of his power of self-control, started at the question, and his brow clouded over.

‘She is the wife of Kasin, who is the Russian Consul at Smyrna.’

A cold, cynical smile of bitterness played about the Prince’s thin lips as he remarked:

‘That is an open secret. But let me tell you at once, I have not seen my daughter for years, and never wish to see her again. She is an ingrate. I have cast her forth from my heart.’

The Prince betrayed the fact that, though he bore the reputation of being a man of blood and iron, and very likely justified his reputation when it came to matters of diplomacy, he had hidden springs of deep emotion and passion which were capable of being called into play.

‘I do not wish to probe you, sir, nor touch upon your domestic affairs more than can possibly be helped. I have come here to request that you will influence the recall of your son-in-law from Smyrna.’

The Prince sprang to his feet, and grasped the back of his chair, and though he tried to control himself, it was evident he was greatly excited.

‘Good God!’ he exclaimed, ‘do you mean to say that my son-in-law has had a hand in this business?’

‘I mean to say nothing, sir, at present.’

‘But your request carries with it an accusation. Remember the terrible responsibility of that. If Kasin has had a hand in purloining these papers he is a traitor, and the penalty is death.’

‘I am aware of that, Prince.’

‘The disgrace to me would be terrible. I hate him, but he is my son-in-law.’

The Prince paced up and down the room. He was strongly agitated. His pride was wounded, perhaps, as it had never been wounded before. Danevitch remained silent. He had nothing more to say then. Presently the Prince swung round on his heel, and said sternly, and threateningly:

‘Remember this, Danevitch, not only is your own reputation at stake, but the honour of my family. You may risk your reputation as much as you like—it is naught to me; but, by the Virgin! be careful of my honour, or——’

He suddenly checked himself. Danevitch rose, and, with a cold bow, remarked:

‘I will withdraw from this business altogether. What I have learnt shall be a locked secret with me. I wish you good-day, sir.’

‘Stay!’ cried the Prince. ‘I apologize to you. I forgot myself, but make allowance for my feelings. I am in the wrong; you are in the right. Forgive me. This matter must go through, let the consequences be what they may. Though my daughter, my own flesh and blood, be guilty of this crime, she shall suffer. My country—Russia’s interests have the first claim upon me. Pray proceed. I was the father a few minutes ago. I am Prince Ignatof, Russia’s Minister for Foreign Affairs, again.’

He resumed his seat. He was the calm, cold, passionless, unemotional diplomatist once more.

‘Now, then, tell me all,’ he said peremptorily.

‘At this hour I have nothing to tell you. I am here to prefer a request. That I have a motive in making that request, you may take for granted.’

‘You want Kasin to be recalled?’

‘Yes.’

‘It shall be done.’

‘When? Immediately.’

‘Is it so urgent as that?’

‘It is.’

‘Good. He shall be recalled by telegraph.’

‘I would request that he be commanded to leave Turkish soil in twelve hours’ time, and to telegraph as soon as he is in Russia.’

‘And after that?’

‘And after that I will make a revelation to you.’

‘So be it. In three days’ time, call here again at this hour. You will find me alone, and prepared to receive your revelation.’

Danevitch took his departure. That same evening Vladimir Nicolayeff was walking along one of the principal streets. He had been dining at a café, and was making his way back to his duties at the Foreign Office. A bearded man suddenly confronted him at a corner of a street, and said:

‘Nicolayeff, what was your reward for being false to your trust?’

‘What do you mean?’ demanded the porter angrily.

‘Why do you answer my question with another? I ask how much were you paid for being false to your trust?’

Nicolayeff was agitated and confused.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

‘The devil.’

‘Then, betake yourself to your kingdom.’

‘Not until I have done with you here. Again I ask you how much were you paid for giving up the key of Prince Ignatof’s safe to the beautiful Catarina? Or was it her beauty alone that tempted you?’

Nicolayeff reeled. It almost seemed as if he was suddenly seized with palsy, and he uttered a strange, half-choked cry as he sank to the ground in a swoon. Perhaps in his superstitious mind he really thought the bearded man was the Evil One. A policeman approached. The bearded man whispered something in his ear and disappeared. The policeman blew a whistle, and assistance came. Then Nicolayeff was carried to the station, and when he recovered from the swoon he found himself a prisoner. In the meantime a message had been sent to the Foreign Office to say that the Clerk of the Keys had been picked up in the street in a swoon, and was then in custody. The message was conveyed direct to the Prince.

Three days passed, and Danevitch again presented himself at the Prince’s bureau.

‘Have you any news, Prince?’ he asked.

‘A code telegram was sent to Kasin recalling him.’

‘Is he in Russia?’

‘I don’t know. He has not answered.’

‘Ah, I suspected that would be the case.’

‘I await your revelation,’ said the Prince calmly.

‘It is here,’ answered Danevitch, as he took a letter from his pocket-book and handed it to the Prince. ‘Shall I retire while you read it?’

The Prince glanced at the handwriting, and became very agitated.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘do. Come back in a quarter of an hour.’

As Danevitch went out, the Minister called to the sentry at the door:

‘He will return in fifteen minutes. In the meantime let no one else enter at your peril.’

When Danevitch went back, he found the Prince seated at his desk. His face was almost deathly in its whiteness; but he was calm and frigid.

‘You are deserving of your reputation,’ he said. ‘You have indeed made a revelation. How did you obtain possession of that letter?’

‘I intercepted it. The writer believes, no doubt, that it is now on its way to Turkey.’

‘Nicolayeff is under arrest.’

‘He is.’

‘See that not a moment is lost in securing Boruff.’

‘That shall be done, Prince.’

‘The interview can end.’

‘Have you no other instructions?’ asked Danevitch significantly.

The Prince understood. A pang of emotion caused his face to twitch, and he turned away. But in a few moments he was the cold, passionless man once more.

‘I have no other instructions,’ answered the Prince with equal significance.

‘And the letter?’

‘I will keep it.’

Danevitch bowed and withdrew.

The following morning, early, a closed carriage, drawn by four superb horses, left the Foreign Offices. The occupants of the carriage were Prince Ignatof and the beautiful Catarina. She was elegantly attired, and looked charming; but there was an expression of some anxiety on her face, and when she gave certain instructions to her maid, who was to sit with the driver, there was a tremulousness in her tone which was not natural to her.

The carriage was driven to one of the Prince’s country estates on the great Moscow road. It was an old-fashioned mansion in the midst of pine-woods, and the extensive pine-woods round about swarmed with game, fur and feathered. The Prince often entertained large shooting-parties there, but on this occasion he had no guests. The servants in charge had been apprised of his coming, and had the mansion in readiness.

Two nights later a strange thing happened. The Prince and Catarina were together in their chamber, when a shrill scream resounded through the house. It was a woman’s scream. A few minutes afterwards the Prince flung open the door, and rang his bell for assistance. He was pale and agitated. When the servants rushed up, he said, ‘Your mistress has been taken suddenly ill. Attend to her,’ and at the same time he ordered a man-servant to ride with all speed for a doctor from the neighbouring village, six miles away.

When the servants entered the room, they found Catarina fully dressed, lying on the bed. Her face was ashen in its hue. Her eyes seemed starting from her head. Foam was oozing from her mouth; her limbs were convulsed. The servants did what they could, but Catarina never spoke. When the doctor came, she was dead. He examined her, and said she had died from the effects of some powerful poison. There was a strange smell in the room; there was a broken glass on the floor. Before leaving the house, however, he changed his opinion, and certified that she had died from apoplexy.

Some nuns were brought from a neighbouring convent to pray and watch by the body. Three days afterwards it was quietly and unostentatiously buried in a plain grave in the little village cemetery. The Prince followed as chief mourner. An hour later he was a changed man. He seemed to have grown ten years older. About three weeks later it was officially announced in the Gazette and other papers that Prince Ignatof had retired from the Foreign Office by the advice of his physicians, his health having completely broken down.

Some few particulars have yet to be told. The letter which Danevitch intercepted and handed to the Prince was written by Catarina. It was addressed to Madame Kasin at Smyrna. There are reasons why the letter should not be given in extenso, but its substance can be indicated. The writer made it evident that Madame Kasin, who was as strongly embittered against her father as he was against her, conspired with her husband and Buroff and Catarina to obtain the information contained in the secret treaty, and sell it for a large sum of money to Turkey, to whom it was of immense value. Kasin, it appeared, had learnt that a treaty was being negotiated; and though Buroff would not undertake to purloin the document himself, he was heavily bribed to inform Catarina that he had brought it.

Between Catarina and Madame Kasin a very strong friendship existed. Catarina considered the daughter had been very badly treated. This sympathy and friendship had led to great ill-feeling between Catarina and the Prince, who had threatened to send her adrift. She undertook to abstract the document, but she went to work so clumsily that, as the saying is, she gave herself away. And her incautiousness in writing that condemnatory letter showed that she had not in her the qualities of a trickster and a thief. She told the whole miserable story in the letter, and said that she herself would convey the precious document to Smyrna. She did not mention Nicolayeff’s name, but Danevitch felt certain that the Clerk of the Keys had been corrupted in order that the key of the Prince’s bed-chamber safe should be procured, and to put his belief to the test he accosted the unfortunate porter in the street in the way we have seen. His intention was, if the porter betrayed himself, to place him at once under arrest. He was not prepared, however, for the sudden collapse of the wretched man, who did not long survive the shock and the disgrace.

The whole matter, of course, was hushed up as much as possible. It was deemed advisable that the details should not reach the ears of the public. It is perhaps needless to say that the Kasins, who were ready to prove traitors to their country, never again set foot on Russian soil. Danevitch confesses that he was anxious, if possible, to save the Prince the disgrace of having his own daughter arrested, hence the telegram. He was sure that telegram recalling Kasin would sound a note of alarm to him, and he would take himself off. That proved to be the case. When some months had elapsed, Buroff was quietly packed off to Siberia.

The Prince when he had sold off a large proportion of his estates, went abroad—to France, it is said—where he spent the rest of his days in strict retirement. Before leaving Russia, he erected a magnificent and costly marble monument over the grave of the beautiful Catarina, the mystery of whose death will never be solved until the secrets of all hearts are known.

HOW PETER TRESKIN WAS LURED TO DOOM.

THE FIRST ACT—THE PLOT.

The period was the reign of Alexander II. The time, the afternoon of a day in early summer. The place, an office in the huge building in St. Petersburg known as the Palace of the Admiralty, one of the finest and most imposing structures of the kind in the world. Its principal front is more than a quarter of a mile in length, while its wings, which extend to the Neva, are nearly seven hundred feet long. In this palace an enormous number of people are employed, including many women; and here the whole business in connection with the Imperial navy is transacted.

The office referred to was a large room lighted by several long windows. Running the whole length of the room was a flat-topped mahogany desk, on which were spread a number of plans of vessels, tracing-papers, compasses, squares, pencils, and other things of a like kind usually found in the office of a draughtsman. To give the place its official description, it was ‘Department H, Left Wing, Second Floor, Room 12. Imperial Yachts.’

It was under the control of a much-trusted Government servant, one Samuel Snell. That was not a Russian name, but an English one. Snell was an Englishman—a Cockney, for he was born within sound of Bow bells. He had been brought up as an engineer’s designer and draughtsman, and was considered very clever. He left his native country when he was three-and-twenty, and went to Russia, induced thereto by a Russian friend in trade in London, who had taught him to speak the Russian language, and assured him that his talents would find greater appreciation and a better market abroad than at home. Samuel Snell was influenced by this, and went. He was fortunate, through his friend’s influence, in speedily obtaining employment, and having marked ability, he made his way.

In the course of time he obtained naturalization; married a Russian lady, the daughter of a gentleman holding an appointment in the naval construction department; and ultimately, through his father-in-law’s influence, obtained an appointment himself as assistant copyist in the Admiralty Palace. His talents soon made him conspicuous; he was singled out for gradual promotion, until at last he was placed at the supreme head of the department responsible for the building and repairs of the Imperial yachts. It was no sinecure, but an important and responsible position.

In this room, on the day and at the hour in question, two young women were seated. One had soft brown hair, bright blue eyes, a delicate complexion, and regular features. She was the daughter of Snell, and was just twenty years of age. Her name was Catherine. She was unmistakably of an English type, though born in Russia, of a Russian mother, and had never been out of the country in her life. Her companion was as unmistakably Russian; she had dark eyes, black hair, olive complexion, and was slightly older than the other girl. They were both good-looking. The brunette was called Anna Plevski. Her face indicated great strength of character. She had a strong, determined mouth; intelligence beamed from her eyes; her forehead spoke of brain-power.

Their respective positions were as follows: Catherine was a confidential clerk to her father. She had been specially trained for the work, and had held the appointment for over three years. Anna was in another department altogether. She was what was termed ‘an indexer.’

The two girls were friends. They had been to school together. Anna had taken advantage of a little relaxation to slip into Room 12 to have a chat with Catherine, for she knew Mr. Snell was away; he had gone down to Kronstadt on official business. But it wasn’t for the sake of a purposeless chat that Anna went to Room 12. She had a deep and dark design, as was destined to be revealed at a later stage of this strange and tragic drama. Her own department was a long way off, in another part of the huge building, and she was at some trouble to reach her friend’s office by a very circuitous and round-about route, anxious, presumably, that it shouldn’t be generally known that she had gone to Room 12.

‘It’s a beautiful day, Catherine, isn’t it?’ said Anna, after some preliminary greeting. ‘It’s a pity you and I are not rich.’

‘Why?’ asked Catherine, with a simple expression on her pretty face.

‘Surely you don’t need to ask why. If we were not mere drudges, we should be able to taste some of the pleasures of the world—go where we liked, stay as long as we liked, and enjoy ourselves generally, instead of being stewed up here when the sun is shining.’

‘Well, you know, money doesn’t always bring happiness, Anna, my dear,’ answered Catherine.

‘It may not always do so; but as sure as eggs are eggs there can be precious little happiness without it.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Contentment goes a long way,’ Catherine said, with some timidity, for she knew that her friend held very pronounced views, was unusually strong-minded, and had an iron will, to say nothing of an unyielding dogmatism, which occasionally, when stirred up, became objectionable, and at times offensive. In short, Anna had an aggressive spirit, and was disposed to find fault with all constituted authority.

‘Contentment!’ she echoed with a malicious sort of chuckle; ‘how can one be contented with a lot that is hard, toilsome, and irritating? It’s not pleasant to realize every hour of your life that you are only a drudge. I ask myself over and over again why wealth is so unequally distributed. Why should it be in the hands of the few, while the vast majority of mankind are the slaves of those few, and groan and sweat under the yoke of paid labour—for what? merely to keep body and soul together.’

Catherine had heard her friend express similar sentiments before, so that she was not surprised at this bluntness of speech; but as she herself did not consider she had any particular cause to complain, and as the views she held were not altogether in accordance with Anna’s, she ventured to mildly express dissent from Anna’s doctrine. It only seemed, however, to arouse that young woman to a more vigorous display of her feelings, and with a pepperiness that was distinctly characteristic of her, she exclaimed scoffingly:

‘Well, friend Catherine, I can’t help saying that I’ve no patience with anyone who is willing to accept stripes and lashes without a murmur. That’s not my spirit. I’ve got brains, so have you, and yet we are forced to toil long hours every day for bare sustenance, while thousands and tens of thousands of brainless louts are rolling in riches. Ugh! It makes me mad to think of it.’

Catherine smiled prettily as she remarked:

‘You seem to have been stirred up to-day, dear. Something has put you out of temper.’

‘Yes; I am out of temper. I’m dissatisfied. Why, only to-day an order was issued in our department that we are to work two hours extra every day owing to pressure of work; but, as you know, the miserly Government take precious good care they won’t pay us so much as an extra copeck, no matter how long we work. I say it’s shameful!’

‘But what’s the use of fretting about it if we cannot alter it?’ asked Catherine.

‘But I say we can alter it. The working classes of this country are the bone, sinew, and brains of the country; yet they are kept in shackles and ground into the dust.’

‘And yet, after all, Anna, talent is always recognised, and individualism will make its mark.’

‘Great heavens!’ cried Anna, lifting her dark eyebrows in amazement, while she looked at her friend with something like pitying contempt, ‘is it possible that you can cheat yourself into the belief that that is true? You know as well as I do that talent and individualism are not worth a rap without influence to advance them. Kissing goes by favour in this world; and if you’ve no influence you may starve, while some idiot is pitchforked into power and authority. But, there, don’t let us wrangle any more at present. Some day I shall convert you, and bring you round to my views. By the way, I see that our Little Father, the Czar, is to make a yachting cruise round the coast of Finland next month, and that his yacht, the North Star, is to be entirely overhauled and refitted.’

‘Yes, that is so.’

‘It’s a very fine yacht, isn’t it, the North Star?’

‘I should think so. I’ve never seen it, though.’

‘That’s a wonder. I thought your father could have taken you on board any of the Emperor’s yachts.’

‘So he could, I’ve no doubt; though he has never done so.’

‘But you have the plans of the North Star in this department, haven’t you?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘I should like to see them. Would you mind showing them to me? I want to know what this grand vessel is like.’

Catherine hesitated; but failing to see that she would do any harm by complying with her friend’s request, she went to a huge safe, and took therefrom a large roll of cartridge-paper, which she spread out on the desk, and kept it in position by weights at the corners. And then there was revealed to Anna a scale drawing, showing the hull, the sections, the ground-plan, and general design of the Imperial vessel, which was one of several used by his Majesty for pleasure cruises.

This particular one was then in the hands of the Admiralty for refit and overhaul, and was under orders to be at Kronstadt on the 20th of the following month; to receive the royal party, including the Czar, for a trip up the Gulf of Bothnia, and along the coast of Sweden, returning by the coast of Finland.

Anna looked at the plan attentively, critically. Indeed, she studied it; and having an excellent memory, the result of training as an ‘indexer,’ she was enabled to carry the whole of the plan in her mind’s eye.

She would have liked to have made some notes, but did not dare do so, and so she fixed the details in her mind.

‘The Little Father’s apartments seem very spacious,’ Anna remarked carelessly, as though she meant nothing.

‘Oh yes,’ said Catherine; ‘but they are all to be reconstructed, and removed from the after-part of the vessel, where they are now.’

Anna’s dark eyes opened wide, and her ears were all alertness.

‘Indeed! Why?’

‘Well, they are in the extreme stern of the ship now; and as the vessel pitches very much, they are not comfortable.’