The unmasking of the guests was followed by a simultaneous movement toward the supper-tables, set forth in an adjoining room, a room scarcely inferior in size and grandeur to the Hall of Mirrors.
Tormented by the thought of the Princess, Wilfrid was in no trim for eating, even when the far-famed Sumaroff cuisine offered its temptations.
Having satisfied himself that neither Marie nor the Crusading knight was among the guests, he withdrew from the palace, having first sent to Pauline a servant with a brief note, in which, without stating the cause, he expressed regret at finding it impossible to escort her home.
It was now past two o’clock. He had by eight of the clock to be at a spot distant six miles from the city, and in the interval he must find a second, and try to snatch a short repose. He had no time to waste.
Making his way to the entrance of the Sumaroff Palace he procured a car and drove to his hotel, where he changed his antique garb for one more modern, and this done, he went off at once to the British Embassy, with a view of getting one of his uncle’s secretaries to act as his second.
“Unless indeed the old boy himself will volunteer, which isn’t very likely,” thought Wilfrid. “He’d be compromising his diplomatic office.”
On reaching the Embassy Wilfrid learned that, late as the hour was, the “old boy” had not yet gone to bed, but was sitting alone in his study.
Making his way thither Wilfrid found the Ambassador seated at a table, upon which, in addition to cigars and wine, was a very large parchment with seals attached thereto, and bearing every appearance of being an important State document.
“Pouf! windows closed and curtains drawn this hot July night?” said Wilfrid, glancing at the heavily-draped casements.
“Put your head out of the window, and you’ll soon scent the reason. Fontanka Canal below. What do the Russian Government mean by putting me in this malodorous hole? Damme! they’ll have to find me fresh quarters. See my new Diana over there? Winkelman! Bought it yesterday. Cost seven hundred roubles—think it’s worth it?” And then, seeing Wilfrid’s eyes attracted by the document upon the table, he continued, “Ah! the editor of the Journal de St. Petersbourg would give much for a copy of this.”
“It is, I presume——?”
“A duplicate of the secret Anglo-Russian Treaty of Peace. I am studying it for the twentieth time. Must leave no loophole for the enemy to creep through.”
“The Czar hasn’t signed it yet?”
“He signs to-morrow night, or rather, as it’s long past midnight, to-day. And yet,” continued the Ambassador, a queer look coming over his face, “and yet—who knows?—he may never sign it.”
“His autocratic Majesty is so changeable?”
“No, but life is. The Czar may be dead by to-morrow.”
“For the matter of that so may I,” remarked Wilfrid, thinking of the coming duel. “So may you; so may all of us.”
“Ah! but in the Czar’s case there is special cause for fear. But there! I’m talking too fast. I mustn’t betray State secrets.”
This assumption of reticence was a mere preliminary to disclosure, as Wilfrid very well knew. The Ambassador had a tale to unfold, and was burning to unfold it, and, anxious as Wilfrid was to get to the subject of the coming duel, he was not unwilling to be a listener, impressed by his uncle’s air of subdued excitement.
“It was told to me in confidence,” continued Lord St. Helens, “but I see no reason why I should not tell you. The story is certain to be made public property within four and twenty hours. Well, here it is then. Like the rest of the diplomatic body, I received an invitation to this Sumaroff fête, and looked in for a short time just before supper; and am not sorry at having gone, for there, in spite of his mask, I recognised my old friend Panine. He was in a state of great agitation, caused by something he had just heard from Alexander.”
“Alexander was at the fête, then?”
“Of course he was.”
“Prince Sumaroff publicly announced that he wasn’t.”
“Never believe public announcements—in Russia. He was there, but retired before supper-time. As you will see he had very good reason for wishing to be alone with his thoughts. Talking of Alexander, I suppose you know that he was married when only sixteen years old—that is, at an age scarcely capable of forming a just judgment. As a matter of fact he had no voice in the choosing of his wife; she was chosen for him by his grandmother Catharine, and our poor Alexander had no alternative but to obey.
“It is obvious that a marriage of this sort, contracted for political reasons merely, cannot yield that happiness arising from a union based on mutual affection. Far be it from me to speak one word adverse to the young Czarina Elizavetta; she is beautiful, she is charming, she is good; but still, you know the remark of the old Roman to the persons who were praising his wife: ‘This to you may seem an excellent sandal,’ he said, taking it off. ‘I alone know where it pinches.’ So of the Czarina. To us she may seem an ideal consort; Alexander alone knows where the sandal pinches.”
“It is easy to see to what all this is preliminary.”
“Just so. The usual result when kings are forced to mate from policy. Our Alexander looks round to find a companion more to his taste.”
“And the lady’s name?”
“Is a secret unknown to Panine, and therefore to me.”
“Has the intrigue reached a guilty stage?—but no, it cannot have.”
Lord St. Helens wondered at the husky voice and at the strange look with which his nephew put this question.
“Panine thinks not. In fact, judging from what happened to-night at the masquerade, it must be inferred that the love is on the Czar’s side only.”
“Why, what did happen?”
“A masquerade, as you know, affords excellent facilities for an intrigue. The Czar, aware that his inamorata would be at this fête, determined himself to be present He came without state, masked, and costumed, and sought eagerly, as we may suppose, for his lady-love, and at last found her.”
“Alone?”
“Hardly. She was with another man, and—one can scarcely refrain from smiling—the pair were in the act of kissing each other as the Czar came upon them.”
“How did you learn this?”
“It was witnessed by Panine.”
“By Panine!” repeated Wilfrid.
“He was meditatively walking amid a grove of trees when he happened to see the lady bestow a kiss upon a gentleman, no unusual occurrence at a masquerade, but this affair began to assume a serious aspect when there stepped forth into the moonlight a figure whom Panine recognised to be that of the Emperor. At sight of him the lady instantly fled as if in fear, leaving the Emperor and the man together.
“An animated conversation followed, inaudible to Panine, who, out of respect, kept his distance, nor did he venture forward till the man had left the Czar’s presence.
“‘Count,’ began Alexander—I repeat Panine’s words to me as nearly as I can remember them—‘Count, you know that in the abstract I am opposed to duelling; but occasionally it may happen that a gentleman has no other way of defending his honour. Now there is a certain man who wishes to fight a duel to-morrow. As his cause is just, will you do him the favour of acting as his second?’
“Panine, naturally concluding that the Czar’s recent interlocutor was the man referred to, made reply:—
“‘Your Majesty’s command is my pleasure.’
“‘You promise to be this man’s second?’
“‘Most certainly, Sire.’
“‘Look to it, then, that you keep your word,’ said Alexander with a face sterner than Panine had ever before seen it, ‘for I am the duellist. Honour leaves me no alternative but to fight. Stop! no words, I pray you. I know beforehand what you would say; that, if any one offends me, it is within my power to banish, to imprison, to execute the offender. Granted: but that were an ignoble vengeance. None hereafter shall say that Alexander took advantage of his position in order to slay a rival. The man must die, and his death shall come by my hand in fair and open fight. I waive my imperial prerogative, and meet him as one gentleman, when affronted, should meet another. My opponent’s name?—let it remain a secret. The rendezvous? Well, that you’ll learn when we set out. Be at the palace at seven this morning ready to attend me. And, as you value your life, not a word of this to any one.’ And with that the Emperor strode away.”
“Did Panine tell his tale to any besides you?”
“When I left him he was in doubt whether or not to communicate it to his fellow ministers.”
“And he doesn’t know who the Czar’s opponent is?”
“Hasn’t the least notion. The man was masked, you see.”
“But his costume should serve to identify him.”
“It would, if Panine could remember what the fellow wore. I should very much like to know the name of the man. To cut the Czar out in love, and then to stand up to him in a duel! Gad! the fellow must have the audacity of the devil!”
“Audacity, my dear uncle, was always the mark of a Courtenay.”
For a moment the Ambassador stared blankly at Wilfrid; then the truth burst upon him.
“Good God!” he gasped! “You don’t mean that—that——!”
“The Czar’s opponent is distant from you by no more than the length of a table.”
It would not be true to say that Lord St. Helens’s hair rose on end, but it very nearly accomplished that feat.
“I accepted the challenge to-night,” continued Wilfrid, “from a masked stranger, whose anger apparently had been kindled at seeing me receive a kiss from a certain lady. The fellow refused his name, but from his voice I took him to be Prince Ouvaroff. It seems now that I was wrong, and that my opponent is a much more august character.”
Overwhelmed by the startling news the Ambassador could do nothing for a few moments but gaze in a sort of speechless terror at his nephew. Finding his voice at last he said: “This is a devilishly awkward affair. Let me know how it all happened?”
Wilfrid related the whole story from his first meeting with Baranoff in Berlin down to that night’s scene at the masquerade, adding:—
“How was I to know it was the Czar? He talked exactly like an ordinary mortal. You told me yesterday that it was Ouvaroff’s intention to pick a quarrel with me, and as the stranger had a voice very like Ouvaroff’s I naturally concluded——”
“Alexander and Ouvaroff are half-brothers, as you know. Their voices are very similar. Now, what’s to be done in this matter?” continued the Ambassador with a thoughtful regard for his nephew’s safety.
“My first care must be to communicate with Panine. It will relieve him to know that the duel will not come off.”
“But why shouldn’t it come off?”
“Your opponent is an emperor.”
“And are not we Courtenays the descendants of emperors? ‘Equal to Cæsars,’ is not that our motto?”
“Come! this is mere bravado. You cannot really be serious in saying you will fight the Czar.”
“The Archangel Gabriel himself, if he came between me and the woman I love. It is easy to see how matters stand with the Princess. She hates the Czar’s addresses, but does not know how to repel them. And diplomatists like you would bid me stand aside and let him work his libertine will with the sweet lady who loves me, because, forsooth, he is a Czar, between whom and me an awful gulf is fixed! Czar me no Czar! On this condition only will I withdraw, that he hands the Princess over to me; if not, he fights.”
Lord St. Helens became full of dismay, as he realised that Wilfrid was perfectly serious in his utterance. If Alexander were equally determined there was no power on earth to stay the duel; and since Wilfrid had no peer in swordsmanship, what but ill would befall the Czar in a mortal combat? In cooler moments Wilfrid might not wish to kill the Emperor, but in the hot excitement of the duel, when he saw before him the man who was persecuting the Princess with unwelcome attentions, there was no knowing what might happen, especially if Wilfrid’s anger should be aggravated by the smarting of a wound.
“And pray, sir,” said the Ambassador after vainly expostulating with his nephew, “pray, sir, who is to be your second in this infamous business?”
“I am going to ask you to officiate in that capacity.”
The Ambassador felt as if he were choking.
“Go to Gehenna!” he yelled.
“You won’t? What will the family think when they hear that you have refused to stand by me in an affair of honour. Who’s to conduct my funeral if I fall?”
“I’d be most infernally happy to conduct your funeral at this present moment. Cease this foolery, and talk sense—if you can. Should this freak end in the wounding or it may be, the killing of the Czar—which heaven forbid!—to whom do you intend to look for safety?”
“To you, of course.”
“To me?”
“Most certainly. Doesn’t the nation pay you £10,000 a year to look after British subjects in Russia, of whom I am one?”
“I to protect you?”
“If you don’t the British public will want to know the reason! Remember that the duel is not of my seeking; he challenged me, not I him. In an autocratic realm what can a man do when its ruler insists on fighting him? It’s useless to go against the will of a fellow who can send you to Siberia for disobedience. And if he fall, whose is the blame?” “Well, I must be off,” continued Wilfrid, glancing at his watch; “but before going I should like—of course, with your permission—to see young Mulgrave,” naming his uncle’s chief secretary. “He is a man of spirit, and will stand by me in this affair.”
“Do you think——?” began the Ambassador angrily, and then broke off as if hit by some sudden thought. “Well, I’ll send for him, and you’ll hear what he thinks. Perhaps you’ll listen to him, if not to me.”
He pencilled a few words upon a card and touched a hand-bell, whose chime immediately brought in a servitor in livery. Handing him the card, and pointing to the name upon it, the Ambassador said with a meaning look,
“Tell him to come at once.”
The man had no sooner set eyes upon the card than he gave a slight start, glanced oddly at Wilfrid, and withdrew without a word.
“Oho, my uncle,” thought Wilfrid, who had observed this little by-play, “why did you give a written message, when an oral one would have sufficed? There is something on that card you do not wish me to see. Very good! Forewarned is forearmed.”
After a brief interval there came a tapping at the door.
“Wait a moment, Williams,” cried Lord St. Helens. “Stay outside till I call.”
“Williams? Why, I thought it was Mulgrave you sent for?” said Wilfrid in mock surprise.
Ignoring this question, the Ambassador said with a stern air:—
“I am to take it, then, that you have quite made up your mind to fight this duel?”
“Certainly.”
“Well, I have made up my mind that you shall not.”
“And how do you propose to stop me?”
“You are not in Russia now, remember. This Embassy is Great Britain, or rather, a part of Great Britain in Russia. As the representative of His Majesty King George, I am, so long as you are in this house, your sovereign, and you are my subject. In the exercise of my lawful authority——”
“You’ll put me under arrest,” said Wilfrid, smiling amiably. “Yes, I thought that was the idea when you sent out that little note.”
Somewhat disconcerted at Wilfrid’s guessing his intention, and uneasy, too, at his air of unconcern, the Ambassador called out: “Come in.”
At the summons there trooped in five athletic men, lackeys apparently. Their attire, consisting of shirt and breeches only, showed that they had been hastily roused from sleep. They advanced a little way into the room, and then stood still, awaiting orders. Wondering what the trouble was about, they glanced alternately from the flushed uncle to the cool nephew.
“This madman,” said Lord St. Helens, indicating Wilfrid, who bowed sarcastically, “my nephew, I regret to say, is an enemy to Great Britain. In the name of the King, I call upon you to arrest him and to take him to the Green Chamber, where he must remain till he has renounced his treasonable designs. Sorry, Wilfrid, my boy,” he added, in a side whisper; “but I’ve no other course. Go quietly, like a sensible fellow,” he added, as he saw the fighting spirit gleam from Wilfrid’s eye. “You can’t contend against five men.”
But Wilfrid, having formed his plan, proceeded to act. The only light in the room came from the six tapers in the chandelier above his head. As the five men moved slowly forward, Wilfrid, with one swift bound, sprang aloft and hung his whole weight upon the chandelier. Down it came in an instant, and almost before it reached the floor he had extinguished the six lights by the easy process of flinging the table-cloth over them.
By this action, the work of not more than four seconds, the room was plunged into sudden darkness.
“Look to the door,” screamed the Ambassador.
Tumbling over each other in their haste the five raced back, and ranged themselves in fighting order before the door, the only exit from the room.
In the dead silence that followed, the Ambassador and his satellites strained eye and ear, endeavouring to discover by sight or sound what Wilfrid’s next movement would be.
They had not long to wait.
From the far end of the apartment there suddenly darted intermittent rays of light, apparently caused by the wavering of a heavy curtain that draped one of the windows overlooking the canal. Simultaneously all were seized with the same idea. Wilfrid was going to—
Crash!
The sound was like that of a sheet of glass shivered to atoms by the impact of a heavy body, and was instantly followed by the splash of water.
“Good God! He’s leaped into the Fontanka, through glass and all,” cried the Ambassador.
Men falling into that shallow canal have been known never to rise again from its deep deposit of mud!
The Ambassador ran to the window, thrusting the heavy curtain on one side. Moved by a common impulse, the five men ran too.
The Ambassador unfastened the catch, flung open the window, and, with his body half out, looked down upon the water, whose surface had upon it a rippling ring that grew wider and wider each moment, a ring obviously caused by the fall of a body.
The watchers kept their eyes fixed upon the centre of this ring, waiting for Wilfrid’s head to appear. The circle spread outward farther and farther, till it became imperceptible to the sense of sight. The surface of the water grew smooth again; one minute passed, two, three, and still Wilfrid was not to be seen, nor any trace of him.
“By God! he’s gone! Caught in the mud at the bottom,” said the Ambassador in awe-struck tones.
“Still alive, dear uncle!” said a voice, coming from the direction of the door.
So deep was the amazement of the Ambassador and his lackeys at hearing the voice of one whom they had just taken for dead that for the moment they were powerless to do anything except to stare, vacant-eyed and open-mouthed, at Wilfrid’s smiling face, which in the dim light could be seen peeping in at them from the other side of the half-open door.
“I knew that crash would fetch ’em from the door. Your attempt to imprison me, dear uncle, has cost you seven hundred roubles, for your marble Diana is lying at the bottom of the Fontanka. Well, good-bye! I’m off to that meeting!”
Recovering from their stupor, the five men, mortified at being thus fooled, rushed forward, too late, however, to repair their blunder.
During their three minutes’ watch at the window, Wilfrid had quietly removed the key from the inner side of the room to the outer, and before his foes had time to reach him, he shut the door, locked it, put the key in his pocket, walked downstairs, and escaped safely to the street.