CHAPTER XII.
“In mortal peril.”
When I once more became conscious of my surroundings, I was seated in a chair, in the center of a large, low-ceiled apartment, of which the atmosphere was chill and damp and the light feeble. I was supported on either side by a figure clad in a long gray cloak and wearing a gray hood and scarlet domino. As my scared senses reasserted themselves more fully, I could see that the room was peopled by many other figures similarly attired, and that my presence among them was the central subject of interest.
Nay, there was one other object that must have been of even more horrible interest than I was! In front of the chair upon which I was seated there lay a recumbent figure, covered by a large square of black cloth. It was outlined with horrible distinctness, and a shudder ran through me as I realized that this was the dead body of the man I had seen struck down while in the act of shadowing my husband for some purpose unknown to me, though I could not have imagined that purpose anything but inimical to his safety.
And where was he, the beloved object for whose sake I had braved the dangers which now encompassed me? I looked around me, hoping to recognize his figure among the many with which I was surrounded. But alas! the enshrouding cloaks and obscuring dominos would not permit recognition, and my heart sank within me as I thought that even were he here he might find it impossible to be of service to me without endangering his own life.
At the end of the chamber in which I now found myself was a slightly raised platform upon which were seated seven or eight of the cloaked figures. But I noticed that in their case the cloak was black and the domino yellow, and I conjectured rightly that they were the rulers of the assembly. I was feeling acute bodily suffering, yet that was for the time lost sight of in the horror of possible speedy annihilation.
Have any of my readers ever been in a situation of mortal terror? If so, they will be able to realize the acuteness of perception with which I regarded everything around me, and the miraculous swiftness with which the most irrelevant ideas chased each other through my brain. Even while trying to pierce the disguise of my possible judges, I found myself wondering how dear little Jerry was getting on, and whether Belle’s wedding would be postponed again or not.
But, after what seemed an interminable time, the silence was at last broken by a voice which ordered, in deep, impressive tones, “Remove that covering.”
Instantly four figures approached the object lying in front of me, two from either side of the room, and each one silently lifted a corner of the cloth, and doubled it back, so as to expose the corpse of a man whose countenance wore such an expression of terror and agony as made me use desperate efforts to cover my face with my hands. But they were held tight by the two persons who supported me on my seat, and the same sonorous voice which I had already heard commanded me to look upon the face that lay in front of me, and ponder upon the fate mapped out for all traitors to their country.
Such a command was not reassuring, and I relapsed into trembling passivity, while black cloaks and gray cloaks proceeded to try the murdered man after he was dead.
“What is the name of that traitor?” was the question I heard, from the lips of the man who seemed to be the president of the assembly.
“Karol Gratowitzki.”
“What was his crime?”
“He was a government spy.”
“And his special mission?”
“To dog the footsteps of Number Finis.”
“Then he deserves his fate. Who was the avenger?”
“Number Sixteen.”
“Then his exemption from future death-service has been earned.”
At these words the man who had replied to the above questions stepped forward, bowed to those who were seated on the platform, uttered a formula, of which I did not catch the import, and then ranged himself upon the opposite side of the room to the one he had previously been standing at.
“Remove the body,” was the next command. In another moment the board upon which the dead man had been laid was re-covered, and was lifted up by four figures, who marched down the room with it, and disappeared through a low door, which was bolted after their exit, amid a dead silence on the part of those left behind.
“Now my turn is at hand,” I thought, feeling sick with dread, and looking in vain for a friendly sparkle in the eyes of the silent figures around me. My premonition was correct, for the next words I heard referred to myself.
“Who is the prisoner?”
“We do not know,” was the reply.
“How came she here?”
“She was spying upon one of our chosen.”
“Did she betray antagonistic intentions?”
“Yes; she sprang forward, as if to strike, simultaneously with the man who has already been removed.”
“What weapons has she in her possession?”
“None that we have seen. She has not yet been searched.”
“Remove her, and search her.”
Up to this point I had remained silent, for my tongue refused to utter a sound. But the prospect of suffering the indignity of having my clothing removed for the purpose of examination made me utter a startled protest. There was, indeed, a tiny English revolver hidden in my dress for defensive purposes. But how was I to convince these stern martinets that I would never have dreamed of hurting any one, unless it was absolutely necessary, in order to save either my own life or my husband’s.
“Indeed!” I cried, forgetting that I was not speaking to a meeting of English people, “I assure you that I am innocent of the remotest intention of injuring any one belonging to you. And surely I have already suffered indignity enough!”
There was a slight movement of surprise, as if my nationality had been unsuspected, and then one of the black-cloaked figures who had hitherto not spoken stepped forward, and addressed the president in a low tone. Receiving an affirmative reply to some suggestion which he offered, he proceeded to cross-question me in very good English.
I am sure that I created an unfavorable impression where I was most anxious to be conciliatory, for, after partially unfolding my story, I was seized with sudden alarm on behalf of Sergius, and forthwith became as reticent as I had a few moments before been voluble. For was it not possible that undue candor on my part might betray some secret hitherto carefully preserved by my husband? Suppose his marriage, while still a member of this dread society, was against the rules? And suppose I were betraying a secret that might prove fatal to him, if I spoke of his recent absence from the country for which he had sworn to give up his life? Of all that concerned his connection with the people who now had me in their power he had told me nothing, and in all likelihood his reticence on this subject was entirely due to considerations of personal safety. Perhaps he was under oath to reveal nothing. How, then, was I to account not merely for my knowledge of the fact that he was a member of this society, but of the still more perilous secret of his motive for returning to Russia? Or of my own object in following him?
Would not my admission that my presence in Moscow was the result of my private determination to frustrate an event which they regarded as necessary for the salvation of their country be sufficient to procure my own death-warrant as well as my husband’s? Mine because they must necessarily regard me as an enemy, his because he was, even if unwillingly, the cause of my knowledge of their deadly secret. Alas! where was he? Surely, if he were present, he would at once have tried to save me from the summary fate which hung over me. And yet, to do so might be to risk his own safety.
Truly, vanity was never reproved more cruelly than mine was then! When the Princess Nina had told me that, so far from my presence near him being advantageous to Sergius, it might prove an additional source of peril, I did not believe her, since I meant to be too cautious to run into danger. And here I was, in dire extremity, and likely to involve my dear husband in my own ruin, all because I had had too much faith in the superiority of my own judgment.
The position, too, was one that was very difficult to understand. How did I come to be classed with the man who had already succumbed to the swift vengeance of this terrible society? The solution of this question was beyond my powers, but I was at least able to grasp one fact. Sergius must be the Number Finis whom the stranger was said to have been shadowing. And his safety was of such importance to the society that protectors, two and three deep, followed in his wake.
Some of these must have watched my pursuit of him, and must have imagined me to be his enemy. As this thought thrust itself forward, I began to feel less despairing, but could still not quite determine whether his speedy arrival on the scene would be conducive to my salvation, or to his undoing, and my brain became so bewildered that I hardly knew whether to pray for his prompt arrival or for his continued absence. There had been a break in the stern mode of conducting the inquiry. The door was silently opened by the janitor, in response to a signal from without, and three persons entered, who evidently brought news of stirring import, though its nature was not permitted to reach my ears. There was a buzz of excited voices, and the prevailing feeling seemed to be one of consternation. Several people who had hitherto kept silent joined in the conversation, and some hurriedly left the apartment. Although I had made wonderful progress with the Russian language, it was still beyond my power to comprehend very rapidly spoken utterances, and even if the discussion had been carried on in a louder tone I might still have been unable to grasp its full import. But I could at least tell that the news received was provocative of grief in the breasts of some of this mysterious assemblage of people, while others were stirred to menacing anger.
How this anger might affect my own fate was impossible for me to tell. But at all events I had received a momentary respite, and the dread of instant death was removed from me. Even my hands were now released, and had I been able to do so I might have stood up unhindered. But I was sick and giddy, from the combined effects of the violence to which I had been subjected, and of the mental distress under which I was laboring, and could now do no more than gaze helplessly around me, and wonder why Sergius did not come to my rescue.
Presently the excitement abated again, and the cloaked figures resumed their places, the three latest comers approaching close to where I was sitting.
“Now, Brother Finis,” said the president, “look closely at this woman, who was caught dogging your footsteps, in company with a man whom we know to have been a government spy, and tell us if you have seen her before.”
My heart leaped to my mouth at these words. This must be Sergius, although the ample folds of his cloak, and his hood and domino, had prevented me from recognizing him.
Hastily stepping forward, he now obtained a full view of me for the first time. He did not recognize me for a moment, owing to my disfiguring wig. But when I looked appealingly at him, clasped my hands in an attitude of distress, and sobbed just the one word. “Sergius!” he started as if struck by lightning.
The next instant he had pushed both my bonnet and my wig from my forehead, disclosing my own dark curls, and as at last I succumbed again to the faintness which had oppressed me for so long, I heard, my husband’s voice exclaim:
“My God! This is my wife!”