第 12 页

Gogol kept his eyes on the ground, but Ivor stared about with the air of one who knows that he is looking his last on a scene that he loves well. The houses, the shops, the pedestrians, the vehicles — all added to the horror of that mental picture which was ever present with him. In imagination he saw the dreary prison at Karsokov, the gibbet, the dangling ropes, the stern executioners — and then his brain grew dizzy as the pitying face of Sonia Komaroff looked out from the awe stricken throng of spectators.

He was recalled to his present misery by a blow and a harsh word from one of the soldiers, against whom he had unwittingly stumbled. At that moment the column wheeled into another street, and the great dome of the Admiralty and the carved facade of the Naval Club came in view. On the steps of the latter building stood a tall, distinguished looking man. He wore a spick and span uniform and a dangling sword, and his white teeth peeped from beneath his heavy black beard and mustache as he puffed with evident enjoyment at a big cigar.

Ivor glanced up while passing, and the moment his eyes rested on the stranger he staggered with the shock of a great surprise. He saw, as vividly as on the day it occurred, a thrilling scene in his past life — the snowy outline of the Nevski Prospekt, the squadron of Lancers trotting to the strains of their regimental band, and the maddened horses dragging a careening sleigh toward the crowded pavement.

The vision faded as the soldiers roughly forced him on, but spurred by a desperate resolve he tore from them and staggered to the foot of the steps.

"Captain Saltstein, help me," he cried in ringing tones. "I am an innocent man. I am the victim of a terrible conspiracy — give me five minutes' interview — you remember me, surely? I caught the horses — a year ago — in St. Petersburg —"

The Cossacks dragged him away, clapping their hands upon his mouth. The officer, who seemed greatly astounded at what had occurred, ordered them to desist, and came down to the level of the pavement.

"Who are you? What does this mean?" he demanded of Ivor in rather disgusted tones. "Ah! I remember now. It was you who caught Reschagin's horses, and saved us from an ugly accident. Well, that doesn't entitle you to appeal to me under these circumstances. I can do nothing for you."

Having delivered himself of this in the iciest of tones he turned to ascend the steps.

"Stop! hear me a moment, for God's sake," cried Ivor. "I ask a brief interview — nothing more. You cannot but believe what I have to tell you."

He raised his voice as Captain Saltstein persisted in making a dignified retreat, and shouted desperately: "I am the nephew of Maximy Petrov, whom perhaps you know. My uncle and Feodor Gunsberg robbed me of my father's estate by a forged will, and then put me out of the way by charging me with Nihilism. Here is a witness to what I say — my father's old servant, Nicholas Gogol, who was treated in the same way."

The Cossacks were about to silence Ivor effectually this time, when Captain Saltstein checked them by a wave of the hand. He came down the steps with a strange look of interest and agitation on his face, and conferred for a moment with the officer in charge of the prisoners. Then he walked back to Ivor.

"Are you the son of Alexis Petrov?" he asked.

"Yes. Did you know my father?"

"I knew both your parents. In an hour I will visit you at the prison."

Ivor's head swam for an instant. When he recovered himself Captain Saltstein had vanished behind the portals of the Naval Club.

The little procession moved on, but for Gogol and Ivor the world wore a changed look. The sunlight was not brighter or more radiant than their own hearts, and when they found themselves, a little later, between four gloomy stone walls, they were happier than any Russian noble in his ancestral palace.

Their hopes proved not to be ill founded, and what followed may be briefly told. Captain Saltstein came to the prison, heard Ivor's story, and was much impressed that he was forced to accept its truth, though it implicated two personal friends of his own in a monstrous crime. A week passed, during which he carried on an extensive correspondence by telegraph with the authorities — mainly with Ilarion Reschagin, Minister of the Interior. The result was that the two convicts were ordered back to Russia, and it was furthermore arranged that Maximy Petrov and Feodor Gunsberg should know nothing of what had taken place, until the witnesses of their crime were on the spot.

As Captain Saltstein had just finished an extensive tour of Siberian inspection the prisoners were assigned to his charge, and so it came about that early in March Gogol and Ivor found themselves posting westward as fast as horses could carry them, while the dread nightmare of the past was left farther and farther behind.

* * *

On a certain June evening, more than a year after the commission of the crime that had consigned his innocent nephew to the mines of Saghalien, Maximy Petrov sat in his sumptuously furnished library. Everything about him was white and ghost-like, for the chairs, the pictures, the statuary, and even the carpets were muffled in their summer covering. It was the season of the year when aristocratic Petersburg was afield — yachting on the Gulf of Finland, lolling in northern country houses, or following the beaten tracks of Continental travel — and Maximy Petrov felt lonely and oppressed amid the solitary grandeur of his palace. Even the clubs were deserted,

However, it was a consolation to think that he would soon be in gay Paris — the Mecca of all well to do Russians. He had reached the city that morning from one of his northern estates, and found business matters needing attention that would detain him until the following day.

The table at which he sat was littered with open letters relating mainly to the management of his property, and as he answered one after another, and sealed and stamped the envelopes by the flame of a wax candle, a satisfied smile gathered about his lips. In his haughty, blasé manner there was nothing to indicate the quality of his moral nature; nor did he dream, ever so remotely, that the hand of retribution was already outstretched to seize him.

As the clock in the outer hall struck nine, Vladimir, his servant, entered with a letter.

"There is no answer," he said.

"You are to read it at once. It is very important."

"Who brought it?"

"A stranger," was the reply. "He went away immediately."

Maximy Petrov glanced at the envelope, and tore it carelessly open. He unfolded the contents and read as follows:

I have just heard that you are in town. Leave Russia by the first train, or you are lost. Your nephew and Nicholas Gogol have arrived in Petersburg. Ilarion Reschagin is pushing the affair, and already warrants have been issued for your arrest and mine. The news comes through one of my police agents, and cannot be doubted. I am about to leave the city by water, and will join you in Paris. Heed this warning.

FEODOR GUNSBERG.

The paper fluttered to the floor, and Maximy Petrov rose, staggered a few steps, and dropped into the depths of a soft couch. His face was deathly pale, his eyes seemed to be starting from their sockets, his breath came in quick gasps, and every muscle quivered with mortal fear. Everything was lost — home, wealth, friends, reputation. The concentrated agony of that brief moment of realization must have been terrible beyond conception.

Vladimir was startled to see his proud and imperious master collapse into such a pitiable wreck. "You are ill," he cried. "I will summon a physician."

"No, no, stay here," gasped Maximy Petrov hoarsely. With an effort he rose. "I am better now," he said. "It was the sudden shock that upset me. I have had bad news, and must take the first train to Berlin. It leaves at ten o'clock. Summon a cab immediately, Vladimir. Have it wait on the rear street at the end of the garden. Then come back at once."

As Vladimir hastily left the room Maximy seated himself at the table, and drawing a check book from the drawer began to write furiously. Then he dashed a few lines on a sheet of note paper, and placed this and the detached check in an envelope.

"It is fortunate that I have my passport," he muttered. "I must escape. I must. Anything is preferable to Siberia. Some day I will have my revenge —"

He checked himself as Vladimir entered. "Is the cab ready?" he demanded eagerly.

"It is awaiting at the end of the garden," replied the servant.

"Good! Now here are your instructions. Heed them well. Take this letter to the cashier of the Imperial Bank, who lives on the second floor of the building. It is a late hour, but he will give you a draft on Paris for my balance — forty thousand rubles. You won't have time to make the ten o'clock train, but take the next one and join me at the Hotel Continental, Paris. Here is your passport, and money for your ticket and traveling expenses."

" But the trunks — your luggage?" asked the servant in no little bewilderment.

"I will attend to that: Go at once, and don't return to the house. From the bank take a cab straight to the railway station."

These orders were imperative, and Vladimir departed without further questioning. He was attached to his master, and could be depended upon in such an emergency.

Maximy Petrov was now alone. He glanced hurriedly about the room. There was no time to seek valuables. At any moment the dread messengers might arrive. Fortunately his pocket book was well filled. He snatched a few valuable papers and seized a light overcoat as he passed through the hall. In a moment he reached the garden, and strode down the paved marble walk between a double row of fragrant cedars. He turned for a last look at the stately palace which his feet would never tread again, and then, with a bitter curse on his lips, he tore open the bolts of the great iron gate and passed into the street.. No pedestrians were visible. The cab was drawn up by the curb, and he stepped in and banged the door shut. "The Berlin terminus," he shouted to the driver. "Double fare if you make the ten o'clock express."

The Russian Jehu lashed his horses, arid away went the vehicle with a roar and a rumble.

The ride seemed interminably long to the tortured passenger as he was borne through devious, gas lit streets. But here was the end. He paid the driver and staggered into the great building. Now he was before the little grated window, and as he laid down his passport, and a two hundred ruble note, he saw the long line of coaches in the terminus beyond.

"This passport has been stopped."

The words sent a thrill of agony to Maximy Petrov's brain.

"Stopped?" he gasped. "What do you mean? Give me my ticket, and let me pass."

Then he saw two gendarmes issue from the ticket seller's room, and for a second his heart stood still. He realized the situation, and turning, he made a terrific dash for the exit to the street.

Too late! He was suddenly confronted by a Cossack officer, who barred the way with a drawn sword. Men in the blue uniform of the police were pushing forward, and behind them appeared the faces of Ivor Petrov and Nicholas Gogol.

"A warrant for your arrest," cried the Cossack officer, brandishing a document. "Surrender peaceably."

With an oath Maximy sprang to one side, and attempted to draw a revolver from his pocket. But the gendarmes closed on him from behind, and he was speedily overpowered and manacled. They dragged him, pallid and trembling, through the great crowd of spectators to the outer street. Here a closed carriage was waiting, and one hour later the massive doors of the Fortress closed behind Maximy Petrov. The hand of retribution had descended heavily.

On the morrow St. Petersburg was ablaze with excitement. Maximy Petrov's crime had been too great for even the powerful press censorship to conceal, and the journals were liberal in their treatment of the subject. They related in detail how the leading conspirator had been caught at the Berlin terminus; how his servant, Vladimir, had been arrested while leaving the Imperial Bank with a foreign draft for forty thousand rubles in his possession, and still further did they electrify society by telling how the well known and highly honored Feodor Gunsberg had committed suicide when the officers of the law overtook his yacht off the Cronstadt lighthouse. Nor did they omit a full history of the crime from its beginning, and a brief account of the various sufferings and adventures undergone by the two convicts, Ivor Petrov and Nicholas Gogol.

In justice to the Russian government it must be said that it did all in its power to atone for the great wrong done the two innocent men. This was mainly due, however, to the efforts of Captain Saltstein and Ilarion Reschagin. Ivor and Gogol were completely vindicated, and when the former produced the genuine will from its hiding place in the Petrov palace, the authorities placed him in possession of the vast estate — which was his according to the terms of the will — with as little formality as possible. Gogol refused a large sum of money which Ivor was anxious to bestow upon him, but he was easily induced to accept a permanent position in the household, more as a trusted friend and adviser than a servant.

Maximy Petrov was convicted and sentenced to Siberia for life. He sternly refused to see his nephew — though Ivor pleaded for a last interview and with a bitter and hardened heart he went away to his living death. More merciful by far was the fate of Feodor Gunsberg.

Social duties, and affairs connected with the management of his estate, chained Ivor to St. Petersburg until September. Then, when he was able at last to start on that long eastward journey which was still uppermost in his heart, Captain Komaroff and his daughter arrived in the capital. In consideration of his gallant conduct during the Saghalien insurrection, the commandant had been transferred to a more lucrative post at home.

Ivor had already written to Sonia, the letter having reached her shortly before her departure from Karsokov — and when the first meeting took place between them the old, old story was told again. Ivor and Captain Komaroff healed their differences and cleared all doubtful points, though the latter declared that his daughter was liable to arrest and punishment for aiding two condemned convicts to escape.

THE END