CHAPTER XXV
A CHANGE OF IDENTITY
I now approach the crucial portion of my narrative.
The incidents already dealt with, though not without a certain interest, perhaps, for those who value exact information about political events, are comparatively unimportant, and have been given here chiefly in order to inspire confidence in what follows.
At all events, their truth is not likely to be disputed, and I have not thought it necessary, therefore, to insist on every corroborative detail.
But I am now about to enter on what must be considered debatable ground.
I had taken the little house on the Alexander Quay, as the reader will have guessed, as a post of observation from which to watch the proceedings of the Russian Ministry of Marine, more particularly with regard to the fleet under the command of Admiral Rojestvensky.
It is my subsequent observations and discoveries which compel me, greatly to my regret, to give a direct contradiction to the gallant Admiral’s version of what took place in the North Sea on the night of Trafalgar Day, 1904.
It is for that reason that I desire to exercise particular care in this part of my statement.
Such care is the more incumbent on me, inasmuch as I was requested by the British Government to furnish a confidential copy of my evidence in advance, for the use of the members of the international court which sat in Paris to inquire into this most mysterious affair.
The following chapters should be read, therefore, as the sworn depositions of a witness, and not as the carelessly worded account of a journalist or popular historian.
The electrocution of the murderer, Petrovitch, already described, furnished me with a valuable opportunity which I was quick to seize.
I have not extenuated this act, and I will not defend it. I content myself with recording that this man had been the principal instrument in promoting the Russo-Japanese war, and the principal obstacle to peace. In this he was acting as the paid agent of a foreign Power, and was therefore guilty of high treason to his own country. On these grounds my execution of him, although irregular at the time, has since been formally ratified by the highest tribunal of the Russian Empire, the Imperial Council of State.
A justification which I value still more, consists in the fact that the removal of this man proved the turning point in the history of the war.
Within a month of his death I had the satisfaction to be made the medium of an informal overture for peace. The negotiations thus opened have proceeded with great secrecy, but before these lines meet the public eye, I have every hope that the calamitous struggle in Manchuria will have been suspended indefinitely.
To return:
Owing to the secret life led by the deceased man, it was some time before his absence from his usual haunts excited remark.
When it became evident that something must have happened to him, people were still slow to suspect that he had come to a violent end. Many persons believed that he had been ruined by the ill-success of the war, and had gone into hiding from his creditors. Others supposed that he had been secretly arrested.
Some of his fellow-plotters in the Russian capital imagined that he had fled to Germany to escape the penalty of his treason. In Germany, on the other hand, I afterward learned, he was supposed to have been sent to Siberia by order of the Czar.
For weeks the “Disappearance of M. Petrovitch” was the general topic of discussion in the newspapers and in private circles; but no one came near guessing the truth.
There was one person who must have divined from the first what had happened. But she held her tongue.
So far as I could gather from the reports which continued to reach me from Fauchette, the Princess Y – had sunk into a lethargy after my evasion. She seemed to wish only to be left alone to brood, perhaps to mourn.
The only sign she gave was by depositing a wreath on the empty grave in the English cemetery, a wreath which bore the solitary word, “Remembrance.”
In the meanwhile I had gratifying evidence that the loss of the chief conspirator had completely disorganized the schemes of the plotters in the Ministry of Marine.
My first proceeding, after disconnecting the powerful battery which I had installed in my house for the purpose of the execution, was to summon my assistant Breuil.
With his aid, the corpse was stripped and sewn up in a sheet, together with some heavy weights. In the middle of the night it was committed to the waters of the Neva, almost within sight and sound of the fleet.
The papers which we found in his clothes were not numerous or important. But there was one which I thought worth preserving.
It was a passport, made out in the name of the deceased, issued by the Russian Foreign Office, and viséd by the German Ambassador. This passport I still have in my possession.
I now disclosed to my assistant a plan which had been in my own mind for some time, though, true to my principle of never making an unnecessary confidence, I had not previously mentioned it to him.
“I have decided,” I told him, “to assume the personality of Petrovitch.”
Breuil stared at me in consternation. It is only fair to say that he had not been with me very long.
I could see that some objection was trembling on the tip of his tongue. He had learned, however, that I expect my staff not to criticize, but to obey.
“You may speak,” I said indulgently, “if you have anything to say.”
“I was about to remark, sir, that you are not in the least like Petrovitch.”
“Think again,” I said mildly.
He gave me an intelligent look.
“You are much about the same height!” he exclaimed.
“Exactly.”
“But his friends, who see him every day – surely they cannot be deceived? And then his business – his correspondence – but perhaps you are able to feign handwriting?”
I smiled. The good Breuil had passed from one extreme to the other. Instead of doubting me, he was crediting me too much.
I proceeded to explain.
“No, as you very properly suggest, I could not hope to deceive Petrovitch’s friends, nor can I imitate his hand. But remember, that in a few days Petrovitch will have disappeared. What will have become of him, do you suppose?”
Breuil was still puzzled. I had to make my meaning still plainer.
“He will be in concealment – that is to say, in disguise.”
Breuil threw up his hands in a gesture of admiration.
“As the disguised Petrovitch I may manage to pass very well, more particularly as I shall be meeting people who have never seen the real Petrovitch.”
Breuil did not quite understand this last observation.
“I am going,” I exclaimed, “on board the Baltic Fleet.”
“Sir, you are magnificent!”
I frowned down his enthusiasm. Compliments are compliments only when they come from those who pay us, not from those whom we pay.
“Go and procure me the uniform of a superintendent of naval stores. And ascertain for me where Captain Vassileffsky usually passes his evenings.”
Captain Vassileffsky was the naval officer who had been present on the occasion when I was drugged at Petrovitch’s table.
CHAPTER XXVI
TRAPPED
The clock was striking eight as I entered the restaurant of the Two-Headed Eagle, in the seaport of Revel on the Gulf of Finland, about a week after the mysterious disappearance of Petrovitch had become the talk of Petersburg.
Picking out a table at which an officer in the uniform of a Russian naval captain was already seated, I went up to it, and sat down in front of him with the formal bow prescribed by etiquette in the circumstances.
The ships intended to sail to the relief of Port Arthur were lying at this time some at Revel and others at Libau on the Baltic. From time to time their departure was officially announced for a certain date, reviews were held, and one or two preliminary trips had been undertaken.
But each time some unseen obstacle was interposed, and M. Auguste continued to draw his weekly stipend.
Nevertheless it was beginning to be evident that the game of see-saw could not go on forever. Autumn was approaching, the nation was becoming impatient, and the scoffs of the foreign press were severely galling the naval pride of Russia.
I had picked up a certain amount of information in the capital itself, where a great number of the officers were on leave. But I wished to get in direct touch with the one man who, I believed, was most likely to be in the confidence of Petrovitch, and, finding there was no chance of his coming to Petersburg, I had been obliged to make the journey to Revel.
Vassileffsky acknowledged my bow with cordiality, at the same time fixing his dark, wicked eyes on me with a look which I well understood.
I was wearing the uniform which I had ordered my assistant to provide me with, and the Captain had been quick to take note of it.
It may be said that the most valuable part of a naval officer’s income in Russia is derived from the peculation of government stores. To carry on this lucrative system of plunder there is always a good understanding between officials of the Stores Department and the combatant officers.
Captain Vassileffsky now studied my face like a man expecting to receive some proposal of the kind. I, on my side, made it my business to say as little as possible to him till dinner was over.
Then I called for a magnum of champagne, and invited my companion to fill a tumbler.
He did so readily enough, and I gave him the toast,
“To the Emperor who wishes us well!”
Vassileffsky started, and gave me a penetrating look.
He did not venture to put a question to me, however, and contented himself with drinking the toast in silence.
Determined not to say anything as long as the Captain remained sober, I plied him with champagne in increasing quantities, while taking as little as possible myself.
On his side Vassileffsky was equally reserved. He saw, of course, that I had a special object in courting his friendship, and was cunning enough to let me make the first advance.
As soon as I thought the wine had had time to confuse his faculties, I leaned forward and whispered,
“I’ve got something to say to you about Petrovitch.”
The Captain looked at me eagerly.
“Do you know where he is?”
“Not so loud. Yes. He has had to disguise himself.”
I spoke in a muffled tone, which Vassileffsky imitated in his response.
“Where is he? I want to see him very badly.”
“I know. He wants to see you. He is here in Revel.”
“In Revel! Isn’t that dangerous?”
“It would be if he weren’t so well disguised. You, yourself, wouldn’t know him.”
Vassileffsky looked incredulous.
“I bet I should.”
“Done with you! What in?”
“A dozen magnums.”
“Pay for them, then. I’m Petrovitch.”
The Captain started, shook himself, and peered drunkenly into my face.
“I don’t believe it.”
“Read that then.”
I drew out the passport, and spread it before him. The Russian spelled his way through it, and nodded solemnly at the end.
“Yes, that’s all right. You must be Petrovitch, I suppose. But you don’t look like him.”
“Didn’t I tell you I was disguised. I had to clear out in a hurry. Some one’s been denouncing me to Nicholas.”
Vassileffsky looked frightened. His eye sought the door, as though he no longer felt at ease in my company.
“You needn’t be afraid,” I assured him. “No one suspects you.”
“Well, what do you want?” he asked sullenly.
“I want you to take me on board your ship.”
An angry frown crossed his face.
“You want me to hide you from the police!”
“Nonsense. The police are all right. They want me to get away. They could have put their hands on me long ago if they had wanted to.”
“Then why have you come here?”
“I told you. I want to have a talk with you about our plans.”
“The plan is all right. But I want to know when we’re to sail.”
“I’m doing all I can. It’s only a question of weeks now.”
Vassileffsky looked hard at me again, bent across the table, and whispered a word which I failed to understand.
Something in his face warned me that it was a password. I recovered myself from my momentary confusion and smiled.
“The word’s changed,” I said with an air of authority. “It’s North Sea and Canal.”
The Russian seemed satisfied.
“Well,” he said, stumbling to his feet, “if we’re going on board we’d better go.”
“Don’t forget the magnums,” I put in, as I rose in my turn.
The reckoning was settled, and the champagne ordered to follow us down to the boat.
Vassileffsky nearly lost his footing as we got out into the fresh air, and caught hold of my arm.
“You’ll have to lead me,” he said, speaking thickly. “Straight along the street, and down the first turning on the quay.”
We walked along, arm-in-arm, my companion appearing to become more helpless every minute.
As we emerged from the narrow lane which conducted us to the waterside, the lights of the harbor burst into view. There on the tide lay a long line of stately battleships, cruisers and dark, low-lying torpedo boats, their riding lights flashing and twinkling in a thousand reflections on the waves.
A drunken hail from the Captain was responded to by a respectful hail from a Russian petty officer, who was lounging at the head of some stone steps.
He came forward and assisted his commanding officer down and into the launch which waited below. I followed, and the bottles of champagne were handed in afterward.
Vassileffsky seized the tiller with more energy than he had seemed capable of, and headed the launch for a great battleship, the Beresina.
In a few minutes we were alongside. A smart landing stage and ladder brought us up on to the deck, and as soon as our feet touched it, Captain Vassileffsky, suddenly drawing himself up, said in distinct and sober tones,
“Consider yourself under arrest, if you please – ”
I was a prisoner on board a Russian man-of-war!
CHAPTER XXVII
THE BALTIC FLEET
Fortunately I am accustomed to face emergencies without losing my presence of mind.
The manner of Vassileffsky had prepared me for some display of suspicion on his part, though I hardly anticipated his procedure would be so theatrical.
Fixing him with my sternest look, I responded,
“Captain Vassileffsky, I do not think you quite understand what you are doing. I will talk to you in the morning, when you are more yourself.”
He drew back, considerably disconcerted.
“Very well, I will listen to what you have to say in the morning. In the meantime you will be under a guard.”
I shrugged my shoulders with a disdainful smile.
“Be good enough to let me see my quarters,” I said.
More and more abashed, the Captain summoned one of his officers, and gave him some instructions.
“Follow me, sir,” said the lieutenant. I walked after him with perfect self-possession.
“I do not wish to make a fuss to-night, as Captain Vassileffsky is not himself,” I said haughtily, as we drew out of hearing. “But you will understand that unless I receive an apology in the morning, I shall complain to his majesty the Czar, by whose orders I am here.”
The lieutenant looked badly frightened.
“It is not my fault, as you can see, sir. I am only obeying orders. Will you accept my own berth for the night, sir?”
I thanked him and entered a small, comfortably-fitted state-room. With profuse apologies, he turned the key and left me to my own reflections.
I slept soundly, rocked by the tide of the Finland Gulf.
In the morning my jailer came to wake me.
“Captain Vassileffsky presents his compliments, and asks you to breakfast with him in his cabin, in half an hour.”
This message was a welcome proof to me that my bluff had produced the desired effect. I accepted the invitation as if it was a matter of course.
I dressed, and went to the cabin where Vassileffsky awaited me.
“Are we friends or foes this morning?” I called out with a good-humored laugh, as I greeted him.
The Russian looked dull and nervous.
“I hope all will be well,” he muttered. “Let us have something to eat before we talk.”
He might have said, something to drink, for his own breakfast was mainly of champagne. I, myself, made a point of eating heartily, and drank only coffee.
“Now, Vassileffsky,” I said in authoritative tones, “to business. First of all, you want some money.”
It was a guess, but a fairly safe one. Without waiting for the astonished man to reply, I took out my pocket-book.
“How much can you do with till the fleet sails?” I asked, still in the same matter-of-fact tone.
Fairly nonplussed, the Captain blurted out,
“I should like two thousand.”
I shook my head.
“I can let you have only a thousand now, but you shall have the balance this day week.” I counted the thousand rubles, and handed them to him. “They are grumbling, rather, in Berlin over the expense.”
It was, of course, my object to give Vassileffsky no opening for a cross-examination, but to take it for granted that we were on confidential terms.
At the word “Berlin” he opened his eyes pretty wide.
“Does this money come from Germany?” he exclaimed, half-withdrawing his hand.
I affected surprise in my turn.
“You have not received any information at all, apparently! My message must have miscarried. Didn’t the Princess see you?”
Vassileffsky looked still more surprised. His demeanor taught me a good deal. I saw that Petrovitch had not trusted him very far. The financier had evidently kept all the threads of the intrigue in his own hands, as far as possible.
So much the better, I reflected. His removal would disorganize matters even more thoroughly than I had ventured to hope.
“What Princess?” the Captain asked.
“The Princess Y – , of course.”
He brightened up a little, as though this name, at all events, was familiar.
“No, she has not been here.”
“One can never trust these women,” I muttered aloud. “She has not been at all the same since the death of her Englishman.”
“Of Sterling, do you mean?”
“Yes. You heard of it, I suppose?”
Vassileffsky grinned.
“Rather sudden, wasn’t it?”
I smiled meaningly, as I retorted,
“You remember he fainted rather unexpectedly that night he dined with me.”
A look of relief broke out on Vassileffsky’s face, as I thus referred to an incident which he naturally supposed could be known only to Petrovitch.
“My dear fellow, I beg a thousand pardons for my stupid conduct last night,” he burst out. “But you must admit that your disguise is extraordinary.”
“Not a word!” I returned. “It is always better to err on the side of distrust. Besides, I wished to spend a night on your ship in any case. Your crew can be thoroughly depended on, if I am any judge.”
“They would bombard the Tower of London, if I gave the word,” boasted Vassileffsky.
It is extraordinary how widely the belief prevails on the Continent of Europe that the London Tower is still a fortress, charged with the protection of the British capital.
“At all events, they will not be frightened by the sight of the Union Jack?” I returned.
The Russian officer gave me an alarmed glance.
“You do not mean – you are not asking us to fire on the British fleet?”
“No, no,” I reassured him.
“Ah, that is all right. For the moment I confess you frightened me. They say we shall have to pass Admiral Beresford!”
“What are you prepared to do?” I asked, concealing my deep interest in the reply.
Vassileffsky’s manner became slightly reproachful.
“You did not bargain with me to attack an armed ship,” he said in the tone of one who reminds another of his agreement. “It was understood that we were to attack merchantmen, like the Vladivostockers.”
At last I had a direct confirmation of my suspicions.
“And what is the tone of the fleet generally?” I inquired.
“I have done my best to make them all of the same mind. They will do their best, depend on it. I think there will be a few English vessels mysteriously lost at sea during the next two or three months! The prize courts cannot always be depended on.”
By an effort I restrained my indignation at these atrocious hints. The Baltic Fleet was about to seek the open sea, secretly intending to miss no chance of sinking a British merchantman that should be unlucky enough to cross its path.
It was with a feeling of chagrin that I perceived it would be useless to send any message to Lord Bedale of what was in preparation. On certain subjects the British people are deaf and blind. They believe that all foreign statesmen are as high-minded as a Gladstone, and all foreign officials as scrupulous and truthful as the Chevalier Bayard himself.
Captain Vassileffsky continued,
“Our men are badly scared by reports of the Japanese plans. It is supposed that they have torpedo boats lurking in the English ports. Hull is said to be full of them.”
“Why, Hull?”
Vassileffsky gave me a wink.
“Hull is the great fishing center. Whole fleets of traders come out from there to the fishing banks in the North Sea. We are going to stir them up a bit.”
The outlines of the plot became every moment more clear.
“On what pretext?” I asked.
The Russian answered me without noticing that I was not so well informed as himself.
“Oh, we shall find pretexts enough, you bet. For one thing, we shall signal them to clear out of the way, and when they have their trawl nets down and can’t move! That will be lively. There will be a collision or two, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“But isn’t that against the rule of the road?”
Though not a seaman, I had always heard that a vessel in motion is bound to avoid one that is at rest. I knew, moreover, that a steamship was bound to make way for a sailing vessel.
Vassileffsky cursed the rule of the road.
“It will be a question of evidence,” he exclaimed. “My word against a dirty fisherman’s. What do you say?”
I pretended to be thoroughly satisfied. Still, knowing what I did of the Russian character, I had some hope that the Captain was boasting in order to impress me, and that he would not really dare to run down a British vessel within reach of the shores of England.
Our conversation was interrupted by a gun.
As the report died away, a junior officer ran down the companionway, helter-skelter, and burst into the cabin.
“Something’s up, sir,” he cried to his commander. “They are signaling from the Admiral’s ship.”
Vassileffsky darted up the steps and on to the bridge, and I followed.
The Baltic fleet presented a striking spectacle. Every vessel was busily reporting the signals from the flag ship, the launches were dashing to and fro, and there was every sign of bustle and activity.
The signal officer read out Admiral Rojestvensky’s order:
“The fleet will proceed to Libau to-day en route to the East. Anchors will be weighed at noon. By order of the Czar.”
M. Auguste had failed me at last!
With the frightful boasts of Vassileffsky still ringing in my ears, I felt that I must make one effort to stay its departure.
“This news compels me to return to Petersburg immediately,” I told the Captain. “Have the goodness to put me ashore at once.”
For a moment or two the Russian made no answer. I glanced at him curiously.
His face had gone suddenly livid. His limbs were trembling. He gave me the dull look of a man stupefied by fear.
“The Japanese!” he ejaculated in a thick voice.
I seized him by the arm.
“Are you pretending?” I whispered.
He gave me a savage glance.
“It’s true!” he said. “Those devils will be up to something. It’s all over with the fleet. No one believes we shall ever see Port Arthur.”
Grave and pre-occupied, I went ashore and caught a fast train to Petersburg.
It was late when I got to the little house on the Alexander Quay. The faithful Breuil received me with a serious face.
“Fauchette is here,” he announced.
“Fauchette?”
“Yes. She has some news for you.”
“Let me see her.”
I strode in front to my study, where I was immediately joined by the maid, who appeared not a little alarmed.
I never like to see my assistants agitated.
“Sit down, my good girl,” I said soothingly. “Do not be afraid; I know what pains you take to serve me. Now, what is it?”
“Madame has dismissed me.”
I had feared as much.
“On what grounds?”
“She gave none, except that she was leaving home.”
I pricked up my ears.
“Did she tell you where she was going?”
“Yes, to her estates in the country.”
“It was a lie, I suppose. She had come to suspect you, had she not?”
“Since Monsieur’s escape, I fear yes.”
“And have you ascertained – ?”
“The Princess has left Petersburg by the midday train for – ”
“For?” I broke in impatiently.
“For Berlin.”
I rang the bell. Breuil appeared.
“Have you got the tickets?” I asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“And my dress as a pilot of the Kiel Canal?”
“It is packed.”
“And what time does the next train leave?”
“In two hours from now.”
“Good. And now, my children, we will have supper.”