British Mysteries Omnibus - The Emma Orczy Edition (65+ Titles in One Edition). Emma Orczy

      Chapter IX

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      In the meanwhile Iván Volenski had suffered terribly. His was a peculiar position at that moment. Anxious as he had been to serve the great cause, he had imperilled it–unwittingly–almost beyond recall. His comrades had trustingly placed their lives, their freedom in his hands, lured by his promises of immunity, and twenty-four hours later he had placed them all in the hands of an agent of that very police they so justly dreaded.

      And yet the Nuncio, in the morning following that eventful night, had succeeded in somewhat reassuring him. Perhaps his Eminence felt a trifle guilty in the matter of those candlesticks, and thought his secretary was blaming him for allowing them to pass out of his hands. He took great care to explain to Iván the accident to one of the Cupid's arms, which both he and Madame Demidoff had noticed, and which finally decided him to accept her kind offer. Little by little Volenski gleaned from the Cardinal a minute account of all that passed between him and the fair Russian, on the subject of the Emperor's candlesticks.

      He heard that Madame had, with her own hands, packed the damaged bibelot and placed it on one side, and had herself professed to take the utmost care that not the slightest accident should happen further.

      Here was a reason, clearly, for once more thanking Providence that it should have guided his hand towards the damaged candlestick, when secreting the fateful papers.

      Madame Demidoff so far knew nothing, that was a reasonable hope, and as soon as his Eminence had left Vienna, which unfortunately would not be till the evening, Iván meant to travel to Petersburg without delay, and on behalf of his absent master ask Madame Demidoff to remit the candlesticks to him, for safe custody within the walls of the Papal Legation.

      In the meanwhile not a word to his comrades. He had seen the president the evening before and told him of the alteration in the Cardinal's plan, which would enable him, Volenski, to deliver the papers in Taranïew's hands two days before the anticipated time. To tell them all of the dangers they were in would be unnecessary cruelty.

      What could they do but wait for the blow, if it was destined to fall? Mirkovitch would wish to kill the Tsarevitch. It would be revolting to murder a defenceless prisoner.

      Now his Eminence had quieted his anxieties. There was no fear, no hurry. After the Cardinal left, Volenski's peace of mind enabled him to sleep quietly, without harassing dreams of prisons and Siberia.

      He felt alert and well the next morning, read to take the express through Oderberg to Petersburg, little more than twenty-four hours after Madame Demidoff, following closely on her footsteps.

      He breakfasted cheerfully, as one free from care, and with mechanical hands opened the morning paper to glance at the news. And when he read it, there was that in the paper that crushed all his hopes, and for the first time led him to doubt that it was Providence who watched over the Socialist cause.

      "Yesterday, during the examination of passengers' luggage at Oderberg, at six o'clock in the morning, a daring robbery was committed.

      "As Madame Demidoff, a lady well known in our aristocratic circles, was alighting from her coupé, a man, disguised in the uniform of our customs officials, offered to carry her dressing-bag and valise. He appeared to be following her with her belongings, and it was not till nearly a quarter of an hour later that Madame Demidoff realised that the man and all her belongings had disappeared. It is stated by the lady herself, that the valise contained some valuable articles; her extraordinary agitation on hearing of her loss was much commented upon. The matter is in the hands of the police, who already have an important clue."

      What this announcement in the paper meant to Volenski the reader will easily imagine. After the comparative peace and security of the last few hours, the blow seemed to fall on him with almost stunning vigour.

      For fully ten minutes he sat there staring into vacancy, unable to think, to plan, his brain almost refusing to take in the fact and all the terrors it conveyed. But a few hours ago those papers, which he had with so light a heart confided to what he felt sure was the safest hiding-place he could devise, had, by some mysterious help of Providence, escaped the eyes of the most astute woman in Russia–unknown to herself she was carrying the secrets of a band of young Nihilists safely across the Russian frontier in the teeth of the police–she, an agent, a spy herself.

      The situation was hazardous. Volenski had trembled that some remote chance might at the eleventh hour play him false, but the chance was so slight a one, that he had even the heart to laugh inwardly at the curious coincidence that caused a police agent to be the means of conveying Nihilistic papers across the border. Moreover, in two days at most, he would once more have regained the papers, hand them over to his comrades, and, when all was safe again, laugh at his own terrors. But now how terribly was the situation altered. The fateful papers at this moment were at the mercy of thieves or receivers of stolen goods, who were sure to make the most profitable use of their find; for the secret of the candlesticks could not remain one for long, once they fell into the hand of bric-à-brac dealers, so expert in these matters. And Iván shuddered as he thought how completely in the power of scoundrels he and his comrades would presently be. Would the papers be used for blackmailing, denunciation, or what?

      The valet had come in some little while ago, to warn the secretary that it was fully time to start, if he wished to catch the Kassa-Oderberg express, but Iván had impatiently said that his plans were changed; he was not starting that morning.

      When the man had left him, and he was once more alone, he again took up the Fremdenblatt, and read the fateful article through and through, till his aching temples bbegan to throb and the letters dance before his burning eyes, till he felt dizzy and faint with that most awful terror–the terror of the unknown.

      "The police have an important clue," he muttered. "What clue? and what would happen if they did discover the stolen goods?"

      The valise, of course, would be opened, and all the articles identified and handed back to Madame Demidoff, who would after that probably only be too glad to give the candlesticks back to Volenski, and shift all further responsibilities from her shoulders; but in the meanwhile they would be handled by dozens of pairs of hands: the thieves first, then the police, then the officials, any one of whom might chance upon the secret spring; and then –– ?

      Volenski tried to persuade himself that this chance was very remote, the secret receptacles very ingeniously hidden, the springs very stiff, and only liable to yield after a great deal of pressure; but still a restlessness now seized him, he felt unable to sit still, the crowded streets seemed to lure him, and vaguely he had a hope, that from the groups at the cafés he might hear fresh news new developments of this robbery, that was sure to set all tongues wagging and discussing.

      He took his hat and made his way down the Kolowrátring towards the opera house. Instinct–the instinct of self-preservation–whispered to him to control himself, not to let any passing stranger notice his curious agitation, his wild, haggard look. He sauntered into one of the larger cafés, exchanging handshakes and greetings here and there. It seemed strange that not one of those he met referred to the robbery at Oderberg. Volenski could not understand that an event of such immense magnitude to himself should seem one of such utter indifference to others. The new opera, the expected cabinet crisis, Gallmeyer's