THE BOOK OF ALL-POWER

BY

EDGAR WALLACE

WARD, LOCK & CO. , LIMITEDLONDON AND MELBOURNE

_Made and printed in Great Britain by_WARD, LOCK & CO. , LIMITED, LONDON. 

POPULAR NOVELS

BY

EDGAR WALLACE

PUBLISHED BY

WARD, LOCK & CO. , LIMITED. 

_In Various Editions. _

SANDERS OF THE RIVERBONESBOSAMBO OF THE RIVERBONES IN LONDONTHE KEEPERS OF THE KING'S PEACETHE COUNCIL OF JUSTICETHE DUKE IN THE SUBURBSTHE PEOPLE OF THE RIVERDOWN UNDER DONOVANPRIVATE SELBYTHE ADMIRABLE CARFEWTHE MAN WHO BOUGHT LONDONTHE JUST MEN OF CORDOVATHE SECRET HOUSEKATE, PLUS TENLIEUTENANT BONESTHE ADVENTURES OF HEINEJACK O' JUDGMENTTHE DAFFODIL MYSTERYTHE NINE BEARSTHE BOOK OF ALL POWERMR. JUSTICE MAXELLTHE BOOKS OF BARTTHE DARK EYES OF LONDONCHICKSANDI, THE KING-MAKERTHE THREE OAK MYSTERYTHE FELLOWSHIP OF THE FROGBLUE HANDGREY TIMOTHYA DEBT DISCHARGEDTHOSE FOLK OF BULBORO'THE MAN WHO WAS NOBODYTHE GREEN RUSTTHE FOURTH PLAGUETHE RIVER OF STARS

ToHARRY HUGHES-ONSLOW

THE BOOK OF ALL-POWER

CONTENTS

CHAP. PAGE

 I INTRODUCING MALCOLM HAY 9 II A GUN-MAN REFUSES WORK 24 III THE GRAND DUCHESS IRENE 38 IV THE PRINCE WHO PLANNED 56 V THE RAID ON THE SILVER LION 67 VI PRINCE SERGANOFF PAYS THE PRICE 80 VII KENSKY OF KIEFF 96VIII THE GRAND DUKE IS AFFABLE 112 IX THE HAND AT THE WINDOW 126 X TERROR IN MAKING 139 XI THE COMMISSARY WITH THE CROOKED NOSE 152 XII IN THE PRISON OF ST. BASIL 163XIII CHERRY BIM MAKES A STATEMENT 176 XIV IN THE HOLY VILLAGE 191 XV THE RED BRIDE 198 XVI THE BOOK OF ALL-POWER 210 XVII ON THE ROAD 221XVIII THE MONASTERY OF ST. BASIL THE LEPER 233 XIX THE END OF BOOLBA 244 CHAPTER THE LAST 253

THE BOOK OF ALL-POWER

CHAPTER I

INTRODUCING MALCOLM HAY

If a man is not eager for adventure at the age of twenty-two, theenticement of romantic possibilities will never come to him. 

The chairman of the Ukraine Oil Company looked with a little amusementat the young man who sat on the edge of a chair by the chairman's desk, and noted how the eye of the youth had kindled at every freshdiscouragement which the chairman had put forward. Enthusiasm, reflectedthe elder man, was one of the qualities which were most desirable in theman who was to accept the position which Malcolm Hay was at that momentconsidering. 

"Russia is a strange country, " said Mr. Tremayne. "It is one of themystery places of the world. You hear fellows coming back from China whotell you amazing stories of the idiosyncrasies of the Chink. But I cantell you, from my own personal observations, that the Chinaman is anopen book in words of one syllable compared with the average Russianpeasant. By the way, you speak Russian, I understand?"

Hay nodded. 

"Oh, yes, sir, " he said, "I have been talking Russian ever since I wassixteen, and I speak both the dialects. "

"Good!" nodded Mr. Tremayne. "Now, all that remains for you to do is tothink both dialects. I was in Southern Russia attending to our wells fortwenty years. In fact, long before our wells came into being, and I canhonestly say that, though I am not by any means an unintelligent man, Iknow just as little about the Russian to-day as I did when I went there. He's the most elusive creature. You think you know him two days afteryou have met him. Two days later you find that you have changed all youropinions about him; and by the end of the first year, if you have kept acareful note of your observations and impressions in a diary, you willdiscover that you have three hundred and sixty-five differentviews--unless it happens to be a leap year. "

"What happens in a leap year?" asked the innocent Hay. 

"You have three hundred and sixty-six views, " said the solemn Mr. Tremayne. 

He struck a bell. 

"We shan't want you to leave London for a week or two, " he said, "and inthe meantime you had better study up our own special literature. We cangive you particulars about the country--that part of the country inwhich the wells are situated--which you will not find in the guidebooks. There are also a few notable personages whom it will be advisable foryou to study. "

"I know most of them, " said the youth with easy confidence. "As a matterof fact, I got the British Consul to send me a local directory andswotted it. "

Mr. Tremayne concealed a smile. 

"And what did the local directory say about Israel Kensky?" he askedinnocently. 

"Israel Kensky?" said the puzzled youth. "I don't remember that name. "

"It is the only name worth remembering, " said the other dryly, "and, bythe way, you'll be able to study him in a strange environment, for he isin London at this moment. "

A clerk had answered the bell and stood waiting in the doorway. 

"Get Mr. Hay those books and pamphlets I spoke to you about, " saidTremayne. "And, by the way, when did M. Kensky arrive?"

"To-day, " said the clerk. 

Tremayne nodded. 

"In fact, " he said, "London this week will be filled with people whosenames are not in your precious directory, and all of whom you shouldknow. The Yaroslavs are paying a sort of state visit. "

"The Yaroslavs?" repeated Hay. "Oh, of course----"

"The Grand Duke and his daughter, " added Mr. Tremayne. 

"Well, " smiled the young man, "I'm not likely to meet the Grand Duke orthe Grand Duchess. I understand the royal family of Russia is a littleexclusive. "

"Everything is likely in Russia, " said the optimistic Mr. Tremayne. "Ifyou come back in a few years' time and tell me that you've beenappointed an admiral in the Russian Navy, or that you've married theGrand Duchess Irene Yaroslav, I shall not for one moment disbelieve you. At the same time, if you come back from Russia without your ears, thesame having been cut off by your peasant neighbours to propitiate theghost of a martyr who died six hundred years ago, I shall not besurprised either. That is the country you're going to--and I envy you. "

"I'm a little surprised at myself, " admitted Malcolm, "it seems almostincredible. Of course, sir, I have a lot to learn and I'm not placingtoo much reliance upon my degree. "

"Your science degree?" said Tremayne. "It may be useful, but a divinitydegree would have been better. "

"A divinity degree?"

Tremayne nodded. 

"It is religion you want in Russia, and especially local religion. You'll have to do a mighty lot of adapting when you're out there, Hay, and I don't think you could do better than get acquainted with the localsaints. You'll find that the birth or death of four or five of them arecelebrated every week, and that your workmen will take a day's holidayfor each commemoration. If you're not pretty smart, they'll whip in afew saints who have no existence, and you'll get no work done atall--that will do. "

He ended the interview with a jerk of his head, and as the young man gotto his feet to go, added: "Come back again to-morrow. I think you oughtto see Kensky. "

"Who is he?" asked Hay courteously. "A local magnate?"

"In a sense he is and in a sense he's not, " said the careful Mr. Tremayne. "He's a big man locally, and from a business point of view, Isuppose he is a magnate. However, you'll be able to judge for yourself. "

Malcolm Hay went out into the teeming streets of London, walking on air. It was his first appointment--he was earning money, and it seemedrather like a high-class dream. 

In Maida Vale there are many little side streets, composed of shabbyhouses covered with discoloured stucco, made all the more desolate andgloomy in appearance by the long and narrow strip of "garden" which runsout to the street. In one of these, devoted to the business of aboarding-house, an old man sat at a portable bench, under the oneelectric light which the economical landlady had allowed him. The roomwas furnished in a typically boarding-house style. 

But both the worker at the bench, and the woman who sat by the table, her chin on her palms, watching him, seemed unaffected by the poverty oftheir surroundings. The man was thin and bent of back. As he crouchedover the bench, working with the fine tools on what was evidentlyintended to be the leather cover of a book, his face lay in the shadow, and only the end of his straggling white beard betrayed his age. 

Presently he looked up at the woman and revealed himself as a hawk-nosedman of sixty. His face was emaciated and seamed, and his dark eyes shonebrightly. His companion was a woman of twenty-four, obviously of theJewish type, as was the old man; what good looks she possessed weremarred by the sneer on her lips. 

"If these English people see you at work, " she said presently, "theywill think you are some poor man, little father. "

Israel Kensky did not stop his work. 

"What book are you binding?" she asked after awhile. "Is it the Talmudwhich Levi Leviski gave you?"

The old man did not answer, and a dark frown gathered on the woman'sheavy face. You might not guess that they were father and daughter, yetsuch was the case. But between Sophia Kensky and her father there wasneither communion of spirit nor friendship. It was amazing that sheshould accompany him, as she did, wherever he went, or that he should becontent to have her as his companion. The gossips of Kieff had it thatneither would trust the other out of sight; and it may be that there wassomething in this, though a stronger motive might be suspected in so faras Sophia's actions were concerned. 

Presently the old man put down his tools, blinked, and pushed back hischair. 

"It is a design for a great book, " he said, and chuckled hoarsely. "Abook with steel covers and wonderful pages. " He smiled contemptuously. "The Book of All-Power, " he said. 

"Little father, there are times when I think you are mad. For how canyou know the secrets which are denied to others? And you who write sobadly, how can you fill a great book with your writings?"

"The Book of All-Power, " repeated the man, and the smile on the woman'sface grew broader. 

"A wonderful book!" she scoffed, "filled with magic and mystery andspells--do you wonder that we of Kieff suspect you?"

"We of Kieff?" he repeated mockingly, and she nodded. 

"We of Kieff, " she said. 

"So you are with the rabble, Sophia!" He lifted one shoulder in acontemptuous little gesture. 

"You are also of the rabble, Israel Kensky, " she said. "Do you take yourdinner in the Grand Duke's palace?"

He was gathering together the tools on the table, and methodicallyfitting each graver into a big leather purse. 

"The Grand Duke does not stone me in the street, nor set fire to myhouses, " he said. 

"Nor the Grand Duchess, " said the girl meaningly, and he looked at herfrom under his lowered brows. 

"The Grand Duchess is beyond the understanding of such as you, " he saidharshly, and the woman laughed. 

"There will come a day when she will be on her knees to me, " she saidprophetically, and she got up from the table with a heavy yawn. "That Ipromise myself, and with this promise I put myself to sleep everynight. "

She went on and she spoke without heat. 

"I see her sweeping my floors and eating the bread I throw to her. "

Israel Kensky had heard all this before, and did not even smile. 

"You are an evil woman, Sophia, " he said. "God knows how such a onecould be a daughter of mine. What has the Grand Duchess done to you thatyou should harbour such venom?"

"I hate her because she is, " said the woman evenly. "I hate her not forthe harm she has done me, but for the proud smile she gives to herslaves. I hate her because she is high and I am low, and because all thetime she is marking the difference between us. "

"You are a fool, " said Israel Kensky as he left the room. 

"Perhaps I am, " said the woman, his daughter. "Are you going to bednow?"

He turned in the doorway. 

"I am going to my room. I shall not come down again, " he said. 

"Then I will sleep, " she yawned prodigiously. "I hate this town. "

"Why did you come?" he asked. "I did not want you. "

"I came because you did not want me, " said Sophia Kensky. 

Israel went to his room, closed the door and locked it. He listened andpresently he heard the sound of his daughter's door close also and heardthe snap of the key as it turned. But it was a double snap, and he knewthat the sound was intended for him and that the second click was theunlocking of the door. She had locked and unlocked it in one motion. Hewaited, sitting in an arm-chair before a small fire, for ten minutes, and then, rising, crossed the room softly and switched out the light. There was a transom above the door, so that anybody in the passageoutside could tell whether his light was on or off. Then he resumed hisseat, spreading his veined hands to the fire, and listened. 

He waited another quarter of an hour before he heard a soft creak andthe sound of breathing outside the door. Somebody was standing therelistening. The old man kept his eyes fixed on the fire, but his senseswere alive to every sound. Again he heard the creaking, this timelouder. A jerry-built house in Maida Vale does not offer the bestassistance to the furtive business in which Sophia Kensky was engaged. Another creak, this time farther away and repeated at intervals, toldhim that she was going down the stairs. He walked to the window andgently pulled up the blind, taking his station so that he could commanda view of the narrow strip of garden. Presently his vigil was rewarded. He saw her dark figure walk along the flagged pavement, open the gateand disappear into the darkened street. 

Israel Kensky went back to his chair, stirred the fire and settled downto a long wait, his lined face grave and anxious. 

The woman had turned to the right and had walked swiftly to the end ofthe street. The name of that street, or its pronunciation, were beyondher. She neither spoke English, nor was she acquainted with thetopography of the district in which she found herself. She slowed herpace as she reached the main road and a man came out of the shadows tomeet her. 

"Is it you, little mother?" he asked in Russian. 

"Thank God you're here! Who is this?" asked Sophia breathlessly. 

"Boris Yakoff, " said the other, "I have been waiting for an hour, and itis very cold. "

"I could not get away before, " she said as she fell in beside him. "Theold man was working with his foolery and it was impossible to get him togo to bed. Once or twice I yawned, but he took no notice. "

"Why has he come to London?" asked her companion. "It must be somethingimportant to bring him away from his money-bags. "

To this the woman made no reply. Presently she asked:

"Do we walk? Is there no droski or little carriage?"

"Have patience, have patience!" grinned the man good humouredly. "Herein London we do things in grand style. We have an auto-car for you. Butit was not wise to bring it so close to your house, little mother. Theold man----"

"Oh, finish with the old man, " she said impatiently; "do not forget thatI am with him all the day. "

The antipathy between father and daughter was so well known that the manmade no apology for discussing the relationship with that franknesswhich is characteristic of the Russian peasant. Nor did Sophia Kenskyresent the questions of a stranger, nor hesitate to unburden herself ofher grievances. The "auto-car" proved to be a very common-placetaxi-cab, though a vehicle of some luxury to Yakoff. 

"They say he practises magic, " said that garrulous man, as the taxi goton its way; "also that he bewitches you. "

"That is a lie, " said the woman indifferently: "he frightens mesometimes, but that is because I have here"--she tapped herforehead--"a memory which is not a memory. I seem to remember somethingjust at the end of a thread, and I reach for it, and lo! it is gone!"

"That is magic, " said Yakoff gravely. "Evidently he practises his spellsupon you. Tell me, Sophia Kensky, is it true that you Jews use the bloodof Christian children for your beastly ceremonies?"

The woman laughed. 

"What sort of man are you that you believe such things?" she askedcontemptuously. "I thought all the comrades in London were educated?"

Yakoff made a little clicking noise with his mouth to betray hisannoyance. And well he might resent this reflection upon his education, for he held a university degree and had translated six revolutionaryRussian novels into English and French. This, he explained with somedetail, and the girl listened with little interest. She was notsurprised that an educated man should believe the fable of humansacrifices, which had gained a certain currency in Russia. Only itseemed to her just a little inexplicable. 

The cab turned out of the semi-obscurity of the side street into abrilliantly lighted thoroughfare and bowled down a broad and busy road. A drizzle of rain was falling and blurred the glass; but even had thewindows been open, she could not have identified her whereabouts. 

"To what place are you taking me?" she asked. "Where is the meeting?"

Yakoff lowered his voice to a husky whisper. 

"It is the café of the Silver Lion, in a place called Soho, " he said. "Here we meet from day to day and dream of a free Russia. We also playbagatelle. " He gave the English name for the latter. "It is a club and arestaurant. To-night it is necessary that you should be here, SophiaKensky, because of the great happenings which must follow. "

She was silent for awhile, then she asked whether it was safe, and helaughed. 

"Safe!" he scoffed. "There are no secret police in London. This is afree country, where one may do as one wishes. No, no, Sophia Kensky, benot afraid. "

"I am not afraid, " she answered, "but tell me, Yakoff, what is thisgreat meeting about?"

"You shall learn, you shall learn, little sister, " said Yakoffimportantly. 

He might have added that he also was to learn, for as yet he was inignorance. 

They drove into a labyrinth of narrow streets and stopped suddenlybefore a doorway. There was no sign of a restaurant, and Yakoffexplained, before he got out of the cab, that this was the backentrance to the Silver Lion, and that most of the brethren who used theclub also used this back door. 

He dismissed the cab and pressed a bell in the lintel of the door. Presently it was opened and they passed in unchallenged. They were in asmall hallway, lighted with a gas-jet. There was a stairway leading tothe upper part of the premises, and a narrower stairway, also lighted bygas, at the foot leading to the cellar; and it was down the latter thatYakoff moved, followed by the girl. 

They were now in another passage, whitewashed and very orderly. Agas-jet lit this also, and at one end the girl saw a plain, wooden door. To this Yakoff advanced and knocked. A small wicket, set in the panel, was pushed aside, and after a brief scrutiny by the door's custodian, itwas opened and the two entered without further parley. 

CHAPTER II

A GUN-MAN REFUSES WORK

It was a big underground room, the sort of basement dining-room onefinds in certain of the cafés in Soho, and its decorations and furniturewere solid and comfortable. There were a dozen men in thisinnocent-looking saloon when the girl entered. They were standing abouttalking, or sitting at the tables playing games. The air was blue withtobacco smoke. 

Her arrival seemed to be the signal for the beginning of a conference. Four small tables were drawn from the sides and placed together, and ina few seconds she found herself one of a dozen that sat about the board. 

The man who seemed to take charge of the proceedings she did not know. He was a Russian--a big, clean-shaven man, quietly and evenwell-dressed. His hair was flaming red, his nose was crooked. It wasthis crooked nose which gave her a clue to his identity. She rememberedin Kieff, where physical peculiarities could not pass unnoticed, somereference to "twist nose, " and racked her brains in an effort to recallwho that personage was. That he knew her he very quickly showed. 

"Sophia Kensky, " he said, "we have sent for you to ask you why yourfather is in London. "

"If you know my father, " she replied, "you know also that I, hisdaughter, do not share his secrets. "

The man at the head of the table nodded. 

"I know him, " he said grimly, "also I know you, Sophia. I have seen youoften at the meetings of our society in Kieff. "

Again she frowned, trying to recall his name and where she had seen him. It was not at any of the meetings of the secret society--of that she wassure. He seemed to read her thoughts, for he laughed--a deep, thunderouslaugh which filled the underground room with sound. 

"It is strange that you do not know me, " he said, "and yet I have seenyou a hundred times, and you have seen me. "

A light dawned on her. 

"Boolba, the _buffet-schek_ of the Grand Duke!" she gasped. 

He nodded, absurdly pleased at the recognition. 

"I do not attend the meetings in Kieff, little sister, for reasons whichyou will understand. But here in London, where I have come in advanceof Yaroslav, it is possible. Now, Sophia Kensky, you are a proved friendof our movement?"

She nodded, since the statement was in the way of a question. 

"It is known to you, as to us, that your father, Israel Kensky, is afriend of the Grand Duchess. "

Boolba, the President, saw the sullen look on her face and drew his ownconclusions, even before she explained her antipathy to the young girlwho held that exalted position. 

"It is a mystery to me, Boolba, " she said, "for what interest can thisgreat lady have in an old Jew?"

"The old Jew is rich, " said Boolba significantly. 

"So also is Irene Yaroslav, " said the girl. "It is not for money thatshe comes. "

"It is not for money, " agreed the other, "it is for something else. Whenthe Grand Duchess Irene was a child, she was in the streets of Kieff oneday in charge of her nurse. It happened that some Caucasian soldiersstationed in the town started a pogrom against the Jews. The soldierswere very drunk; they were darting to and fro in the street on theirlittle horses, and the nurse became frightened and left the child. Yourfather was in hiding, and the soldiers were searching for him; yet, whenhe saw the danger of the Grand Duchess, he ran from his hiding-place, snatched her up under the hoofs of the horses, and bore her away intohis house. "

"I did not know this, " said Sophia, listening open-mouthed. Her fatherhad never spoken of the incident, and the curious affection which thishigh-born lady had for the old usurer of Kieff had ever been a source ofwonder to her. 

"You know it now, " said Boolba. "The Grand Duke has long since forgottenwhat he owes to Israel Kensky, but the Grand Duchess has not. Therefore, she comes to him with all her troubles--and that, Sophia Kensky, is whywe have sent for you. "

There was a silence. 

"I see, " she said at last, "you wish me to spy upon Israel Kensky andtell you all that happens. "

"I want to know all that passes between him and the Grand Duchess, " saidBoolba. "She comes to London to-morrow with her father, and it iscertain she will seek out Israel Kensky. Every letter that passesbetween them must be opened. "

"But----" she began. 

"There is no 'but, '" roared Boolba. "Hear and obey; it is ordered!"

He turned abruptly to the man on his left. 

"You understand, Yaroslav arrives in London to-morrow. It is desirablethat he should not go away. "

"But, but, Excellency, " stammered the man on his left, "here in London!"

Boolba nodded. 

"But, Excellency, " wailed the man, "in London we are safe; it is the onerefuge to which our friends can come. If such a thing should happen, what would be our fate? We could not meet together. We should be houndeddown by the police from morning until night; we should be deported--itwould be the ruin of the great movement. "

"Nevertheless, it is an order, " said Boolba doggedly; "this is a matterbeyond the cause. It will gain us powerful protectors at the court, andI promise you that, though the commotion will be great, yet it will notlast for very long, and you will be left undisturbed. "

"But----" began one of the audience, and Boolba silenced him with agesture. 

"I promise that none of you shall come to harm, my little pigeons, andthat you shall not be concerned in this matter. "

"But who will do it, Excellency?" asked another member. 

"That is too important to be decided without a meeting of all thebrethren. For my part, I would not carry out such an order unless Ireceived the instructions of our President. "

"I promise that none of you shall take a risk, " sneered Boolba. "Nowspeak, Yakoff!"

The man who had accompanied Sophia Kensky smiled importantly at thecompany, then turned to Sophia. 

"Must I say this before Sophia Kensky?" he asked. 

"Speak, " said Boolba. "We are all brothers and sisters, and none willbetray you. "

Yakoff cleared his throat. 

"When your Excellency wrote to me from Kieff, asking me to find a man, Iwas in despair, " he began--an evidently rehearsed speech, "I tore myhair, I wept----"

"Tell us what you have done, " said the impatient Boolba. "For what doesit matter, in the name of the saints and the holy martyrs" (everyone atthe table, including Boolba, crossed himself) "whether your hair wastorn or your head was hammered?"

"It was a difficult task, Excellency, " said Yakoff in a more subduedtone, "but Providence helped me. There is a good comrade of ours who isengaged in punishing the bourgeoisie by relieving them of theirgoods----"

"A thief, yes, " said Boolba. 

"Through him I learnt that a certain man had arrived in England and wasin hiding. This man is a professional assassin. "

They looked at him incredulously, all except Boolba, who had heard thestory before. 

"An assassin?" said one. "Of what nationality?"

"American, " said Yakoff, and there was a little titter of laughter. 

"It is true, " interrupted Boolba. "This man, whom Yakoff has found, iswhat is known in New York as a gun-man. He belongs to a gang which washunted down by the police, and our comrade escaped. "

"But an American!" persisted one of the unconvinced. 

"An American, " said Yakoff. "This man is desired by the police on thisside, and went in hiding with our other comrade, who recognized him. "

"A gun-man, " said Boolba thoughtfully, and he used the English word withsome awkwardness. "A gun-man. If he would only--is he here?" hedemanded, looking up. 

Yakoff nodded. 

"Does he know----"

"I have told him nothing, Excellency, " said Yakoff, rising from thetable with alacrity, "except to be here, near the entrance to the club, at this hour. Shall I bring him down?"

Boolba nodded, and three minutes later, into this queer assembly, something of a fish out of water and wholly out of his element, strodeCherry Bim, that redoubtable man. 

He was a little, man, stoutly built and meanly dressed. He had a fat, good-humoured face and a slight moustache, and eyes that seemed laughingall the time. 

Despite the coldness of the night, he wore no waistcoat, and as aprotest against the conventions he had dispensed with a collar. As hestood there, belted about his large waist, a billycock hat on the backof his head, he looked to be anything from a broken-down publican to anout-of-work plumber. 

He certainly did not bear the impress of gun-man. 

If he was out of his element, he was certainly not out of conceit withhimself. He gave a cheery little nod to every face that was turned tohim, and stood, his hands thrust through his belt, his legs wide apart, surveying the company with a benevolent smile. 

"Good evening, ladies and gents, " he said. "Shake hands with Cherry Bim!Bim on my father's side and Cherry by christening--Cherry Bim, namedafter the angels. " And he beamed again. 

This little speech, delivered in English, was unintelligible to themajority of those present, including Sophia Kensky, but Yakofftranslated it. Solemnly he made a circuit of the company and as solemnlyshook hands with every individual, and at last he came to Boolba; andonly then did he hesitate for a second. 

Perhaps in that meeting there came to him some premonition of thefuture, some half-revealed, half-blurred picture of prophecy. Perhapsthat picture was one of himself, lying in the darkness on the roof ofthe railway carriage, and an obscene Boolba standing erect in amotor-car on the darkened station, waving his rage, ere the three quickshots rang out. 

Cherry Bim confessed afterwards to a curious shivery sensation at hisspine. The hesitation was only for a second, and then his hand grippedthe big hand of the self-constituted chairman. 

"Now, gents and ladies, " he said, with a comical little bow towardsSophia, "I understand you're all good sports here, and I'm telling youthat I don't want to stay long. I'm down and out, and I'm free toconfess it, and any of you ladies and gents who would like to grubstakea stranger in a foreign land, why, here's your chance. I'm open to takeon any kind of job that doesn't bring me into conspicuous relationshipwith the bulls--bulls, ladies and gentlemen, being New York forpolicemen. "

Then Boolba spoke, and he spoke in English, slow but correct. 

"Comrade, " he said, "do you hate tyrants?"

"If he's a copper, " replied Mr. Bim mistakenly. "Why, he's just aspopular with me as a hollow tooth at an ice-cream party. "

"What does he say?" asked the bewildered Boolba, who could not followthe easy flow of Mr. Bim's conversation, and Yakoff translated to thebest of his ability. 

And then Boolba, arresting the interruption of the American, explained. It was a long explanation. It dealt with tyranny and oppression andother blessed words dear to the heart of the revolutionary; it concernedmillions of men and hundreds of millions of men and women in chains, under iron heels, and the like; and Mr. Bim grew more and more hazy, forhe was not used to the parabole, the allegory, or the metaphor. Buttowards the end of his address, Boolba became more explicit, and, as hisemotions were moved, his English a little more broken. 

Mr. Bim became grave, for there was no mistaking the task which had beenset him. 

"Hold hard, mister, " he said. "Let's get this thing right. There's a guyyou want to croak. Do I get you right?"

Again Mr. Yakoff translated the idioms, for Yakoff had not lived on theedge of New York's underworld without acquiring some knowledge of itslanguage. 

Boolba nodded. 

"We desire him killed, " he said. "He is a tyrant, an oppressor----"

"Hold hard, " said Bim. "I want to see this thing plain. You're going tocroak this guy, and I'm the man to do it? Do I get you?"

"That is what I desire, " said Boolba, and Bim shook his head. 

"It can't be done, " he said. "I'm over here for a quiet, peaceful life, and anyway, I've got nothing on this fellow. I'm not over here to get mypicture in the papers. It's a new land to me--why, if you put me inPiccadilly Circus I shouldn't know which way to turn to get out of it!Anyway, that strong arm stuff is out so far as I'm concerned. "

"What does he say?" said Boolba again, and again Yakoff translated. 

"I thought you were what you call a gun-man, " said Boolba with a curl ofhis lip. "I did not expect you to be frightened. "

"There's gun-men and gun-men, " said Cherry Bim, unperturbed by thepatent sarcasm. "And then there's me. I never drew a gun on a man in mylife that didn't ask for it, or in the way of business. No, sirree. Youcan't hire Cherry Bim to do a low, vulgar murder. "

His tone was uncompromising and definite. Boolba realized that he couldnot pursue his argument with any profit to himself, and that if he wereto bring this unwilling agent to his way of thinking a new line wouldhave to be taken. 

"You will not be asked to take a risk for nothing, " he said. "I amauthorized to pay you twenty thousand roubles, that is, two thousandpounds in your money----"

"Not mine, " interrupted Bim. "It's ten thousand dollars you're trying tosay. Well, even that doesn't tempt me. It's not my game, anyway, " hesaid, pulling up a chair and sitting down in the most friendly manner. "And don't think you're being original when you offer me thiscommission. I've had it offered me before in New York City, and I'vealways turned it down, though I know my way to safety blindfolded. That's all there is to it, gentlemen--and ladies, " he added. 

"So you refuse?" Neither Boolba's voice nor his manner was pleasant. 

"That's about the size of it, " said Cherry Bim, rising. "I'm a grafter, I admit it. There ain't hardly anything I wouldn't do from smashing abank downwards, to turn a dishonest penny. But, gents, I'm short of thenecessary nerve, inclination, lack of morals, and general ungodliness, to take on murder in the first, second, or third degree. "

"You have courage, my friend, " said Boolba significantly. "You do notsuppose we should take you into our confidence and let you go awayagain so easily?"

Mr. Bim's smile became broader. 

"Gents, I won't deceive you, " he said. "I expected a rough house andprepared for it. Watch me!"

He extended one of his hands in the manner of a conjurer and with theother pulled up the sleeve above the wrist. He turned the hands over, waggling the fingers as though he were giving a performance, and theywatched him curiously. 

"There's nothing there, is there?" said Cherry Bim, beaming at thecompany, "and yet there is something there. Look!"

No eyes were sharp enough to follow the quick movement of his hand. Nonesaw it drop or rise again. There was a slur of movement, and then, inthe hand which had been empty, was a long-barrelled Colt. Cherry Bim, taking no notice of the sensation he created, tossed the revolver to theceiling and caught it again. 

"Now, gents, I don't know whether you're foolish or only just crazy. Getaway from that door, Hector, " he said to a long-haired man who stoodwith folded arms against the closed door. And "Hector, " whose name wasNickolo Novoski Yasserdernski in real life, made haste to obey. 

"Wait a bit, " said the careful gun-man. "That's a key in your waistcoatpocket, I guess. " He thrust the barrel of his revolver against theother's side, and the long-haired man doubled up with a gasp. But CherryBim meant no mischief. The barrel of the gun clicked against the end ofa key, and when Cherry Bim drew his revolver away the key was hanging toit!

"Magnetic, " the gun-man kindly explained; "it is a whim of mine. "

With no other words he passed through the door and slammed it behindhim. 

CHAPTER III

THE GRAND DUCHESS IRENE

Israel Kensky was dozing before the fire when the sound of the creakingstair woke him. He walked softly to the door and listened, and presentlyhe heard the steps of his daughter passing along the corridor. He openedthe door suddenly and stepped out, and she jumped back with a little cryof alarm. There were moments when she was terribly afraid of her father, and such a moment came to her now. 

"Are you not asleep, Israel Kensky?" she faltered. 

"I could not sleep, " replied the other, in so mild a tone that she tookcourage. "Come into my room. I wish to speak to you. "

He did not ask her where she had been, or to explain why, at threeo'clock in the morning, she was dressed for the street, and she felt itnecessary to offer some explanation. 

"You wonder why I am dressed?" she said. 

"I heard a great noise in the street, and went out to see----"

"What does it matter?" said Israel Kensky. "Save your breath, littledaughter. Why should you not walk in the street if you desire?"

He switched on the light to augment the red glow which came from thefire. 

"Sit down, Sophia, " he said, "I have been waiting for you. I heard yougo out. "

She made no reply. There was fear in her eyes, and all the time she wasconscious of many unpleasant interviews with her father--interviewswhich had taken place in Kieff and in other towns--the details of whichshe could never recall. And she was filled with a dread of somehappening to which she could not give form or description. He saw hershifting in her chair and smiled slowly. 

"Get me the little box which is on my dressing-table, Sophia Kensky, " hesaid. 

He was seated by the fire, his hands outstretched to the red coal. Aftera moment's hesitation she got up, went to the dressing-table, andbrought back a small box. It was heavy and made of some metal over whicha brilliant black enamel had been laid. 

"Open the box, Sophia Kensky, " said the old man, not turning his head. 

She had a dim recollection that she had been asked to do this before, but again could not remember when or in what circumstances. She openedthe lid and looked within. On a bed of black velvet was a tiny convexmirror, about the size of a sixpence. She looked at this, and was stilllooking at it when she walked slowly back to her chair and sat down. Ithad such a fascination, this little mirror, that she could not tear hereyes away. 

"Close your eyes, " said Kensky in a monotonous voice, and she obeyed. "You cannot open them, " said the old man, and she shook her head andrepeated:

"I cannot open them. "

"Now you shall tell me, Sophia Kensky, where you went this night. "

In halting tones she told him of her meeting with Yakoff, of their walk, of the cab, of the little door in the back street, and the stone stairsthat led to the whitewashed passage; and then she gave, as near as sheknew, a full account of all that had taken place. Only when she came todescribe Bim and to tell of what he said, did she flounder. Bim hadspoken in a foreign language, and the translation of Yakoff had conveyedvery little to her. But in this part of the narrative the old man wasless interested. Again and again he returned to Boolba and the plot. 

"What hand will kill the Grand Duke?" he asked, not once but manytimes, and invariably she answered:

"I do not know. "

"On whose behalf does Boolba act?" asked the old man. "Think, SophiaKensky! Who will give this foreigner twenty thousand roubles?"

"I do not know, " she answered again. 

Presently a note of distress was evident in her voice, and Israel Kenskyrose up and took the box from her hand. 

"You will go to bed, Sophia Kensky, " he said slowly and deliberately, "and to-morrow morning, when you wake, you shall not remember anythingthat happened after you came into this house to-night. You shall notremember that I spoke to you or that I asked you to look in the littlebox. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Israel Kensky, " she replied slowly, and walked with weary feetfrom the room. 

Israel Kensky listened and heard her door click, then closed his own, and, sitting at a table, began to write quickly. He was still writingwhen the grey dawn showed in his windows at six o'clock. He blotted thelast letter and addressed an envelope to "The Most Excellent andIllustrious Highness the Grand Duchess Irene Yaroslav" before, withouttroubling to undress, he sank down upon his bed into a sleep ofexhaustion. 

 * * * * *

Malcolm Hay had an appointment with Mr. Tremayne on the morning that sawIsrael Kensky engaged in frantic letter-writing. It was about Kenskythat Tremayne spoke. 

"He has arrived in London, " he said, "and is staying in Colbury Terrace, Maida Vale. I think you had better see him, because, as I told you, heis a local big-wig and may be very useful to you. Our wells, as youknow, are about thirty miles outside Kieff, which is the nearest bigtown, so you may be seeing him pretty often. Also, by the way, he is ouragent. If you have any trouble with Government officials you must seeKensky, who can generally put things square. "

"I believe his daughter is with him, " Mr. Tremayne went on, "but I knowvery little about her. Yet another neighbour of yours arrives by specialtrain at midday. "

"Another neighbour of mine?" repeated Malcolm with a smile. "And who isthat?"

"The Grand Duke Yaroslav. I don't suppose you'll have very much to dowith him, but he's the King Pippin in your part of the world. "

A clerk came in with a typewritten sheet covered with Russiancharacters. 

"Here's your letter of introduction to Kensky. He knows just as muchEnglish as you will want him to know. "

When Malcolm presented himself at the lodgings, it was to discover thatthe old Jew had gone out, and had left no message as to the time hewould return. Since Malcolm was anxious to meet this importantpersonage, he did not leave his letter, but went into the City to lunchwith an old college chum. In the afternoon he decided to make his call, and only remembered, as he was walking up the Strand, that he hadintended satisfying his curiosity as to that "other neighbour" of his, the Grand Duke Yaroslav. 

There was a little crowd about Charing Cross Station, though it wasnearly two hours after midday when the Yaroslavs were due; and he was todiscover, on inquiry of a policeman, that the cause of this publiccuriosity had been the arrival of two royal carriages. 

"Some Russian prince or other, " said the obliging bobby. "The boat waslate, and--here they come!"

Malcolm was standing on the side-walk in the courtyard of Charing CrossStation when the two open landaus drove out through the archway. In thefirst was a man a little over middle age, wearing a Russian uniform; butMalcolm had no eyes for him--it was for the girl who sat by his side, erect, haughty, almost disdainful, with her splendid beauty, andapparently oblivious to all that was being said to her by the smilingyoung man who sat on the opposite seat. 

As the carriage came abreast and the postilions reined in their mountsbefore turning into the crowded Strand, the girl turned her head for asecond and her eyes seemed to rest on Malcolm. 

Instinctively he lifted his hat from his head, but it was not the girlwho returned his salutation, but the stiff figure of the elderly man ather side who raised his hand with an automatic gesture. Only for asecond, and then she swept out of view, and Malcolm heaved a long, deepsigh. 

"Some dame!" said a voice at his side. "Well, I'm glad I saw him, anyway. "

Malcolm looked down at the speaker. He was a stout little man, who worehis hard felt hat at a rakish angle. The butt of a fat cigar wasclenched between his teeth, and his genial eyes met Malcolm's with aninviting frankness which was irresistible. 

"That was his Grand Nibs, wasn't it?" asked the man, and Malcolm smiled. 

"That was the Grand Duke, I think, " he said. 

"And who was the dame?"

"The dame?"

"I mean the lady, the young peacherino--gee! She was wonderful!"

Malcolm shared his enthusiasm but was not prepared to express himselfwith such vigour. 

"That girl, " said his companion, speaking with evident sincerity, "iswasted--what a face for a beauty chorus!"

Malcolm laughed. He was not a very approachable man, but there wassomething about this stranger which broke down all barriers. 

"Well, I'm glad I've seen him, " said Mr. Cherry Bim again emphatically. "I wonder what he's done. "

Malcolm turned to move off, and the little man followed his example. 

"What do you mean--what has he done?" asked the amused Malcolm. 

"Oh, nothing, " said the other airily, "but I just wondered, that's all. "

"I'm glad I've seen them too, " said Malcolm; "I nearly missed them. Iwas sitting so long over lunch----"

"You're a lucky man, " said Mr. Bim. 

"To have seen them?"

"No, to have sat over lunch, " said Cherry with an inward groan. "My! I'dlike to see what a lunch looks like. "

Malcolm looked at the man with a new interest and a new sympathy. 

"Broke?" he asked, and the other grinned. 

"If I was only broke, " he said, "there'd be no trouble. But what's thematter with me is that there ain't any pieces!"

Cherry Bim noticed the hesitation in Malcolm's face and said:

"I hope you're not worrying about hurting my feelings. "

"How?" said the startled Malcolm. 

"Why, " drawled the other, "if it's among your mind that you'd like toslip me two dollars and you're afraid of me throwing it at you, why, youcan get that out of your mind straightaway. "

Malcolm laughed and handed half a sovereign to the man. 

"Go and get something to eat, " he said. 

"Hold hard, " said the other as Malcolm was turning away. "What is yourname?"

"Does that matter?" asked the young man with amusement. 

"It matters a lot to me, " said the other seriously. "I like to pay backanything I borrow. "

"Hay is my name--Malcolm Hay. It's no use giving you my address, becauseI shall be in Russia next week. "

"In Russia, eh? That's rum!" Cherry Bim scratched his unshaven chin. "I'm always meeting Russians. "

He looked at the young engineer thoughtfully, then, with a little jerkof his head and a "So long!" he turned and disappeared into the crowd. 

Malcolm looked at his watch. He would try Kensky again, he thought; butagain his mission was fruitless. He might have given up his search forthis will-o'-the-wisp but for the fact that his new employers seemed toattach considerable importance to his making acquaintance with thisnotability of Kieff. He could hardly be out after dinner--he would tryagain. 

He had dressed for the solitary meal, thinking that, if his quest againfailed, he could spend the evening at a theatre. This time the elderlylandlady of the house in which Mr. Kensky lodged informed him that herguest was at home; and a few moments later Malcolm was ushered into thepresence of the old man. 

Israel Kensky eyed his visitor keenly, taking him in from his carefullytied dress-bow to the tips of his polished boots. It was an approvingglance, for Kensky, though he lived in one of the backwaters ofcivilization; though his attitude to the privileged classes of theworld--in which category he placed Malcolm, did that young man but knowit--was deferential and even servile; had very definite views as to whatwas, and was not, appropriate in his superior's attire. 

He read through the letter which Malcolm had brought without a word, and then:

"Pray sit down, Mr. Hay, " he said in English. "I have been expectingyou. I had a letter from Mr. Tremayne. "

Malcolm seated himself near the rough bench at which he cast curiouseyes. The paraphernalia of Kensky's hobby still lay upon its surface. 

"You are wondering what an old Jew does to amuse himself, eh?" chuckledKensky. "Do you think we in South Russia do nothing but make bombs? If Ihad not an aptitude for business, " he said (he pronounced the word"pizziness, " and it was one of the few mispronunciations he made), "Ishould have been a bookbinder. "

"It is beautiful work, " said Malcolm, who knew something of the art. 

"It takes my mind from things, " said Kensky, "and also it helps me--yes, it helps me very much. "

Malcolm did not ask him in what manner his craft might assist amillionaire merchant, for in those days he had not heard of the "Book ofAll-Power. "

The conversation which followed travelled through awkward stages andmore awkward pauses. Kensky looked a dozen times at the clock, and onthe second occasion Malcolm, feeling uncomfortable, rose to go, but waseagerly invited to seat himself again. 

"You are going to Russia?"

"Yes. "

"It is a strange country if you do not know it. And the Russians arestrange people. And to Kieff also! That is most important. "

Malcolm did not inquire where the importance lay, and dismissed this asan oblique piece of politeness on the other's part. 

"I am afraid I am detaining you, Mr. Kensky. I merely came in to makeyour acquaintance and shake hands with you, " he said, rising, after yetanother anxious glance at the clock on the part of his host. 

"No, no, no, " protested Kensky. "You must forgive me, Mr. Hay, if I seemto be dreaming and I do not entertain you. I am turning over in my mindso many possibilities, so many plans, and I think I have come to theright conclusion. You shall stay, and you shall know. I can rely uponyour discretion, can I not?"

"Certainly, but----"

"I know I can!" said the old man, nodding "And you can help me. I am astranger in London. Tell me, Mr. Hay, do you know the Café of the SilverLion?"

The other was staggered by the question. 

"No, I can't say that I do, " he admitted. "I am a comparative strangerin London myself. "

"Ah, but you can find it. You know all the reference books, which are somuch Greek to me; you could discover it by inquiring of thepolice--inquiries made very discreetly, you understand, Mr. Hay?"

Malcolm wondered what he was driving at, but the old man changed thesubject abruptly. 

"To-night you will see a lady here. She is coming to me. Again I ask foryour discretion and your silence. Wait!"

He shuffled to the window, pulled aside the blind and looked out. 

"She is here, " he said in a whisper. "You will stand just there. "

He indicated a position which to Malcolm was ludicrously suggestive ofhis standing in a corner. Further explanations could neither be givennor asked for. The door opened suddenly and a girl came in, closing itbehind her. She looked first at Kensky with a smile, and then at thestranger, and the smile faded from her lips. As for Malcolm, he wasspeechless. There was no doubt at all as to the identity. The straightnose, the glorious eyes, the full, parted lips. 

Kensky shuffled across to her, bent down and kissed her hand. 

"Highness, " he said humbly, "this gentleman is a friend of mine. Trustold Israel Kensky, Highness!"

"I trust you, Israel Kensky, " she replied in Russian, and with thesweetest smile that Malcolm had ever seen in a woman. 

She bowed slightly to the young man, and for the rest of the interviewher eyes and speech were for the Jew. He brought a chair forward forher, dusted it carefully, and she sat down by the table, leaning herchin on her palm, and looking at the old man. 

"I could not come before, " she said. "It was so difficult to get away. "

"Your Highness received my letter?"

She nodded. 

"But Israel, " her voice almost pleaded, "you do not believe that thisthing would happen?"

"Highness, all things are possible, " said the old man. "Here in Londonthe cellars and garrets teem with evil men. "

"But the police----" she began. 

"The police cannot shelter you, Highness, as they do in our Russia. "

"I must warn the Grand Duke, " she said thoughtfully, "and"--shehesitated, and a shadow passed over her face--"and the Prince. Is it nothim they hate?"

Kensky shook his head. 

"Lady, " he said humbly, "in my letter I told you there was somethingwhich could not be put on paper, and that I will tell you now. And if Ispeak of very high matters, your Highness must forgive an old man. "

She nodded, and again her laugh twinkled in her eyes. 

"Your father, the Grand Duke Yaroslav, " he said, "has one child, who isyour Highness. "

She nodded. 

"The heir to the Grand Dukedom is----" He stopped inquiringly. 

"The heir?" she said slowly. "Why, it is Prince Serganoff. He is withus. "

Malcolm remembered the olive-faced young man who had sat on the seat ofthe royal carriage facing the girl; and instinctively he knew that thiswas Prince Serganoff, though in what relationship he stood to the GrandDucal pair he had no means of knowing. 

"The heir is Prince Serganoff, " said the old man slowly, "and hisHighness is an ambitious man. Many things can happen in our Russia, little lady. If the Grand Duke were killed----"

"Impossible!" She sprang to her feet. "He would never dare! He wouldnever dare!"

Kensky spread out his expressive hands. 

"Who knows?" he said. "Men and women are the slaves of their ambition. "

She looked at him intently. 

"He would never dare, " she said slowly. "No, no, I cannot believe that. "

The old man made no reply. 

"Where did you learn this, Israel Kensky?" she asked. 

"From a good source, Highness, " he replied evasively, and she nodded. 

"I know you would not tell me this unless there were some foundation, "she said. "And your friend?" She looked inquiringly at the silent Hay. "Does he know?"

Israel Kensky shook his head. 

"I would wish that the _gospodar_ knew as much as possible, because hewill be in Kieff, and who knows what will happen in Kieff? Besides, heknows London. "

Malcolm did not attempt to deny the knowledge, partly because, in spiteof his protest, he had a fairly useful working knowledge of themetropolis. 

"I shall ask the _gospodar_ to discover the meeting-place of therabble. "

"Do you suggest, " she demanded, "that Prince Serganoff is behind thisconspiracy, that he is the person who inspired this idea ofassassination?"

Again the old man spread out his hands. 

"The world is a very wicked place, " he said. 

"And the Prince has many enemies, " she added with a bright smile. "Youmust know that, Israel Kensky. My cousin is Chief of the PoliticalPolice in St. Petersburg, and it is certain that people will speakagainst him. "

The old man was eyeing her thoughtfully. 

"Your Highness has much wisdom, " he said, "and I remember, when you werea little girl, how you used to point out to me the bad men from thegood. Tell me, lady, is Prince Serganoff a good man or a bad man? Is hecapable or incapable of such a crime?"

She did not answer. In truth she could not answer; for all that Kenskyhad said, she had thought. She rose to her feet. 

"I must go now, Israel Kensky, " she said. "My car is waiting for me. Iwill write to you. "

She would have gone alone, but Malcolm Hay, with amazing courage, stepped forward. 

"If Your Imperial Highness will accept my escort to your car, " he saidhumbly, "I shall be honoured. "

She looked at him in doubt. 

"I think I would rather go alone. "

"Let the young man go with you, Highness, " said Kensky earnestly. "Ishall feel safer in my mind. "

She nodded, and led the way down the stairs. They turned out of thegarden into the street and did not speak a word. Presently the girl saidin English:

"You must think we Russian people are barbarians, Mr. ----"

"Hay, " suggested Malcolm. 

"Mr. Hay. That is Scottish, isn't it? Tell me, do you think we areuncivilized?"

"No, Your Highness, " stammered Malcolm. "How can I think that?"

They walked on until they came in sight of the tail lights of the car, and then she stopped. 

"You must not come any farther, " she said. "You can stand here and watchme go. Do you know any more than Israel Kensky told?" she asked, alittle anxiously. 

"Nothing, " he replied in truth. 

She offered her hand, and he bent over it. 

"Good night, Mr. Hay. Do not forget, I must see you in Kieff. "

He watched the red lights of the car disappear and walked quickly backto old Kensky's rooms. Russia and his appointment had a new fascination. 

CHAPTER IV

THE PRINCE WHO PLANNED

Few people knew or know how powerful a man Prince Serganoff really wasin these bad old days. He waved his hand and thousands of men and womendisappeared. He beckoned and he had a thousand sycophantic suppliants. 

In the days before he became Chief of the Police to the entourage, hewent upon a diplomatic mission to High Macedonia, the dark and sinisterstate. He was sent by none, but he had a reason, for Dimitrius, hissometime friend, had fled to the capital of the higher Balkan state andSerganoff went down without authority to terrify his sometime confidantinto returning for trial. In High Macedonia the exquisite young man wasled by sheer curiosity to make certain inquiries into the domesticadministration of the country, and learnt things. 

He had hardly made himself master of these before he was sent for by theForeign Minister. 

"Highness, " said the suave man, stroking his long, brown beard, "howlong have you been in the capital?"

"Some four days, Excellency, " said the Prince. 

"That is ninety-six hours too long, " said the minister. "There is atrain for the north in forty minutes. You will catch that, and God bewith you!"

Prince Serganoff did not argue but went out from the ornate office, andthe Minister called a man who was waiting. 

"If his Highness does not leave by the four o'clock train, cut histhroat and carry the body to one of the common houses of thetown--preferably that of the man Domopolo, the Greek, who is a badcharacter, and well deserving of death. "

"Excellency, " said the man gravely, and saluted his way out. 

They knew Serganoff in High Macedonia and were a little anxious. Hadthey known him better they would have feared him less. He did not leaveby the four o'clock train, but by a special which was across thefrontier by four. He sat in a cold sweat till the frontier post waspast. 

This man was a mass of contradictions. He liked the good things of life. He bought his hosiery in Paris, his shoes in Vienna, his suits andcravats in New York; and it is said of him that he made a specialpilgrimage to London--the Mecca of those who love good leatherwork--for the characteristic attaché cases which were so indispensableto the Chief of Gendarmerie of the Marsh Town. 

He carried with him the irrepressible trimness and buoyancy of youth, with his smooth, sallow face, his neat black moustache and hisshapeliness of outline. An exquisite of exquisites, he had never feltthe draughts of life or experienced its rude buffetings. 

His perfectly-appointed flat in the Morskaya had been modelled to histaste and fancy. It was a suite wherein you pressed buttons andcomfortable things happened. You opened windows and boiled water, orsummoned a valet to your bedside by the gentle pressure you applied to amother-of-pearl stud set in silver plate which, by some miracle, wasalways within reach. 

He had an entire suite converted to bath-rooms, where his masseur, hismanicurist and his barber attended him daily. He had conscripted modernscience to his service, he had so cunningly disguised its application, that you might never guess the motive power of the old English clockwhich ticked in the spacious hall, or realize that the soft light whichcame from the many branched candelabra which hung from the centre of hisdrawing-room was due to anything more up to date than the hundred mostlife-like candles which filled the sockets. 

Yet this suave gentleman with his elegant manners and his pretty tastein old china, this genius who was the finest judge in the capital ofPekinese dogs, and had been known to give a thousand-rouble fee to theveterinary surgeon who performed a minor operation on his favouriteBorzoi, had another aspect. He who shivered at the first chill winds ofwinter and wrapped himself in sables whenever he drove abroad after thelast days of September, and had sent men and women to the bleakness ofAlexandrowski without a qualm; he who had to fortify himself to face anAmerican dentist (his fees for missed appointments would have kept theaverage middle-class family in comfort for a year), was ruthless in hisdealings with the half-crazed men and women who strayed across thefrontier which divided conviction from propaganda. 

Physical human suffering left him unmoved--he hanged the murdererPalatoff with his own hands. Yet in that operation someone saw him turnvery pale and shrink back from his victim. Afterwards the reason wasdiscovered. The condemned man had had the front of his rough shirtfastened with a safety-pin which had worked loose. The point had rippeda little gash in the inexperienced finger of the amateur hangman. 

He brought Dr. Von Krauss from Berlin, because von Krauss was anauthority upon blood infection and spent a week of intense mental agonyuntil he was pronounced out of danger. 

He sat before a long mirror in his bedroom, that gave on Horridge'sHotel, and surveyed himself thoughtfully. He was looking at the only manhe trusted, for it was not vanity, but a love of agreeable company thatexplained the passion for mirrors which was the jest of St. Petersburg. 

It was his fourth day in London and a little table near the window wascovered with patterns of cloth; he had spent an exciting afternoon withthe representative of his tailor. But it was not of sartorialmagnificence that he was thinking. 

He stretched out his legs comfortably towards his reflection, andsmiled. 

"Yes, " he said, as though answering some secret thought, and he and thereflection nodded to one another as though they had reached a completeunderstanding. 

Presently he pushed the bell and his valet appeared. 

"Has the Grand Duke gone?" he asked. 

"Yes, Excellency, " replied the man. 

"And the Grand Duchess?"

"Yes, Excellency. "

"Good!" Serganoff nodded. 

"Is your Excellency's headache better?" asked the man. 

"Much better, " replied the Chief of Police. "Go to their Highness'ssuite, and tell their servant--what is the man's name?"

"Boolba, Excellency, " said the valet. 

"Yes, that is the fellow. Ask him to come to me. The Grand Dukementioned a matter which I forgot to tell Boolba. "

Boolba made his appearance, a suave domestic, wearing the inconspicuouslivery of an English butler rather than the ornate uniform whichaccompanied his office in Kieff. 

"That will do. " Serganoff dismissed his valet. "Boolba, come here. "

The man approached him and Serganoff lowered his voice. 

"You have made a fool of me again, Boolba. "

"Excellency, " pleaded the man urgently, "I have done all that waspossible. "

"You have placed my fortune and my life in the hands of an Americancriminal. If that is your idea of doing all that is possible, I agreewith you, " said Serganoff. "Be careful, Boolba! The arm of the Bureau isa very long one, and greater men than you have disappeared from theirhomes. "

"Illustrious Excellency, " said the agitated man, "I swear to you I didall that you requested. There were many reasons why I should not entrustthis matter to the men of the secret society. "

"I should like to hear a few, " said Serganoff, cleaning his nailsdelicately. 

"Excellency, the Grand Duke stands well with the society. He had neveroppressed them, and he is the only popular member of the Imperial Housewith our--their society. "

"Our society, eh?" said Serganoff, noticing the slip. "Go on. "

"Besides, Excellency, " said Boolba, "it was necessary not only to killthe Grand Duke, but to shoot down his assassin. Our plan was to get thisAmerican to shoot him in the park, where he walks in the morning, andthen for one of the society to shoot the American. That was a good plan, because it meant that the man who could talk would talk no more, andthat the comrade who shot down the murderer would stand well with theGovernment. "

Serganoff nodded. 

"And your plan has failed, " he said, "failed miserably at the outset. You dog!"

He leapt to his feet, his eyes blazing, and Boolba stepped back. 

"Highness, wait, wait!" he cried. "I have something else in my mind! Icould have helped Highness better if I had known more. But I could onlyguess. I had to grope in the dark all the time. "

"Do you imagine I am going to take you into my confidence?" askedSerganoff. "What manner of fool am I? Tell me what you have guessed. Youmay sit down; nobody will come in, and if they do you can be buttoningmy boots. "

Boolba wiped his damp face with a handkerchief and leaned nearer to theman. 

"If the Grand Duke dies, a certain illustrious person succeeds to hisestates, " he said, "but not to his title. "

Serganoff looked at him sharply. The man had put into words the onedifficulty which had occupied the mind of the Chief of Police formonths. 

"Well?" he said. 

"The title is in the gift of the Czar, " said Boolba. "He alone cancreate a Grand Duke who succeeds but is not in the direct line. Therefore, the killing of Yaroslav would bring little but the propertyto the illustrious person. Only if His Imperial Majesty decided upon aworthier holder, or if the Grand Duke fell under a cloud at Court, couldit pass to the illustrious person. "

"That I know, " said Serganoff. "Well?"

"Well, Highness, would it not be better if the Grand Duke weredisgraced, if he were brought to St. Petersburg to answer certaincharges which the illustrious person formulated? After, the Grand Dukemight die--that is a simple matter. Russia would think that he had beenput to death by the Court party as a matter of policy. Yaroslav is notin favour at the Court, " he added significantly; but Serganoff shook hishead. 

"He is not sufficiently out of favour yet, " he said. "Go on, man, youhave something in your mind. "

Boolba edged closer. 

"Suppose the Grand Duke or the Grand Duchess were involved in someconspiracy against the Imperial House?" he said, speaking rapidly. "Suppose, on evidence which could not be disputed, such as the evidenceof the London police, it was proved that either the Grand Duke or hisdaughter was in league with an anarchist society, or was attending theirmeetings--does your Excellency see?"

"I see, " said Serganoff, "but they do not attend meetings. "

Boolba hesitated. 

"Yet, " he said, speaking slowly, "I would guarantee that I could bringthe Grand Duchess Irene to such a meeting, and that I could arrange forthe place to be raided whilst she was there. "

Serganoff put down his orange stick and eyed the other keenly. 

"You have brains, Boolba, " he said. "Some day I shall bring you to St. Petersburg and place you on my staff--if you do not know too much. "

He paced the apartment, his hands clasped behind his back. 

"Suppose you get in touch with this American again, bring him to themeeting, unless he's afraid to come, and then boldly suggest to him thathe goes to St. Petersburg to make an attempt upon the life of the Czarhimself. "

"He would reject it, " said Boolba, shaking his head. 

"What if he did--that doesn't matter, " said Serganoff impatiently. "Itis sufficient that the suggestion is made. Suppose this man is amongstthese infamous fellows when the London police raid and arrest them, andhe makes a statement that he was approached to destroy the Imperiallife, and the Grand Duchess Irene is arrested at the same time?"

Boolba's eyes brightened. 

"That is a wonderful idea, Highness, " he said admiringly. 

Serganoff continued his pacing, and presently stopped. 

"I will arrange the police raid, " he said. "I am in communication withScotland Yard, and it will be better if I am present when the raid isconducted. It is necessary that I should identify myself with thischapter, " he said, "but how will you induce the Grand Duchess to come?"

"Leave that to me, Highness, " replied the man, and gave some details ofhis scheme. 

CHAPTER V

THE RAID ON THE SILVER LION

Sophia Kensky was a loyal and faithful adherent to the cause she hadespoused, and her report, written in the weird caligraphy of Russia, greatly interested the butler of the Grand Duke Yaroslav. From thatreport he learned of the visit which the Grand Duchess Irene had paid;learned, too, that she had been escorted to her car by an Englishman, whose name the woman did not know; and was to discover later that thesaid "Englishman" had been sent out by Israel Kensky on a specialmission. That mission was to discover the Silver Lion, a no verydifficult task. In point of fact, it was discoverable in a Londontelephone directory, because the upper part of the premises were usedlegitimately enough in the proprietor's business as restaurateur. 

Malcolm Hay had lunch at the place and saw nothing suspicious in itscharacter. Most of the clientèle were obviously foreign, and not a fewwere Russian. Pretending to lose his way, he wandered through theservice door, and there made the important discovery that the kitchenwas on the top floor, and also that meals were being served somewhere inthe basement. This he saw during the few minutes he was allowed to makeobservations, because there was a service lift which was sent down tothe unseen clients below. 

He apologized for his intrusion and went out. Officially there was nobasement-room, nor, from the restaurant itself, any sign of stairs whichled down to an underground chamber. He made a further reconnaissance, and found the back door which Sophia Kensky had described in herhypnotic sleep, and the location of which the old man had endeavoured toconvey to his agent. 

Malcolm Hay was gifted with many of the qualities which make up theequipment of a good detective. In addition, he had the education andtraining of an engineer. That the underground room existed, he knew bycertain structural evidence, and waited about in the street until he sawthree men come out and the door close behind them. After awhile, anothertwo emerged. There was nothing sinister or romantic about the existenceof a basement dining-room, or even of a basement club-room. 

The character of this club was probably well known to the police, hethought, and pursued his inquiries to Marlborough Street police station. There he found, as he had expected, that the club was registered andknown as "The Foreign Friends of Freedom Club. " The officer who suppliedhim with the information told him that the premises were visited atfrequent intervals by a representative of the police, and that nothingof an irregular character had been reported. 

"Have you any complaints to make?" asked the official. 

"None whatever, " smiled Hay. "Only I am writing an article on theforeign clubs of London, and I want to be sure of my facts. "

It was the first and most plausible lie that occurred to him, and itanswered his purpose. He returned to Kensky with his information, andthe old man producing a map of London, he marked the spot with a redcross. All this time Malcolm Hay was busy making preparations fordeparture. He would have been glad to stay on, so that his leavingLondon would coincide with the departure of the Grand Duchess, but hissleeper had already been booked, and he had to make a call _en route_ atVienna. 

It was on the occasion of this visit with details of the location andcharacter of the club, that he first saw Sophia Kensky. He thought herpretty in a bold, heavy way, and she regarded him with insolentindifference. It was one of the few occasions in his life that he spokewith her. 

"The _gospodar_ is going to Kieff, Sophia Kensky, " introduced the oldman. 

"What will you do in Kieff, Excellency?" asked the woman indolently. 

"I shall not be in Kieff, " smiled Hay, "except on rare occasions. I amtaking charge of some oil-wells about twenty versts outside of thetown. "

"It is a terrible life, living in the country, " she said, and he wasinclined to agree. 

This and a few trite sentiments about Russian weather and Russianseasons were the only words he ever exchanged with her in his life. Years later, when he stood, hardly daring to breathe, in the cupboard ofa commissary's office, and heard her wild denunciation of the man whohad sent her to death, he was to recall this first and only meeting. 

Israel Kensky dismissed his daughter without ceremony, and it was thenthat Malcolm Hay told him the result of his investigations. The old mansat for a long time stroking his beard. 

"Two more days they stay in this town, " he said, half to himself, "andthat is the dangerous time. "

He looked up sharply at Hay. 

"You are clever, and you are English, " he said. "Would you not help anold man to save this young life from misery and sorrow?"

Malcolm Hay looked at him in astonishment. 

"To save whom?" he asked. 

"The Grand Duchess, " replied Kensky moodily. "It is for her I fear, morethan for her father. "

Malcolm Hay was on the point of blurting out the very vital truth thatthere was nothing in the wide world he would not do to save thatwonderful being from the slightest ache or pain, but thought it best todissemble the craziest of infatuations that ever a penniless and obscureengineer felt for a daughter of the Imperial House of Russia. Instead hemurmured some conventional expression of his willingness. 

"It is in this club that the danger lies, " said Kensky. "I know thesesocieties, Mr. Hay, and I fear them most when they look most innocent. "

"Could you not get the police to watch?" asked Malcolm. 

Had he lived in Russia, or had he had the experience which was his inthe following twelve months, he would not have asked so absurd aquestion. 

"No, no, " said Kensky, "this is not a matter for the police. It is amatter for those who love her. "

"What can I do?" asked Malcolm hastily. 

He had a horrible feeling that his secret had been surprised, for he wasof the age when love is fearless of everything except ridicule. 

"You could watch the club, " said Kensky. "I myself would go, but I amtoo old, and this English weather makes me sick. "

"You mean actually watch it?" said Malcolm in surprise. "Why, I'll dothat like a shot!"

"Note who goes in and who come out, " said Kensky. "Be on hand at alltimes, in case you are called upon for help. You will see my daughterthere, " he said, after a pause, and a faint smile curved his pale lips. "Yes, Sophia Kensky is a great conspirator!"

"Whom do you expect me to see?" asked the other bluntly. 

Kensky got up from his chair and went to a leather bag which stood onthe sideboard. This he unlocked, and from a mass of papers took aphotograph. He brought it back to the young man. 

"Why, " said Malcolm in surprise, "that is the man Serganoff, the Princefellow!"

Kensky nodded slowly. 

"That is Serganoff, " he said. "Here is another picture of him, but notof his face. "

It was, in fact, a snapshot photograph showing the back of the PoliceChief; and it might have been, thought Malcolm, of a tailor's dummy, with its wasp waist and its perfectly creased trousers. 

"Particularly I wish to know whether he will visit the club in the nexttwo days, " said the old man. "It is important that you should look forhim. "

"Anybody else?"

Kensky hesitated. 

"I hope not, " he said. "I hope not!"

Malcolm Hay went back to his hotel, feeling a new zest in life. Hisexperience of the past few days had been incredible. He, an unknownstudent, had found himself suddenly plunged into the heart of ananarchist plot, and on nodding terms with royal highnesses! He laughedsoftly as he sat on the edge of his bed and reviewed all thecircumstances, but did not laugh when the thought occurred to him thatthe danger which might be threatening this girl was very real. 

That side of the adventure sobered him. He had sense enough to see thatit was the unalienable right of youth to believe in fairies and to lovebeautiful princesses, and that such passions were entitled to disturbthe rest and obscure the judgment of their victims for days and even forweeks. But he had an unpleasant conviction that he was looking at theGrand Duchess from an angle which was outside his experience of fairystories. 

That night when he went on his way to take up his "police duty" in thelittle street behind the Silver Lion, he saw two mounted policementrotting briskly down the Strand followed by a closed carriage, and inthe light of the electric standard he caught a glimpse of a face whichset his heart beating faster. He cursed himself for his folly, swore sovigorously and so violently at his own stupidity, that he did notrealize he was talking aloud, until the open-mouthed indignation of anelderly lady brought him to a sense of decorum. 

She was going to the theatre, of course, he thought, and wondered whattheatre would be graced by her presence. He half regretted his promiseto Israel Kensky, which prevented him discovering the house ofentertainment and securing a box or a stall from whence he could feasthis eyes upon her face. 

His vigil was painfully monotonous. It was the most uninteresting job hehad ever undertaken. Most of the habitués of the club had evidently comeat an early hour, for he saw nobody come in and nobody go out untilnearly eleven o'clock. It began to rain a fine, thin drizzle, whichpenetrated every crevice, which insinuated itself down his neck, thoughhis collar was upturned; and then, on top of this, came a gusty easterlywind, which chilled him to the marrow. Keeping in the shadow of thehouses opposite, he maintained, however, a careful scrutiny, therebyearning the suspicion of a policeman, who passed him twice on his beatbefore he stopped to ask if he were looking for somebody. 

As midnight chimed from a neighbouring church the door of the clubopened and its members came out. Malcolm crossed the road and walkeddown to meet them, since they all seemed to be coming in the samedirection. 

There were about twenty men, and they were speaking in Russian orYiddish, but the subjects of their discourse were of the most innocentcharacter. He saw nobody he knew, or had ever seen before. Israel Kenskyhad expected that the St. Petersburg Chief of Police would be present;that expectation was not realized. Then he heard the door bolted andchained, and went home, after the most unprofitable evening he had everspent. 

How much better it would have been to sit in the warm theatre, with, perhaps, a clear view of the girl, watching her every movement, seeingher smile, noting her little tricks of manner or gesture. 

In the end he laughed himself into a sane condition of mind, ate ahearty supper, and went to bed to dream that Serganoff was pursuing himwith a hammer in his hand, and that the Grand Duchess was sitting in abox wildly applauding the efforts of her homicidal relative. 

The next afternoon Malcolm Hay was packing, with the remainder of hisbelongings, a few articles he had purchased in London. Amongst these wasa small and serviceable Colt revolver, and he stood balancing this inthe palm of his hand, uncertain as to whether it would not be better toretain his weapon until after his present adventure. Twice he put itinto his portmanteau and twice took it out again, and finally, blushingat the act, he slipped the weapon into his hip-pocket. 

He felt theatrical and cheap in doing so. He told himself that he wasinvesting a very common-place measure of precaution taken by old IsraelKensky, who was probably in the secret police, to protect his protégée, with an importance and a romance which it did not deserve. He went downto his post that night, feeling horribly self-conscious. This time hekept on the same side of the street as that on which the club wassituated. 

His watch was rewarded by events of greater interest than had occurredon the previous night. He had not been on duty half an hour before twomen walked rapidly from the end of the street and passed him so closelythat he could not make any mistake as to the identity of one. Had he notbeen able to recognize him, his voice would have instantly betrayed hisidentity, for, as they passed, the shorter of the two was talking. 

"I'm one of those guys who don't believe in starving to death in adelicatessen store----"

Malcolm looked after the pair in amazement. It was the little man whomhe had befriended in the courtyard at Charing Cross station. Otherpeople drifted through the door in ones and twos, and then a man camewalking smartly across the street, betraying the soldier at everystride. Malcolm turned and strolled in his direction. 

There was no mistaking him either, though he was muffled up to the chin. With his tight-waisted greatcoat, a glimpse of an olive face with twopiercing dark eyes, which flashed an inquiring glance as theypassed--there was no excuse for error. It was Colonel Prince Serganoffbeyond a doubt. 

A quarter of an hour later came the real shock of the evening. A girlwas almost on top of him before he saw her, for she was wearing shoeswhich made no sound. He had only time to turn so that she did not seehis face, before she too entered the door and passed in. The GrandDuchess! And Serganoff! And the American adventurer!

What had these three in common, he wondered. And now he recalled thewarning of the old man. Perhaps the girl was in danger--the thoughtbrought him to the door, with his hand raised and touching the bell-pushbefore he realized his folly. There was nothing to do but wait. 

Five minutes passed and ten minutes, and then Malcolm Hay becameconscious of the fact that something unusual was happening in thestreet. It was more thickly populated. Half a dozen men had appeared ateither end of the street and were moving slowly towards him, asthough----

And then in a flash he realized just what was happening. It was a policeraid. In his student days he had seen such a raid upon a gambling house, and he recognized all the signs. He first thought of the girl--she mustnot be involved in this. He raced toward the door, but somebody had ranquicker, and his hand was on the bell-push when he was swung violentlybackwards, and an authoritative voice said:

"Take that man, sergeant. "

A hand gripped his shoulder and somebody peered in his face. 

"Why, he's English, " he said in surprise. 

"Yes, yes, " gasped Malcolm. "I'm sorry to interfere, but there is a ladyin there, in whom I'm rather interested--you're raiding this club, aren't you?"

"That's about the size of it, " said a man in civilian clothes; and then, suspiciously, "Who are you?"

Malcolm explained his status and calling. 

"Take my advice and get away. Don't be mixed up in this business, " saidthe officer. "You can release him, sergeant. What's the time?"

A clock struck at that moment, and the officer in charge of the raidpressed the bell. 

"If you've a lady friend involved in this, perhaps you'd like to standby, " he said. "She may want you to bail her out, " he addedgood-humouredly. 

CHAPTER VI

PRINCE SERGANOFF PAYS THE PRICE

Mr. Cherry Bim, a citizen of the world, and an adventurer at large, wasan optimist to his finger-tips. He also held certain races in profoundcontempt, not because he knew the countries, but because he had metrepresentatives of those nations in America, and judged by theircharacteristics. 

So that the man called Yakoff, whose task it was to inveigle Mr. Bimagain to the premises of the Friends of Freedom Club, found to hisastonishment that Mr. Bim required very little inveigling. The truthwas, of course, that the gun-man had a supreme contempt for allRussians, whom he had classified mistakenly as "Lithanians" and"Pollaks. " To the fervent promise made by Mr. Yakoff that no harm wouldcome to him, Cherry Bim had replied briefly but unprintably. 

"Of course, there'll be no harm come to me, " he said scornfully. "Youdon't think I worry about what that bunch will do? No, sir! But I'mpowerfully disinclined to associate myself with people out of my class. It doesn't do a man any good to be seen round with Pollaks and Letts. "

Yakoff earnestly implored him to come and give the benefit of hisexperience to the assembly, and had promised him substantial payment. This latter argument was one which Cherry Bim could understand andappreciate. He accepted on the spot, and came down to the stuffy littleunderground room, expecting no more than to be asked to deliver alecture on the gentle art of assassination. Not that he knew very muchabout it, because Cherry, with three or four men to his credit, had shotthem in fair fight; but a hundred pounds was a lot of money, and hebadly needed just enough to shake the mud of England from his shoes andseek a land more prolific in possibilities. 

The first thing he noticed on arrival was that Boolba, the man who hadinterrogated him before, was not present. In his place sat a smallerman, with a straggly black beard and a white face, who was addressed as"Nicholas. "

The second curious circumstance which struck him was that he wasreceived also in an ominous silence. 

The black-bearded man, who spoke in perfect English, indicated a chairto the left of him. 

"Sit down, comrade, " he said. "We have asked you to come because wehave another proposition to make to you. "

"If it's a croaking proposition, you needn't go any farther, " saidCherry, "and I won't trouble you with my presence, gents, and----" helooked in vain for the woman he had seen before, and added, that hemight round off his sentence gracefully--"fellow murderers. "

"Mr. Bim, " said Nicholas in his curious singsong tone, "does it not makeyour blood boil to see tyranny in high places----"

"Now, can that stuff!" said Cherry Bim. "Nothing makes my blood boil, orwould make my blood boil, except sitting on a stove, I guess. Tyrannydon't mean any more in my young life than Hennessy, and tyrants morethan hydrants. I guess I was brought up in a land of freedom and glory, where the only tyrant you ever meet is a traffic cop. If this is anothercroaking job, why, gents, I won't trouble you any longer. "

He half-rose, but Nicholas pushed him down. 

"Not even if it was the Czar?" he said calmly. 

Cherry Bim gaped at him. 

"The Czar?" he said, with a queer little grimace to emphasize hisdisbelief in the evidence of his hearing. "What are you getting at?"

"Would you shoot the Czar for two thousand pounds?" asked Nicholas. 

Cherry Bim pushed his hat to the back of his head and got up, shakingoff the protesting arm. 

"I'm through, " he said, "and that's all there is to it. "

It was at that moment that Serganoff came through the door and CherryBim remained where he stood, surprised to silence, for the face of thenewcomer was covered from chin to forehead by a black silk mask. 

The door was shut behind him; he walked slowly to the table and droppedinto a broken chair, Cherry's eyes never leaving his face. 

"For fifteen years, " said the gun-man, speaking slowly, "I've been acrook, but never once have I seen a guy got up like that villain in amovie picture. Say, mister, let's have a look at your face. "

Cherry Bim was not the only person perturbed by the arrival of a maskedstranger. Only three men in the room were in the secret of thenewcomer's identity, and suspicious and scowling faces were turned uponhim. 

"You will excuse me, " said the mask, "but there are many reasons why youshould not see me or know me again. "

"And there's a mighty lot of reasons why you shouldn't know me again, "said Cherry, "yet I've obliged you with a close-up of my distinguishedfeatures. "

"You have heard the proposition, " said the man. "What do you think ofit?"

"I think it's a fool proposition, " replied Cherry contemptuously. "I'vetold these lads before that I am not falling for the Lucretia Borgiastuff, and I'm telling you the same. "

The masked man chuckled. 

"Well, don't let us quarrel, " he said. "Nicholas, give him the money wepromised. "

Nicholas put his hand in his pocket and brought out a roll of notes, which he tossed to the man on his left, and Cherry Bim, to whom taintedmoney was as acceptable as tainted pheasant to the epicure, pocketed itwith a smack of his lips. 

"Now, if there's anything I can do for you boys, " he said, "here's yourchance to make use of me. Though I say it myself, there ain't a man inNew York with my experience, tact and finesse. Show me a job that can bedone single-handed, with a dividend at the end of it, and I'll show youa man who can take it on. In the meantime, " said he affably, "the drinksare on me. Call the waiter, and order the best in the house. "

Serganoff held up his hand. 

"Wait, " he said; "was that the door?"

Nicholas nodded, and the whole room stood in silence and watched thedoor slowly open. There was a gasp of astonishment, of genuinesurprise, for Irene Yaroslav was well known to them, and it was IreneYaroslav who stood with her back to the door. She wore a long blackcloak of sable and by her coiffure it was evident that she was wearingan evening toilette beneath the cloak. 

"Where is Israel Kensky?" she asked. 

She did not immediately see the man in the masked face, for he sat undera light and his broad-brimmed hat threw his face into shadow. 

Nobody answered her, and she asked again:

"Where is Israel Kensky?"

"He is not here, " said Serganoff coolly, as she took two paces andstopped dead, clasping her hands before her. 

"What does this mean?" she asked. "What are you doing here, Ser----"

"Stop!" His voice was almost a shout, and yet there was a shake in it. 

Serganoff realized the danger of his own position, if amongst these menwere some who had cause to hate him. 

"Do not mention my name, Irene. "

"What are you doing here?" she asked. "And where is Israel Kensky?"

"He has not come, " Serganoff's voice was uneven and his hands shook. 

She turned to go, but he was before her and stood with his back to theentrance. 

"You will wait, " he said. 

"What insolence is this?" she demanded haughtily. "I had a letter fromIsrael Kensky telling me to come here under his protection and I shouldlearn the truth of the plot against my father. "

Serganoff had recovered something of his self-possession and laughedsoftly. 

"It was I who sent you that letter, Irene. I sent it because Iparticularly desired you here at this moment. "

"You shall pay for this, " she said, and tried to force her way past him, but his strong hands gripped her and pushed her back. 

She turned with a flaming face upon the men. 

"Are you men, " she asked, "that you allow this villain, who betrayed myfather and will betray you, to treat a woman so. "

She spoke in Russian, and nobody moved. Then a voice said:

"Speak English, miss. "

She turned and glanced gratefully at the stout little man with hisgrotesque Derby hat and his good-humoured smile. 

"I have been brought here by a trick, " she said breathlessly, "by thisman"--she pointed to Serganoff. "Will you help me leave? You're English, aren't you?"

"American, miss, " said Cherry Bim. "And as for helping you, why, blessyou, you can class me as your own little bodyguard. "

"Stop!" cried Serganoff hoarsely, and instinctively, at the sight of thelevelled revolver. Cherry's hands went up. "You'll keep out of this anddo not interfere, " said Serganoff. "You'll have all the trouble you wantbefore this evening is through. Irene, come here. "

At one side of the room was a narrow doorway, which most of the membersbelieved led to a cupboard, but which a few knew was a safety bolt incase of trouble. The Prince had recognized the door by its description, and had edged his way towards it, taking the key from his pocket. 

He gripped the girl by the waist, inserted the key and flung open thedoor. She struggled to escape, but the hand that held the key also heldthe revolver, and never once did it point anywhere but at Cherry Bim'sanatomy. 

"Help!" cried the girl. "This man is Serganoff, the Chief of Police atPetrograd----"

There was a crash, and the sound of hurrying footsteps. A voice from theouter hall screamed, "The police!"

At that moment Serganoff dragged the girl through the doorway andslammed it behind him. They were in a small cellar, almost entirelyfilled with barrels, with only a narrow alley-way left to reach afarther door. He dragged her through this apartment, up a short flightof stairs. They were on the level of the restaurant, and the girl couldhear the clatter of plates as he pushed her up another stairway and intoa room. By its furniture she guessed it was a private dining-room. Theblinds were drawn and she had no means of knowing whether the apartmentoverlooked the front or the back of the premises. 

He stopped long enough to lock the door and then he turned to her, slipping off his mask. 

"I thought you would recognize me, " he said coolly. 

"What does this outrage mean?" asked the girl with heaving bosom. "Youshall pay for this, colonel. "

"There will be a lot of payment to be made before this matter isthrough, " he said calmly. "Calm yourself, Irene. I have saved you from agreat disgrace. Are you aware that, at the moment I brought you fromthat room, the English police were raiding it?"

"I should not have been in the room but for you, " she said, "myfather----"

"It is about your father I want to speak, " he said. "Irene, I am thesole heir to your father's estate. Beyond the property which is settledon you, you have nothing. My affection for you is known and approved atCourt. "

"Your affection!" she laughed bitterly. "I'd as soon have the affectionof a wolf!"

"You could not have a more complete wolf than I, " he said meaningly. "Doyou know what has happened to-night? An anarchist club in London hasbeen raided, and the Grand Duchess Irene Yaroslav has been found in thecompany of men whose object is to destroy the monarchy. "

She realized with a sickening sense of disaster all that it meant. Sheknew as well as he in what bad odour her father stood at Court, andguessed the steps which would be taken if this matter became public. 

"I was brought here by a trick, " she said steadily. "A letter came tome, as I thought, from Israel Kensky----"

"It was from me, " he interrupted. 

"And you planned the raid, of course?"

He nodded. 

"I planned the raid in the most promising circumstances, " he said. "Thegentleman who offered to be your good knight is a well-known New Yorkgun-man. He is wanted by the police, who probably have him in theircustody at this moment. He was brought here to-night, and an offer wasmade to him, an offer of a large sum of money, on condition that hewould destroy the Czar. "

She gasped. 

"You see, my little Irene, that when this gun-man's evidence is taken incourt, matters will look very bad for the Yaroslav family. "

"What do you propose?" she asked. 

"There are two alternatives, " he said. "The first is that I shouldarrest you and hand you over to the police. The second is that youshould undertake most solemnly to marry me, in which case I will takeyou away from here. "

She was silent. 

"Is there a third possibility?" she asked, and he shook his head. 

"My dear, " he said familiarly as he flicked a speck of dust from hissleeve. "I think you will take the easier way. None of these scum willbetray you, thinking that you are one of themselves--as I happen toknow, some of the best families in Russia are associated with plottersof this type. As for the American, who might be inclined to talk, in afew weeks he will be on his way to New York to serve a life sentence. Ihave been looking up his record, and particularly drew the attention ofthe English police to the fact that he would be here to-night. "

Cherry Bim, creeping up the stairs in his stockinged feet--he hadmarked and shot the fuse-box to pieces before the police came in, andhad burst his way through the door in the wall--heard the sound ofvoices in the little room and stopped to listen. It was not a thickdoor, and he could hear Serganoff's voice very clearly. He stooped downto the key-hole. Serganoff had not taken the key out, and it was anold-fashioned key, the end of which projected an eighth of an inch onthe other side of the door. Cherry Bim felt in his pocket and produced apair of peculiarly shaped nippers, and gripped the end of the key, turning it gently. Then he slipped his handy gun from his pocket andwaited. 

"Now, Irene, " said Serganoff's voice. "You must decide. In a few minutesthe police will be up here, for they are instructed to make a completesearch of the house. I can either explain that you are here to witnessthe raid, or that I have followed you up and arrested you. Which is itto be?"

Still she did not answer. Serganoff had laid his revolver on the tableand this she was manoeuvring to reach. He divined her intention beforeshe sprang forward, and, gripping her by the waist, threw her back. 

"That will be more useful to me than to you, " he said. 

"Sure thing it will!" said a voice behind him. 

He turned as swift as a cat and fired. The horrified girl heard only oneshot, so quickly did one report follow another. She saw Cherry Bim raisehis hand and wipe the blood from his cheek, saw the splinter of woodwhere the bullet had struck behind him; then Serganoff groaned andsprawled forward over the table. She dared not look at him, but followedBim's beckoning finger. 

"Down the stairs and out of that door, miss, " he said, "or the bullswill have you. "

She did not ask him who the "bulls" were; she could guess. She flew downthe stairs, with trembling hands unfastened the lock and stepped intothe street. It was empty, save for two men, and one of these cameforward to meet her with outstretched hands. 

"Thank God you're safe!" he said. "You weren't there, were you?"

Malcolm Hay was incoherent. The detective who was with him could butsmile a little, for the girl had come out of the door which, accordingto his instructions, led only to the private dining-room. 

"Take me away, " she whispered. 

He put his arm about her trembling figure, and led her along the street. All the time he was in terror lest the police should call her back, anddesire him to identify her; but nothing happened and they gainedShaftesbury Avenue and a blessed taxicab. 

"To Israel Kensky, " she said. "I can't go home like this. "

He stretched out of the window and gave fresh instructions. 

"I am greatly obliged to you, Mr. Hay, " she faltered and then coveredher face with her hands. "Oh, it was dreadful, dreadful!"

"What happened?" he asked. 

She shook her head. Then suddenly:

"No, no, I must go home. Will you tell the cabman? There is a chancethat I may get into my suite without Boolba seeing. Will you go on toIsrael Kensky after you have left me, and tell him what has happened?"

He nodded, and again gave the change of instructions. 

They reached the hotel at a period when most of the guests were eitherlingering over their dinner or had gone to the theatre. 

"I hate leaving you like this, " he said; "how do I know that you willget in without detection?"

She smiled in spite of her distress. 

"You're an inventor, aren't you, Mr. Hay?" she laughed. "But I am afraideven you could not invent a story which would convince my father if heknew I had been to that horrible place. " Presently she said: "My roomoverlooks the street. If I get in without detection I will come to thewindow and wave a handkerchief. "

He waited in a fit of apprehension, until presently he saw a light leapup to three windows, and her figure appeared. There was a flutter of awhite handkerchief, and the blinds were drawn. Malcolm Hay drove toMaida Vale, feeling that the age of romance was not wholly dead. 

To his surprise Kensky had had the news before he reached there. 

"Is she safe? Is she safe?" asked the old man tremulously. "Now, thankJehovah for his manifold blessings and mercies! I feared something waswrong. Her Highness wrote to me this afternoon, and I did not get theletter, " said Israel. "They waylaid the messenger, and wrote and toldher to go to the Silver Lion--the devils!"

His hand was shaking as he took up the poker to stir the fire. 

"He, at any rate, will trouble none of us again, " he said with malignantsatisfaction. 

"He? Who?"

"Serganoff, " said the old man. "He was dead when the police found him!"

"And the American?" asked Hay. 

"Only Russians were arrested, " said Israel Kensky. "I do not think Ishall see him again. "

In this he was wrong, though six years were to pass before they met: themystic, Israel Kensky, Cherry Bim the modern knight-errant, and MalcolmHay. 

CHAPTER VII

KENSKY OF KIEFF

Malcolm Hay drew rein half a verst from the Church of St. Andrea. Thoughhis shaggy little horse showed no signs of distress, Malcolm kicked hisfeet free from the stirrups and descended, for his journey had been along one, the day was poisonously hot and the steppe across which he hadridden, for all its golden beauty, its wealth of blue cornflour andyellow genista, had been wearisome. Overhead the sky was an unbrokenbowl of blue and at its zenith rode a brazen merciless sun. 

He took a leather cigar-case from his pocket, extracted a long blackcheroot and lit it; then, leaving his horse to its own devices, hemounted the bank by the side of the road, from whence he could lookacross the valley of the Dneiper. That majestic river lay beneath himand to the right. 

Before him, at the foot of the long, steep and winding road, lay thequarter which is called Podol. 

For the rest his horizon was filled with a jumble of buildings, magnificent or squalid; the half-revealed roofs on the wooded slopes ofthe four hills, and the ragged fringe of belfry and glittering cupolawhich made up the picture of Kieff. 

The month was June and the year of grace 1914, and Malcolm Hay, chiefengineer of the Ukraine-American Oil Corporation, had no other thoughtin his mind, as he looked upon the undoubted beauty of Kieff, than thatit would be a very pleasant place to leave. He climbed the broken stonewall and stood, his hands thrust deeply into his breeches pockets, watching the scene. It was one of those innumerable holy days which theRussian peasant celebrated with such zest. Rather it was the second ofthree consecutive feast days and, as Malcolm knew, there was smallchance of any work being done on the field until his labourers had takentheir fill of holiness, and had slept off the colossal drunk whichinevitably followed this pious exercise. 

A young peasant, wearing a sheepskin coat despite the stifling heat ofthe day, walked quickly up the hill leading a laden donkey. The manstopped when he was abreast of Malcolm, took a cigarette from the insideof his coat and lit it. 

"God save you, _dudushka_, " he said cheerfully. 

Malcolm was so used to being addressed as "little grandfather, " andthat for all his obvious youth, that he saw nothing funny in theaddress. 

"God save you, my little man, " he replied. 

The new-comer was a broad-faced, pleasant-looking fellow with a readygrin, and black eyebrows that met above his nose. Malcolm Hay knew thetype, but to-day being for idleness, he did not dread the man'sloquacity as he would had it been a working day. 

"My name is Gleb, " introduced the man: "I come from the village ofPotchkoi where my father has seven cows and a bull. "

"God give him prosperity and many calves, " said Malcolm mechanically. 

"Tell me, _gospodar_, do you ride into our holy city to-day?"

"Surely, " said Malcolm. 

"Then you will do well to avoid the Street of Black Mud, " said Gleb. 

Malcolm waited. 

"I speak wisely because of my name, " said the man with calm assurance;"possibly your excellence has wondered why I should bear the same nameas the great saint who lies yonder, " he pointed to one of the toweringbelfries shimmering with gold that rose above the shoulder of a distanthill. "I am Gleb, the son of Gleb, and it is said that we go back athousand years to the Holy Ones. Also, it was prophesied by a wisewoman, " said the peasant, puffing out a cloud of smoke and crossinghimself at the same time, "that I should go the way of holiness and thatafter my death my body should be incorruptible. "

"All this is very interesting, little brother, " said Malcolm with asmile, "but first you must tell me why I should not go into the Streetof Black Mud. "

The man laughed softly. 

"Because of Israel Kensky, " he said significantly. 

You could not live within a hundred miles of Kieff and not know ofIsrael Kensky. Malcolm realized with a start that he had not met the oldman since he left him in London. 

"In what way has Israel Kensky offended?" asked Malcolm, understandingthe menace in the man's tone. 

Gleb, squatting in the dust, brushed his sheepskin delicately with thetips of his fingers. 

"Little father, " he said, "all men know Israel Kensky is a Jew and thathe practises secret devil-rites, using the blood of Christian children. This is the way of Jews, as your lordship knows. Also he was seen on theplains to shoot pigeons, which is a terrible offence, for to shoot apigeon is to kill the Holy Ghost. "

Malcolm knew that the greater offence had not yet been stated andwaited. 

"To-day I think they will kill him if the Grand Duke does not send hissoldiers to hold the people in check--or the Grand Duchess, his lovelydaughter who has spoken for him before, does not speak again. "

"But why should they kill Kensky?" asked Malcolm. 

It was not the first time that Israel Kensky had been the subject ofhostile demonstrations. The young engineer had heard these stories ofhorrible rites practised at the expense of Christian children, and hadheard them so often that he was hardened to the repetition. 

The grin had left the man's face and there was a fanatical light in thesolemn eyes when he replied:

"_Gospodar_, it is known that this man has a book which is called 'TheBook of All-Power!'"

Malcolm nodded. 

"So the foolish say, " he said. 

"It has been seen, " said the other; "his own daughter, Sophia Kensky, who has been baptised in the faith of Our Blessed Lord, has told theArchbishop of this book. She, herself, has seen it. "

"But why should you kill a man because he has a book?" demanded Malcolm, knowing well what the answer would be. 

"Why should we kill him! A thousand reasons, _gospodar_, " cried the manpassionately; "he who has this book understands the black magic ofKensky and the Jews! By the mysteries in this book he is able to tormenthis enemies and bring sorrow to the Christians who oppose him. Did notthe man Ivan Nickolovitch throw a stone at him, and did not Ivan dropdead the next day on his way to mass, aye and turn black before theycarried him to the hospital? And did not Mishka Yakov, who spat at him, suffer almost immediately from a great swelling of the throat so thatshe is not able to speak or swallow to this very day without pain?"

Malcolm jumped down from the wall and laughed, and it was a helplesslittle laugh, the laugh of one who, for four long years, had foughtagainst the superstitions of the Russian peasantry. He had seen the workof his hands brought to naught, and a boring abandoned just short of theoil because a cross-eyed man, attracted by curiosity, had come andlooked at the work. He had seen his wells go up in smoke for someimaginary act of witchcraft on the part of his foreman, and, though helaughed, he was in no sense amused. 

"Go with God, little brother, " he said; "some day you will have moresense and know that men do not practise witchcraft. "

"Perhaps I am wiser than you, " said Gleb, getting up and whistling forhis donkey, who had strayed up the side lane. 

Before Malcolm could reply there was a clatter of hoofs and two riderscame galloping round the bend of the road making for the town. The firstof these was a girl, and the man who followed behind was evidently theservant of an exalted house, for he wore a livery of green and gold. 

Gleb's ass had come cantering down at his master's whistle and now stoodbroadside-on in the middle of the road, blocking the way. The girlpulled up her horse with a jerk and, half-turning her head to herattendant, she called. The man rode forward. 

"Get your donkey out of the way, fool, " he boomed in a deep-chestedroar. 

He was a big man, broad-shouldered and stout. Like most Russian domesticservants, his face was clean-shaven, but Malcolm, watching the sceneidly, observed only this about him--that he had a crooked nose and thathis hair was a fiery red. 

"Gently, gently. " It was the girl who spoke and she addressed herrestive horse in English. 

As for Gleb, the peasant, he stood, his hands clasped before him, hishead humbly hung, incapable of movement, and with a laugh Malcolm jumpeddown from the bank, seized the donkey by his bridle and drew himsomewhat reluctantly to the side of the road. The girl's horse had beencurveting and prancing nervously, so that it brought her to within afew paces of Malcolm, and he looked up, wondering what rich man'sdaughter was this who spoke in English to her horse ... Only once beforehad he seen her in the light of day. 

The face was not pale, yet the colour that was in her cheeks sodelicately toned with the ivory-white of forehead and neck that shelooked pale. The eyes, set wide apart, were so deep a grey that incontrast with the creamy pallor of brow they appeared black. 

A firm, red mouth he noticed; thin pencilling of eyebrows, a tangle ofdark brown hair; but neither sight of her nor sound of her tireddrawling voice, gave her such permanence in his mind as the indefinitesense of womanliness that clothed her like an aurora. 

He responded wonderfully to some mysterious call she made upon the manin him. He felt that his senses played no part in shaping his view. Ifhe had met her in the dark, and had neither seen nor heard; if she hadbeen a bare-legged peasant girl on her way to the fields; if he had mether anywhere, anyhow--she would have been divine. 

She, for her part, saw a tall young man, mahogany faced, leanly made, inold shooting-jacket and battered Stetson hat. She saw a good foreheadand an unruly mop of hair, and beneath two eyes, now awe-stricken byher femininity (this she might have guessed) rather than by her exaltedrank. They were eyes with a capacity for much laughter, she thought, andwished Russian men had eyes like those. 

"My horse is afraid of your donkey, I think, " she smiled. 

"It isn't my donkey, " he stammered, and she laughed again frankly at hisembarrassment. 

And then the unexpected happened. With a frightened neigh her horseleapt sideways toward him. He sprang back to avoid the horse's hoofs andheard her little exclamation of dismay. In the fraction of a second herealized she was falling and held out his arms to catch her. For amoment she lay on his breast, her soft cheek against his, theoverpowering fragrance of her presence taking his breath away. Then shegently disengaged herself and stepped back. There was colour in her facenow and something which might have been mischief, or annoyance, or sheeramusement, in her eyes. 

"Thank you, " she said. 

Her tone was even and did not encourage further advances on his part. 

"I lost my balance. Will you hold my horse's head?"

She was back in the saddle and turning, with a proud little inclinationof her head, was picking a way down the steep hill before he realizedwhat had happened. He gazed after her, hoping at least that femininecuriosity would induce her to turn and look back, but in this he wasdisappointed. 

The peasant, Gleb, still stood by the side of the road, his handsclasped, his head bent as though in a trance. 

"Wake up, little monkey, " said Malcolm testily. "Why did you not holdthe horse for the lady whilst I helped her to mount?"

"_Dudushka_, it is forbidden, _Zaprestcheno_, " said the man huskily. "She is _Kaziomne_! The property of the Czar!"

"The Czar!" gasped Malcolm. 

He had lived long enough in Russia to have imbibed some of the awe andreverence for that personage. 

"Little master, " said the man, "it was her Magnificence, the GrandDuchess Irene Yaroslav. "

"The Grand----!" Malcolm gasped. The reality of his dreams and he hadnot recognized her!

Long after the peasant had departed he stood on the spot where he hadheld her, like a man in a trance, and he was very thoughtful when hepicked up the reins of his horse and swung himself into the saddle. 

Kieff is built upon many hills and it has the beauty and distinction ofpossessing steeper roads than any other city in Europe. He was on hisway to the Grand Hotel, and this necessitated his passing through Podol, crossing the Hill of the Cliff, and descending into the valley beyond. 

Considering it was a feast day the streets were strangely deserted. Hemet a few old men and women in festal garb and supposed that themajority of the people were at the shrines in which Kieff abounds. Hepassed through the poorer Jewish quarter, and did not remember thepeasant's warning not to go into the Street of Black Mud until he hadturned into that thoroughfare. 

Long before he had reached the street he heard the roar of the crowd, and knew that some kind of trouble was brewing. The street was filledwith knots of men and women, and their faces by common attraction, wereturned in one direction. The focal point was a densely packed crowdwhich swayed toward the gateway of a tall, grim-looking house, which herecognized as the home of the millionaire, Kensky. 

The roar intensified to a continuous shriek of malignant hate. He sawsticks and fists brandished and heard above the scream of frenzied womenthe deep-throated "Kill! Death to the Jew!" which was not unfamiliar toone who knew Kieff in moments of religious excitement. It was nobusiness of his, and he drew his horse to the side of the street andwatched, wondering what part the black-bearded Russian priests, who werein force and who seemed to form the centre of each knot of idlers, wereplaying in this act of persecution. 

On the outskirts of the crowd he observed a green and gold coat, and, its wearer turning his head, he recognized him as the swarthy menial whohad ridden behind the Grand Duchess. He was as violent and as energeticas the most lawless, and seemed engaged in pushing men into the crowdand dragging forward hesitant bystanders to swell the throng which waspressing about the iron gates of the building. 

And then Malcolm saw something which brought his heart to his mouth, awhite hand raised from above the bobbing black heads, a hand raised inappeal or command. Instinctively he knew its owner and spurred his horseinto the throng, sending the people flying in all directions. There wasa small clear space immediately before the door which enabled him to seethe two chief actors in the drama long before he was within hailingdistance. 

The space was caused by a dead horse, as he afterwards discovered, but, for the moment, his eyes were fixed on the girl who stood with her backto the grille, shielding with her frail body a little old man, white-bearded and bent, who crouched behind her outstretched arms, hispale face streaming with blood. A broken key in the grille told thestory of his foiled attempt to escape. Grimy hands clutched at Malcolm'sknees as he drove through the press, a stone whistled past his ear andshrill voices uttered imprecations at the daring foreigner, but heswerved to left and right and made a way until the sight of the deadhorse brought his frightened mount to a quivering standstill. 

He leapt from the saddle and sprang to the girl's side, and to hisamazement his appearance seemed to strike consternation into her heart. 

"Why did you come? Get away as quickly as you can, " she breathed. "Oh, you were mad to come here!"

"But--but you?" he said. 

"They will not hurt me, " she said rapidly. "It is the old man they want. Can you smash the lock and get him inside?"

"Give us the book, Jew, " yelled a deep voice above the babel of sound. "Give us the book and you shall live! Lady! Magnificence! Make the oldman give us the book!"

Malcolm took a flying kick at the gate and the lock yielded. He halflifted, half carried the old man and pushed inside, where another lockeddoor confronted them. 

"Have you a key?" demanded Malcolm hurriedly. "Quick!"

The old man felt in his pocket with trembling fingers and in doing so hecrept behind his guardian. Malcolm now turned and faced the crowd. 

"Come in, for God's sake, " he called to the girl, but she shook herhead. 

"They will not hurt me, " she said over her shoulder; "it is you!"

At that moment Malcolm felt something heavy slipped into the loosepocket of his jacket and a quivering voice, harsh with fear, whisperedin his ear:

"Keep it, _gospodar_. To-morrow I will come for it at the Grand Hotel atthe middle hour!"

The crowd was now surging forward and the girl was being pressed backinto the little lobby by their weight. Suddenly the door opened with acrack and the old man slipped through. 

"Come, come, " he cried. 

Malcolm leapt forward, clasped the girl about the waist and swung herbehind him. 

The shrieks of the crowd broke and a new note crept into the pandemoniumof sound, a note of fear. From outside came a clatter of hoofs on thecobbled roadway. There was a flash of red and white pennons, the glitterof steel lances and a glimpse of bottle-green coats as half a sotnia ofCossacks swept the street clear. 

They looked at one another, the girl and the man, oblivious to theappeal of hand and voice which the old man in the doorway was offering. 

"I think you are very brave, " said the girl, "or else very foolish. Youdo not know our Kieff people. "

"I know them very well, " he said grimly. 

"It was equally foolish of me to interfere, " she said quickly, "and Iought not to blame you. They killed my horse. "

She pointed to the dead horse lying before the doorway. 

"Where was your servant?" he asked, but she made no reply. He repeatedthe question, thinking she had not heard and being at some loss for anyother topic of conversation. 

"Let us go out, " she said, ignoring the query, "we are safe now. "

He was following her when he remembered the packet in his pocket andturned to the old man. 

"Here is your----"

"No, no, no, keep it, " whispered Israel Kensky. "They may come againto-night! My daughter told them that I was carrying it. May she roast!"

"What is it?" asked Malcolm curiously. 

The old man's lips parted in a toothless smile. 

"It is the 'Book of All-Power!'"

He blinked up at Malcolm, peering into his face expectantly. "They alldesire it, _gospodar_, from the Grand Duke in his beautiful palace tothe _moujik_ in his cellar--they all desire my lovely book! I trust youwith it for one night, _gospodar_, because you are English. Ah, well, you are not Russian. Guard it closely, for it holds the secret of tearsand of happiness. You shall learn how to make men and women your slavesand how to turn people into Jews, and how to make men and women adoreyou, ai, ai! There are recipes for beauty in my book which make plainwomen lovely and old men young!"

Malcolm could only stare. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE GRAND DUKE IS AFFABLE

The girl's voice called, and Malcolm left old Kensky without a word andwent to her side. "Will you walk with me to my father's palace?" shesaid. "I do not think it is safe for you to be alone. "

A semi-circle of mounted Cossacks surrounded them now, and theunfaithful Boolba (such was the servant's name, he learnt) was standingwith an impassive face holding his horse's head. 

"One of the soldiers will take your horse, " she said. "Boolba, you willfollow us. "

Her voice was stern and she looked the man straight in the eyes, but hedid not flinch. 

"_Prikazeno_, Highness, it is ordered, " he said simply. 

She turned and walked the way she had come, turning into the big squarefollowed by a small escort of Cossacks. 

They walked in silence for some time, and it was the girl who firstspoke. 

"What do you think of Russia, Mr. Hay?" she asked. 

He jerked his head round at her in surprise. 

"You didn't know me on the hill, " she laughed, "but I knew you! Andthere are not so many foreigners in the Kieff region that you should beunknown to the Grand Duke, " she said, "and besides, you were at thereception which my father gave a year ago. "

"I did not see your Highness there, " said Malcolm. "I cameespecially----" he stopped short in confusion. 

"That was probably because I was not visible, " she replied dryly. "Ihave been to Cambridge for a year to finish my education. "

"That is why your English is so good, " he smiled. 

"It's much better than your Russian, " she said calmly. "You ought not tohave said '_ukhoditzay_' to people--you only say that to beggars, and Ithink they were rather annoyed with you. "

"I should imagine they were, " he laughed; "but won't you tell me whathappened to your servant? I thought I saw him on the outskirts of thecrowd and the impression I formed was----" he hesitated. 

"I shouldn't form impressions if I were you, " she said hurriedly. "Herein Russia one ought not to puzzle one's head over such things. When youmeet the inexplicable, accept it as such and inquire no further. "

She was silent again, and when she spoke she was more serious. 

"The Russian people always impress me as a great sea of lava, boilingand spluttering and rolling slowly between frail banks which we havebuilt for them, " said the girl. 

"I often wonder whether those banks will ever break, " said Malcolmquietly; "if they do----"

"Yes?"

"They will burn up Russia, " said Malcolm. 

"So I think, " said the girl. "Father believes that the war----" shestopped short. 

"The war?"

Malcolm had heard rumours so often of the inevitable war which would befought to establish the hegemony of the Slav over Eastern Europe thatthe scepticism in his tone was pardonable. She looked at him sharply. 

"You do not think there will be war?"

"One has heard so often, " he began. 

"I know, I know, " she said, a little impatiently, and changed thesubject. 

They talked about the people, the lovable character of the peasants, theextraordinary depth of their religious faiths, their amazingsuperstitions, and suddenly Malcolm remembered the book in his pocket, and was about to speak of it, but stopped himself, feeling that, by sospeaking, he was betraying the confidence of the old man who hadentrusted his treasure to a stranger's care. 

"What is this story of the book of Kensky?"

"'The Book of All-Power'?"

She did not smile as he had expected her to. 

"Old Israel Kensky is a curious man, " she said guardedly. "The peoplecredit him with all sorts of powers which of course he does not possess. They believe he is a wizard, that he can bend people to his will. Theysay the most terrible things about the religious ceremonies over whichhe presides. "

They were mounting the hill behind which lay the fashionable quarter ofKieff with its great stone palaces, its wonderful cherry gardens andbroad avenues. 

"I like old Kensky, " she went on; "he sometimes comes to the palace tobring new silks--he is the greatest merchant in Little Russia. He eventells me his troubles--he has a terrible daughter: you have heard abouther?"

"I thought she was rather good, " said Malcolm humorously. "Isn't she aChristian?"

The girl shrugged her shoulders. Evidently her Grand Ducal Highness hadno great opinion of Sophia Kensky's conversion. 

The Grand Ducal palace was built in the Byzantine style and presented, from the broad carriage drive that led from the road, a confusion ofroofs, windows and bastions, as though the designer had left the workingout of his plan to fifty different architects, and each architect hadinterpreted the scheme of construction in his own way. 

The Grand Duke was standing in the portico as they went through thegate, and came down the steps to meet them. He was a mild-looking man ofmedium height and wore pince-nez. Malcolm remembered that on the oneoccasion he had met his Highness he had been disappointed in his lack ofpersonal grandeur. 

"My child, my child!" said the Duke, coming to the girl withoutstretched arms. "What a terrible misfortune! How came you to be mixedup in this matter? The commandant has just telephoned to me. I havecalled for his resignation. By St. Inokeste, I will not have the rabblebreathing upon you! And this is the good gentleman who came to yourrescue?"

He surveyed Malcolm with his cold blue eyes, but both glance andintonation lacked the cordiality which his words implied. 

"I thank you. I am indeed grateful to you. You understand they would nothave harmed the Grand Duchess, but this you could not know. As for theJew----"

He became suddenly thoughtful. He had the air of a man whollypreoccupied in his secret thoughts and who now emerged from his shellunder the greatest protest. To Malcolm it seemed that he resented eventhe necessity for communicating his thoughts to his own daughter. 

"I am happy to have been of service to your Grand Ducal Highness, " saidMalcolm correctly. 

"Yes, yes, yes, " interrupted the Grand Duke nervously, "but you willstay and breakfast with me? Come, I insist, Mr. --er--er----"

"Mr. Hay, father, " said the girl. 

The conversation throughout was carried on in English, which was notremarkable, remembering that that was the family language of the Court. 

"Yes, yes, yes, Mr. Hay, you must stay to breakfast. You have been verygood, very noble, I am sure. Irene, you must persuade this gentleman. "He held out his hand jerkily and Malcolm took it with a bow. 

Then without another word or even so much as a glance at his daughter, the Grand Duke turned and hurried back into the palace, leaving Malcolmvery astonished and a little uncomfortable. 

The girl saw his embarrassment. 

"My father does not seem to be very hospitable, " she smiled, and oncemore he saw that little gleam of mischief in her eyes, "but I will giveyou a warmer invitation. "

He spread out his hands in mock dismay and looked down at his untidyclothes. 

"Your Highness is very generous, " he said, "but how can I come to theGrand Duke's table like this?"

"You will not see the Grand Duke, " she laughed; "father gives theseinvitations but never accepts them himself! He breakfasts in his ownroom, so if you can endure me alone----" she challenged. 

He said nothing but looked much, and her eyes fell before his. All thetime he was conscious that red-haired Boolba stood stiffly behind him, aspectator, yet, as Malcolm felt, a participant in this small affair ofthe breakfast invitation. She followed Malcolm's look and beckoned theman forward. He had already surrendered the horses to an orderly. 

"Take the lord to a guest-room, " she said in Russian, "and send a valetto attend to him. "

"It is ordered, " said the man, and with a nod, the girl turned andwalked into the house, followed at a more leisurely pace by Malcolm andthe man with the crooked nose. 

Boolba led the way up a broad flight of stairs, carpeted with thick redpile, along a corridor pierced at intervals with great windows, toanother corridor leading off and through a door which, from itsdimensions, suggested the entrance to a throne-room, into a suitegorgeously furnished and resplendent with silver electroliers. Itconsisted of a saloon leading into a bedroom, which was furnished in thesame exquisite taste. A further door led to a marble-tiled bathroom. 

"Such luxury!" murmured Malcolm. 

"Has the _gospodar_ any orders?"

It was the solemn Boolba who spoke. Malcolm looked at him. 

"Tell me this, Boolba, " he said, falling into the familiar style ofaddress which experience had taught him was the correct line to followwhen dealing with Russian servants, "how came it that your mistress wasalone before the house of Israel Kensky, the Jew, and you were on theoutskirts of the crowd urging them on?"

If the man felt any perturbation at the bluntness of the question he didnot show it. 

"Kensky is a Jew, " he said coolly; "on the night of the Pentecost hetakes the blood of new-born Christian babies and sprinkles his money sothat it may be increased in the coming year. This Sophia Kensky, his owndaughter, has told me. "

Malcolm shrugged his shoulders. 

"You are no ignorant _moujik_, Boolba, " he said contemptuously, "youhave travelled with his Highness all over the world. " (This was a shotat a venture, but apparently was not without justification. ) "How canyou, an educated man of the people, believe such rubbish?"

"He has a book, _gospodar_, " said Boolba, "and we people who desirepower would have that book, for it teaches men how they may command thesouls of others, so that when they lift their little fingers, those whohate them best shall obey them. "

Malcolm looked at him in astonishment. 

"Do you believe this?"

For the first time a smile crossed the face of the man with the crookednose. It was not a pleasant smile to see, for there was cunning in itand a measureless capacity for cruelty. 

"Who knows all the miracles and wonders of the world?" he said. "My lordknows there is a devil, and has he not his angels on earth? It is bestto be sure of these things, and we cannot be certain--until we have seenthe book which the Jew gave to your lordship. "

He paused a little before uttering the last sentence which gave hisassertion a special significance. Malcolm eyed him narrowly. 

"The Jew did not give me any book, Boolba, " he said. 

"I thought your lordship----"

"You thought wrongly, " said Malcolm shortly. 

Boolba bowed and withdrew. 

The situation was not a particularly pleasant one. Malcolm had in hispossession a book which men were willing to commit murder to obtain, andhe was not at all anxious that his name should be associated with thepractice of witchcraft. 

It was all ridiculous and absurd, of course, but then in Russia nothingwas so absurd that it could be lightly dismissed from consideration. Hewalked to the door and turned the key, then took from his pocket thething which Israel Kensky had slipped in. It was a thick, stoutly boundvolume secured by two brass locks. The binding was of yellow calf, andit bore the following inscription in Russian stamped in gold lettering:

 "THE BOOK OF ALL-POWER. "

"Herein is the magic of power and the words and symbols which unlock thesealed hearts of men and turn their proud wills to water. "

On the bottom left-hand corner of the cover was an inscription inHebrew, which Malcolm could not read, but which he guessed stood for thebirth-name of Israel Kensky. He turned the book over in his hand, and, curiosity overcoming him, he tried to force his thumb-nail into themarbled edge of the leaves that he might secure a glimpse of itscontents. But the book was too tightly bound, and after another carefulexamination, he pulled off his coat and started to make himselfpresentable for breakfast. 

The little meal was wholly delightful. Besides Malcolm and the girlthere were present a faded Russian lady, whom he guessed was herofficial chaperon, and a sour-visaged Russian priest who ceremoniouslyblessed the food and was apparently the Grand Duke's household chaplain. He did not speak throughout the meal, and seemed to be in a condition ofrapt contemplation. 

But for all Malcolm knew there might have been a hundred peoplepresent--he had eyes and ears only for the girl. She had changed to adark blue costume beneath which was a plain white silk blouse cut deeplyat the neck. 

He was struck by the fact that she wore no jewels, and he found himselfrejoicing at the absence of rings in general and of one ring inparticular. 

Of course, it was all lunacy, sheer clotted madness, as he told himself, but this was a day to riot in illusions, for undreamt-of things hadhappened, and who could swear that the days of fairies had passed? Tomeet a dream-Irene on his way to Kieff was unlikely, to rescue her froman infuriated mob (for though they insisted that she was in no dangerhe was no less insistent that he rescued her, since this illusion wasthe keystone to all others), to be sitting at lunch with such a visionof youthful loveliness--all these things were sufficiently outside therange of probabilities to encourage the development of his dream in acomfortable direction. 

"To-night, " thought he, "I shall be eating a prosaic dinner at the GrandHotel, and the Grand Duchess Irene Yaroslav will be a remote personagewhom I shall only see in the picture papers, or possibly over the headsof a crowd on her way to the railway station. "

And so he was outrageously familiar. He ceased to "Highness" her, laughed at her jokes and in turn provoked her to merriment. The mealcame to an end too soon for him, but not too soon for the noddingdowager nor the silent, contemplating priest, who had worn through hisperiod of saintly abstraction and had grown most humanly impatient. 

The girl looked at her watch. 

"Good gracious, " she said, "it is four o'clock and I have promised to goto tennis. " (Malcolm loathed tennis from that hour. )

He took his leave of her with a return to something of the oldceremonial. 

"Your Grand Ducal Highness has been most gracious, " he said, but shearrested his eloquence with a little grimace. 

"Please, remember, Mr. Hay, that I shall be a Grand Ducal Highness forquite a long time, so do not spoil a very pleasant afternoon by beingover-punctilious. "

He laughed. 

"Then I will call you----"

He came to a dead end, and the moment was embarrassing for both, thoughwhy a Grand Ducal Highness should be embarrassed by a young engineer shealone might explain. 

Happily there arrived most unexpectedly the Grand Duke himself, and ifhis appearance was amazing, as it was to judge by the girl's face, hisgeniality was sensational. 

He crossed the hall and gripped the young man's hand. 

"You're not going, Mr. Hay?" he asked. "Come, come, I have been a verybad host, but I do not intend to let you go so soon! I have much that Iwant to talk to you about. You are the engineer in charge of the UkraineOil Field, is it not so? Excellent! Now, I have oil on my estate in theUrals but it has never been developed.... "

He took the young man by the arm and led him through the big doors tothe garden, giving him no chance to complete or decently postpone hisfarewell to the girl, who watched with undisguised amazement thisstaggering affability on the part of her parent. 

CHAPTER IX

THE HAND AT THE WINDOW

An hour later she came from tennis, to find her father obviously boredalmost to the point of tears, yet making an heroic attempt to appearinterested in Malcolm's enthusiastic dissertation of the future of theoil industry. The Grand Duke rose gladly on her appearance, and handedhim over. 

"I have persuaded Mr. Hay to dine with us to-night, and I have sent tothe hotel for his baggage. He is most entertaining, my little love, mostentertaining. Persuade him to talk to you about--er--oil and things, "and he hurriedly withdrew. 

The girl sat down on the seat he had vacated. 

"You're a most amazing person, Mr. Hay, " she smiled. 

"So I have been told, " said Malcolm, as he filled a glass with tea fromthe samovar. 

"You have also a good opinion of yourself, it seems, " she said calmly. 

"Why do you think I am amazing, anyway?" said he recklessly, returningto the relationships they had established at luncheon. 

"Because you have enchanted my father, " she said. 

She was not smiling now, and a troubled little frown gathered on herbrow. 

"Please tell me your magic. "

"Perhaps it is the book, " he said jestingly. 

"The book!" she looked up sharply. "What book?"

And then, as a light dawned on her, she rose to her feet. 

"You have--you have Israel Kensky's book?" she whispered in horror. 

He nodded. 

"Here with you?"

"Yes, here, " he slapped his pocket. 

She sat down slowly and reached out her hand, and he thought it shook. 

"I do not know who was the madder--Israel Kensky to give it to you oryou to take it, " she said. "This is the only house in Kieff where yourlife is safe, and even here----" She stopped and shook her head. "Ofcourse, you're safe here, " she smiled, "but I wish the book weresomewhere else. "

She made no further reference either to the amazing volume or to herfather, and that night, when he came down to dinner, feeling more onlevel terms with royalty (though his dress-suit was four years old andhis patent shoes, good enough for such mild society functions as camehis way, looked horribly cracked and shabby), he dismissed the matterfrom his mind. The dinner party was a large one. There were two bishops, innumerable popes, several bejewelled women, an officer or two and theinevitable duenna. He was introduced to them all, but remembered onlyColonel Malinkoff, a quiet man whom he was to meet again. 

To his amazement he found that he had been seated in the place ofhonour, to the right of the Grand Duke, but he derived very littlesatisfaction from that distinction, since the girl was at the other endof the table. 

She looked worried and her conversation, so far as he could hear, consisted of "yes" and "no" and conventional expressions of agreementwith the views of her companions. 

But the duke was loquacious, and at an early stage of the dinner theconversation turned on the riot of the morning. There was nothingremarkable in the conversation till suddenly the Grand Duke, withoutpreliminary, remarked in a matter-of-fact tone:

"The danger is that Kensky may very well use his evil powers against thewelfare of Holy Church. "

There was a murmur of agreement from the black-bearded popes, andMalcolm opened his eyes in astonishment. 

"But surely your Highness does not believe that this man has anysupernatural gift. "

The Grand Duke stared at him through his glasses. 

"Of course, " he said, "if there are miracles of the Church why shouldthere not be performed miracles by the Powers of Darkness? Here inKieff, " he went on, "we have no reason to doubt that miracles areperformed every day. Who doubts that worship at the shrine of St. Barbara in the Church of St. Michael of the Golden Head protects usagainst lightning?"

"That is undoubtedly the fact, your Imperial Highness, " said a stoutpope, speaking with his mouth full. "I have seen houses with lightningconductors struck repeatedly, and I have never known any place to betouched by lightning if the master of the house was under the protectionof St. Barbara. "

"And beneath the Church of Exaltation, " the Grand Duke went on, "moremiracles have been performed than elsewhere in the world. "

He peered round the table for contradiction. 

"It was here that the Two Brothers are buried and it was their prayerthat they should sleep together in the same grave. One died before theother, and when the second had passed away and they carried his body tothe tomb, did not the body of the first brother arise to make room? Andis there not a column in the catacomb to which, if a madman is bound, herecovers his reason? And are there not skulls which exude wonderful oilswhich cure men of the most terrible diseases, even though they are onthe point of death?"

Malcolm drew a long breath. He could understand the superstitiousreverence of the peasant for these relics and miracles, but these wereeducated men. One of them stood near to the throne and was versed in theintricacies of European diplomacy. These were no peasants steeped inignorance, but intellectuals. He pinched himself to make sure that hewas awake as the discussion grew and men swopped miracles in much thesame spirit of emulation as store-loafers swop lies. But theconversation came back to him, led thereto by the Grand Duke, and oncemore it centred on that infernal book. The volume in question was notsix inches from the Grand Duke, for Malcolm had stuffed it into his tailpocket before he came down to dinner, and this fact added a certainpiquancy to the conversation. 

"I do not doubt, your Highness, " said a stout bishop, who picked histeeth throughout the dinner, "that Kensky's book is identical with acertain volume on devil worship which the blessed Saint Basil publiclydenounced and damned. It was a book especially inspired by Satan, andcontained exact rules, whereby he who practised the magic could bind inearthly and immortal obedience the soul of anybody he chose, thusdestroying in this life their chance of happiness and in the life tocome their souls' salvation. "

All within reach of the bishop's voice crossed themselves three times. 

"It would have been well, " mused the Grand Duke, "if the people hadsucceeded this morning. "

He shot a glance at Malcolm, a glance full of suspicious inquiry, butthe young man showed no sign either of resentment or agreement. But hewas glad when the dinner ended and the chance came to snatch a few wordswith the girl. The guests were departing early, and kummel and coffeewas already being served on a large silver salver by the _buffetschek_, whom Malcolm recognized as the ubiquitous Boolba. 

"I shall not see you again, " said the girl in a low voice. "I am goingto my room. But I want you to promise me something, Mr. Hay. "

"The promise is made before you ask, " said he. 

"I want you to leave as early as you possibly can to-morrow morning foryour mine, and if I send you word I want you to leave Russia withoutdelay. "

"But this is very astonishing. "

She faced him squarely, her hands behind her back. 

"Mr. Hay, " she said, and her low voice was vibrant with feeling, "youhave entangled yourself in an adventure which cannot possibly end wellfor you. Whatever happens, you cannot come out with credit and safety, and I would rather you came out with credit. "

"I don't understand you, " he said. 

"I will make it plainer, " said she. "Unless something happens in thenext month or two which will point the minds of the people to otherdirections, you will be suspect. The fact that you have the book isknown. "

"I know, " he said. 

"By whom?" she asked quickly. 

"By Boolba, your servant. "

She raised her hand to her lips, as if to suppress a cry. It was an oddlittle trick of hers which he had noticed before. 

"Boolba, " she repeated. "Of course! That explains!"

At that moment the Grand Duke called him. The guests had dwindled awayto half a dozen. 

"Your coffee, Mr. Hay, and some of our wonderful Russian kummel. Youwill not find its like in any other part of the world. "

Malcolm drank the coffee, gulped down the fiery liqueur, and replacedthe glass on the tray. He did not see the girl again, and half an hourlater he went up to his room, locked the door and undressed himselfslowly, declining the assistance which had been offered to him by thetrained valet. 

From the open window came the heavy perfume of heliotrope, but it wasneither the garden scent nor the moderate quantity of wine he had taken, nor the languid beauty of the night, which produced this delicioussensation of weariness. He undressed and got into his pyjamas, then satat the end of his bed, his head between his hands. 

He had sat for a long time like this, before he realized the strangenessof his attitude and getting on to his feet, found himself swaying. 

"Doped, " he said, and sat down again. 

There was little of his brain that was awake, but that little he workedhard. He had been drugged. It was either in the kummel or in the coffee. Nothing but dope would make him feel as he was feeling now. He fell intobed and pulled the clothes about him. He wanted to keep awake to fightoff the effects of the stuff and, by an absurd perversion of reasoning, he argued that he was in a more favourable position to carry out hisplan if he made himself comfortable in bed, than if he followed anyother course. 

The drug worked slowly and erratically. He had moments of completeunconsciousness with intervals which, if they were not free from theeffect of the agent, were at least lucid. One such interval must havecome after he had been in bed for about an hour, for he found himselfwide awake and lay listening to the thumping of his heart, which seemedto shake the bed. 

The room was bathed in a soft green light, for it was a night of fullmoon. He could see dimly the furniture and the subdued gleam of silverwall-sconce, that caught the ghostly light and gave it a more mysteriousvalue. He tried to rise but could not. To roll his head from side toside seemed the limitation of conscious effort. 

And whilst he looked, the door opened noiselessly and closed again. Somebody had come into the room, and that somebody passed softly acrossthe foot of the bed, and stood revealed against the window. Had he beencapable of speech he would have cried out. 

It was the girl!

He saw her plainly in a moment. She wore a wrapper over her nightdress, and carried a small electric lamp in her hand. She went to the chairwhere he had thrown his clothes and made a search. He saw her takesomething out and put it under her wrap, then she went back the way shecame, pausing for the space of a second at the foot of his bed. 

She stood there undecidedly, and presently she came up to the side ofthe bed and bent down over him. His eyes were half closed; he hadneither the power of opening or shutting them, but he could see clearlythe white hand that rested on the bed and the book that it held, and thepolished table by the bedside reflecting the moonlight back to her faceso that she seemed something as intangible and as shadowy as the nightitself. 

A little smile played upon her pale face, and every whispered word sheuttered was clear and distinct. 

"Good-bye, poor Mr. Hay, " she said softly. 

She shook her head as though in pity; then, stopping swiftly, she kissedhim on the cheek and passed quickly to the half-open door by which shehad entered. She was nearing the door when she stopped dead and shrankback toward the bed. Another electric lamp gleamed unexpectedly. He sawthe white of her nightdress show as a dazzling strip of light where thebeam caught it. Then the unknown intruder touched on the light, and theystood revealed, the girl tall, imperious, a look of scorn on herbeautiful face, and the stout menial with the crooked nose. 

Boolba wore an old dressing-gown girdled about with a soiled rainbowsash. His feet were bare, and in his two hands laying from palm to palmwas a long thin knife. 

At the sight of the girl he fell back, a grotesque sprawling movementwhich was not without its comicality. A look of blank bewildermentcreased his big face. 

"You--you, Highness!" he croaked. "The Jew, where is he?"

She was silent. Malcolm saw the quick rise and fall of her bosom, sawthe book clutched closer to her side beneath the filmy silken gown. 

Boolba looked from the girl to Malcolm, from Malcolm to the heavycurtains at either side of the open window--curtains which the druggedman had not drawn. 

"He has left his quarters, Highness, " Boolba spoke eagerly; "he was seento enter the grounds of the palace--where is he?"

He took a step toward her. 

"Stand back--you slave!" she breathed, but with a bound he was upon her. There was a brief struggle, and the book was wrenched from her hand. 

Malcolm saw all this, but lay as one dead. He was conscious butparalysed by the potion, and could only watch the girl in the grip ofthe obese monster and feel his heart going like a steam hammer. 

Boolba stood gloating over his prize, fondling the book in his big, coarse hands. Malcolm wondered why the girl did not scream--yet howcould she? She was in his room in the middle of the night, she, adaughter of emperors. 

The man tried to wrench open the locks which held the covers, butfailed. Suddenly he looked up, and glared across at the girl. 

He said nothing, but the suspicion in that scowl was emphasized when hemoved to the wall near the window and the light of a bracket lamp. 

Again he examined the book and for the first time spoke:

"Oh, Highness, was it you who sent for Israel Kensky that the bookshould be restored----"

So far he got when an arm came from behind the curtain--a handblue-veined, and it held a yellow handkerchief. 

The girl saw it, and her hand went to her mouth. 

Then the handkerchief struck full across Boolba's face, covering it fromforehead to the mouth. 

For a moment the man was paralysed, then he pulled the handkerchief awayand clawed at the clay-like substance which adhered to his face. 

"Mother of God!"

He screamed the words and, dropping the book, stumbled forward, rubbingat his face, shrieking with pain. 

The girl ran swiftly through the open door, for feet were now patteringalong the corridors and the flicker of lights showed through thedoorway. Boolba was rolling on the ground in agony when the servantscrowded in, followed by the Grand Duke--and he alone was fully dressed. 

"Boolba--what is it?"

"The book--the book! It is mine! See ... Floor!"

But the book had disappeared. 

"Where, Boolba--where, my good Boolba?" The voice of Boolba's master wastremulous. "Show me--did he strike you--he shall suffer, by the saints!Look for it, Boolba!"

"Look! Look!" yelled the writhing man. "How shall I look? I who amblind--blind--blind!"

CHAPTER X

TERROR IN MAKING

In the spring of 1919 Malcolm Hay came out from the Kursky Voksalcarrying his own well-worn valise. An indifferent cigar was clenchedbetween his white teeth, and there was a sparkle of amusement in hisgrave eyes. He stood seventy inches in his stockings, and an excellentjudge of men who looked him over, noted the set and width of shoulders, the upward lift of chin, the tanned face and flexibility of body, markedhim down "soldier"--either American or English. 

Malcolm looked up and down the deserted street and then caught the eyeof the solitary _intooski_, a thoughtful-looking man with a short, square beard, looking monstrously stout in his padded green coat, thelivery of the Moscow drosky driver. 

The man on the sidewalk smiled and walked across the pavement. 

"Little brother, " he said in fluent Russian, "would you condescend todrive me to the Hotel du Bazar Slav?"

The driver who had noted so approvingly the shape of Malcolm'sshoulders did not immediately answer; then:

"British?--I thought you were. "

He spoke excellent English, and Malcolm looked up at him bewildered. 

"I seem to know your face, too--let me think. "

The cab-driver tapped his bearded chin. 

"I have it--Hay. I met you four years ago at a dinner party inKieff--you are the manager of an oil company or something of the sort. "

"Right, " said the astonished young man, "but--I don't exactly placeyou. "

The drosky driver smiled. 

"And yet I dined with you, " he said. "I sat next the Grand DuchessIrene--later, when war broke out, I invited you to my headquarters. "

"Good God!" Malcolm's jaw dropped. "General Malinkoff!"

"Commanding the 84th Caucasian Division, " said the bearded man dryly, "and now commanding one little horse. If you will get into my excellentcab I will drive you to a restaurant where we may eat and drink and bealmost merry for--fifty roubles. "

Malcolm stepped into the little drosky like a man in a dream. Malinkoff!He remembered him, a fine figure on a horse, riding through Kieff atthe head of a glittering throng of staff officers. There was a functionat the Grand Hotel to meet the new Commander, a great parade at thatancient palace in his honour--Malcolm had come in from the oil-fieldspartly to meet him at dinner--partly for news of one who had of a suddenvanished from his life. 

The drosky drove furiously through the east end of the town, and thepassenger noted that the driver was careful to avoid the bigthoroughfares which led to the Krasnaya Plotzad and that centre ofMoscow which is the Kremlin. 

Presently it drew up before a small eating-house in a poor street, andthe driver hoisted himself to the ground. He left his horse unattendedand, leading the way, pushed open the swing doors of the restaurant andpassed down a long, low-ceilinged room crowded with diners, to a tableat the far end. 

"Sit down, Mr. Hay. I can promise you a fair but by no means sybaritefeast--good morning, Nicholas Vassilitsky. "

He nodded pleasantly to a grey-haired man in a workman's blouse sittingat the next table, and the man addressed rose stiffly, bowed and satdown. 

"If you wish your clothes valeted whilst you are in Moscow, I recommendmy friend, " said the driver, snapping his fingers towards a stoutwaitress. "Colonel Nicholas Vassilitsky is not only an excellentDirector of Military Intelligence but he can press a pair of trouserswith any man. "

He gave his orders briefly, and turned to his companion. 

"First of all, let me interrogate you. You are on your way toPetrograd?"

"Yes--I am on my way home. During the war I have been controlling alliedsupplies in Little Russia--the Revolution stopped that. "

"Fortunate man--to have a country, " said General Malinkoff, and he spokeseriously and without bitterness. "A country and an army--coherent, disciplined comrades in arms. "

He shrugged his padded shoulders. 

"Yes--you are on your way to your home? It will take you months to leavethe country--if you ever leave it. I tried to leave last month. I am areactionary with a leaning toward discipline. I cannot breathe the airof democracy. I used to think I had Liberal ideas. There was a time whenI thought that a day would dawn when the world would be a great UnitedStates of Free People. Ah, well--I am still a reactionary. "

Malcolm knew that behind those grave eyes was a world of laughter, thatbeneath the solemn words was a gentle irony, and yet for the while hecould not distinguish how much of tragedy there was in the man's fun. 

"But why are you----"

"Driving a cab?" The general finished the sentence. "Because, my friend, I am human. I must eat, for example; I must have a room to sleep in. Ineed cigarettes, and clean shirts at least three times a week--for God'ssake never let that be known. I must also have warm clothes for thewinter--in fact, I must live. "

"But haven't you--money?" Malcolm felt all a decent man's embarrassment. "Forgive me butting into your affairs, but naturally I'm rather hazed. "

"Naturally, " laughed the general. "A bottle of kavass, my peach ofTurkistan, and a glass for our comrade. "

"Long live the Revolution!" wheezed the waitress mechanically. 

"Long may it live, little mother!" responded the general. 

When the girl had gone he squared round to his companion. 

"I have no shame, Mr. Hay--I'm going to let you pay for your own dinnerbecause I cannot in these democratic times pauperize you by paying foryou. No, I have no money. My balance in the State bank has beenconfiscated to the sacred cause of the people. My estate, a hundredversts or so from Moscow, confiscated to the sacred cause of theRevolution, my house in Petrograd is commandeered to the sacred serviceof the Soviet. "

"But your command?"

The general did not smile now. He laid down his knife and fork and threwa glance behind him. 

"The men began shooting their officers in March, 1917, " he said, lowering his voice. "They executed the divisional staff in May--thedemocratic spirit was of slow growth. They spared me because I hadwritten a book in my youth urging popular government and had beenconfined in the fortess of Vilna for my crime. When the army wasdisbanded I came to Moscow, and the cab was given to me by a formergroom of mine, one Isaac Mosservitch, who is now a judge of the highcourt and dispenses pretty good law, though he cannot sign his ownname. "

"Mr. Hay, " he went on earnestly, "you did wrong to come to Moscow. Getback to Kieff and strike down into the Caucasus. You can reach theAmerican posts outside of Tiflis. You'll never leave Russia. TheBolsheviks have gone mad--blood-mad, murder-mad. Every foreigner issuspect. The Americans and the English are being arrested. I can get youa passport that will carry you to Odessa, and you can reach Batoum, andBaku from there. "

Malcolm leant back in his chair and looked thoughtfully at the other. 

"Is it so bad?"

"Bad! Moscow is a mad-house. Listen--do you hear anything?"

Above the hum of conversation Malcolm caught a sound like the crackingof whips. 

"Rifle-firing, " said the general calmly. "There's a counter-revolutionin progress. The advanced Anarchists are in revolt against theBolsheviks. There is a counter-revolution every morning. We cab-driversmeet after breakfast each day and decide amongst ourselves which of thestreets shall be avoided. We are pretty well informed--PrinceDalgoursky, who was a captain in the Preopojensky Guard, sellsnewspapers outside the Soviet headquarters, and the comrades give himtips. One of these days the comrades will shoot him, but for the momenthe is in favour, and makes as much as a hundred roubles a day. "

The waitress came to the table, and the conversation momentarily ceased. When she had gone Malcolm put the question which he had asked so oftenin the past four years. 

"Can you give me any news of the Grand Duke Yaroslav?"

The other shook his head. 

"His Highness was in Petrograd when I heard of him last. "

"And--and his daughter? She has been with the Russian Red Cross on theRiga front, I know. "

The bearded man shot a queer glance at his companion. 

"In what circumstances did you see her last?" he asked. 

Malcolm hesitated. 

He could hardly tell a stranger of that tragic scene which was enactedin his bedroom. From the moment she had fled through the door he had notset eyes upon her. In the morning when he had wakened, feeling sick andill, he had been told that the Grand Duke and his daughter had left bythe early northern express for the capital. Of Boolba, that hideouslyblinded figure, he heard nothing. When he inquired for Israel Kensky, men shrugged and said that he had "disappeared. " His house was closedand the old man might be in prison or in hiding. Later he was to learnthat Kensky had reappeared in Moscow, apparently without hindrance fromthe authorities. As for Boolba, he had kept his counsel. 

"You seem embarrassed, " smiled Malinkoff. "I will tell you why I ask. You know that her Grand Ducal Highness was banished from Court fordisobedience to the royal will?"

Malcolm shook his head. 

"I know nothing--absolutely nothing. Kieff and Odessa are full ofrefugees and rumours, but one is as much a suspect as the other. "

"She would not marry--that is all. I forget the name of the exaltedpersonage who was chosen for her, though I once helped to carry him upto bed--he drank heavily even in those days. God rest him! He died likea man. They hung him in a sack in Peter and Paul, and he insulted theSoviets to the last!"

"So--so she is not married?"

The general was silent, beckoning the waitress. 

"My little dear, " he said, "what shall I pay you?"

She gave him the scores and they settled. 

"Which way now?" asked the general. 

"I hardly know--what must a stranger do before he takes up his abode?"

"First find an abode, " said the general with a meaning smile. "You askedme to drive you to the Hotel Bazar Slav, my simple but misguided friend!That is a Soviet headquarters. You will certainly go to a place adjacentto the hotel to register yourself, and afterwards to the Commissary toregister all over again, and, if you are regarded with approval, whichis hardly likely, you will be given a ticket which will enable you tosecure the necessities of life--the tickets are easier to get than thefood. "

The first call at the house near the Bazar Slav gave them neithertrouble nor results. The Soviet headquarters was mainly concerned withpurely administrative affairs, and the organization of its membership. Its corridors and doorway were crowded with soldiers wearing thefamiliar red armlet, and when Malinkoff secured an interview with aweary looking and unkempt official, who sat collarless in his shirtsleeves at a table covered with papers, that gentleman could do no morethan lean back in his chair and curse the interrupters volubly. 

"We might have dispensed with the headquarters visit, " said Malinkoff, "but it is absolutely necessary that you should see the Commissaryunless you want to be pulled out of your bed one night and shot beforeyou're thoroughly awake. By the way, we have an interesting American ingaol--by his description I gather he is what you would call a gun-man. "

Malcolm stared. 

"Here--a gun-man?"

Malinkoff nodded. 

"He held up the Treasurer-General of the Soviet and relieved him of hiswealth. I would like to have met him--but I presume he is dead. Justiceis swift in Moscow, especially for those who hold up the officials ofthe Revolution. "

"What sort of justice do these people administer?" asked Malcolmcuriously. 

Malinkoff shrugged his padded shoulders. 

"Sometimes I think that the very habit of justice is dead in this land, "he said. "On the whole they are about as just and fair as was the oldregime--that is not saying much, is it? The cruelty of our rule to-dayis due rather to ignorance than to ill will. A few of the men higher upare working off their old grievances and are profiting enormously, butthe rank and file of the movement are labouring for the millennium. "

"I think they're mad, " said Malcolm. 

"All injustice is mad, " replied Malinkoff philosophically. "Now get intomy little cab, and I will drive you to the Commissary. "

The Commissary occupied a large house near the Igerian Gate. It was ahouse of such noble proportions that at first Malcolm thought it was oneof the old public offices, and when Malinkoff had drawn up at the gatehe put the question. 

"That is the house of the Grand Duke Yaroslav, " said Malinkoff quietly. "I think you were inquiring about him a little earlier in the day. "

The name brought a little pang to Malcolm's heart, and he asked nofurther questions. There was a sentry on the _podyasde_--an untidy, unshaven man, smoking a cigarette--and a group of soldiers filled theentrance, evidently the remainder of the guard. 

The Commissary was out. When would he be back? Only God knew. He hadtaken "the Little Mother" for a drive in the country, or perhaps he hadgone to Petrograd--who knew? There was nobody to see but theCommissary--on this fact they insisted with such vehemence that Malcolmgathered that whoever the gentleman was, he brooked no rivals andallowed no possible supplanter to stand near his throne. 

They came back at four o'clock in the afternoon, but the Commissary wasstill out. It was nine o'clock, after five inquiries, that the sentryreplied "Yes" to the inevitable question. 

"Now you will see him, " said Malinkoff, "and the future depends upon thepotency of your favourite patron saint. "

Malcolm stopped in the doorway. 

"General----" he said. 

"Not that word, " said Malinkoff quickly. "Citizen or comrade--comradefor preference. "

"I feel that I am leading you into danger--I have been horribly selfishand thoughtless. Will it make any difference to you, your seeing him?"

Malinkoff shook his head. 

"You're quite right, it is always dangerous to attract the attention ofthe Committee for Combatting the Counter-Revolution, " he said, "butsince I have taken you in hand I might as well see him as stay outsideon my cab, because he is certain to inquire who brought you here, and itmight look suspicious if I did not come in with you. Besides, somebodywill have to vouch for you as a good comrade and friend of the Soviet. "

He was half in earnest and half joking, but wholly fatalistic. 

As they went up the broad spiral staircase which led to the main floorof the Yaroslav Palace, Malcolm had qualms. He heartily cursed himselffor bringing this man into danger. So far as he was concerned, as hetold himself, there was no risk at all, because he was a Britishtraveller, having no feeling one way or the other toward the SovietGovernment. But Malinkoff would be a marked man, under suspicion all thetime. Before the office of the Commissary was a sentry without rifle. Hesat at a table which completely blocked the doorway, except for abouteight inches at one side. He inquired the business of the visitors, tooktheir names and handed them to a soldier, and with a sideways jerk ofhis head invited them to squeeze past him into the bureau. 

CHAPTER XI

THE COMMISSARY WITH THE CROOKED NOSE

There were a dozen men in the room in stained military overcoats and redarmlets. One, evidently an officer, who carried a black portfolio underhis arm, was leaning against the panelled wall, smoking and snapping hisfingers to a dingy white terrier that leapt to his repeated invitations. 

At the table, covered with documents, were two people, the man and thewoman. 

She, sprawling indolently forward, her head upon her arm, her strongbrown face turned to the man, was obviously a Jewess. The papers werestreaked and greasy where her thick black ringlets had rested, and theashes of her cigarette lay in little untidy heaps on the table. 

The man was burly, with a great breadth of shoulder and big rough hands. But it was his face which arrested the feet of Malcolm and brought himto a sudden halt the moment he came near enough to see and recognize theCommissary. 

It was not by his bushy red beard nor the stiff, upstanding hair, butby the crooked nose, that he recognized Boolba, sometime serving-man tothe Grand Duke Yaroslav. Malcolm, looking at the sightless eyes, felthis spine go creepy. 

Boolba lifted his head sharply at the sound of an unfamiliar footfall. 

"Who is this?" he asked. "Sophia Kensky, you who are my eyes, tell mewho is this?"

"Oh, a boorjoo, " said the woman lazily. 

"A foreigner too--who are you, boorjoo?"

"A Britisher, " said Malcolm. 

Boolba lifted his chin and turned his face at the voice. 

"A Britisher, " he repeated slowly. "The man on the oil-fields. Tell meyour name. "

"Hay--Malcolm Hay, " said Malcolm, and Boolba nodded. 

His face was like a mask and he expressed no emotion. 

"And the other?"

"Malinkoff!" snapped the voice at Malcolm's side, and Boolba nodded. 

"Commanding an army--I remember. You drive a cab, comrade. Are there anycomplaints against this man?"

He turned his face to Sophia Kensky, and she shook her head. 

"Are there any complaints against this man, Sophia?" he repeated. 

"None that I know. He is an aristocrat and a friend of the Romanoffs. "

"Huh!" The grunt sounded like a note of disappointment. "What do youwant?"

"The stranger wishes permission to remain in Moscow until he can find atrain to the north, " said Malinkoff. 

Boolba made no reply. He sat there, his elbows on the table, his fingerstwining and untwining the thick red hair of his beard. 

"Where does he sleep to-night?" he asked after awhile. 

"He sleeps in my stable, near the Vassalli Prospekt, " said Malinkoff. 

Boolba turned to the woman, who was lighting a new cigarette from theend of the old one, and said something in a low, growling tone. 

"Do as you wish, my little pigeon, " she said audibly. 

Again his hand went to his beard and his big mouth opened in meditation. Then he said curtly:

"Sit down. "

There was no place to sit, and the two men fell back amongst thesoldiers. 

Again the two at the table consulted, and then Sophia Kensky called aname. The man in a faded officer's uniform came forward, his big blackportfolio in his hand, and this he laid on the table, opening the flapand taking out a sheaf of papers. 

"Read them to me, Sophia, " said Boolba. "Read their names. "

He groped about on the table and found first a rubber stamp and then asmall, flat ink-pad. Sophia lifted the first of the papers and spelt outthe names. 

"Mishka Sasanoff, " she said, and the man growled. 

"An upstart woman and very ugly, " he said. "I remember her. She used towhip her servants. Tell me, Sophia, my life, what has she done now?"

"Plotted to destroy the Revolution, " said the woman. 

"Huh!" grunted the man, as he brought his rubber stamp to the paper, passing it across to the waiting officer, who replaced it in hisportfolio. "And the next?"

"Paul Geslkin, " she said and passed the document to him. "Plotting tooverthrow the Revolution. "

"A boorjoo, a tricky young man, in league with the priests, " he said, and again his stamp came down upon the paper, and again the paper wentacross the table into the portfolio of the officer. 

The soldiers about Malcolm and his friend had edged away, and they werealone. 

"What are these?" whispered Malcolm. 

"Death warrants, " replied Malinkoff laconically, and for the second timea cold chill ran down Malcolm's spine. 

Name after name were read out, and the little rubber stamp, whichcarried death to one and sorrow to so many, thudded down upon the paper. Malcolm felt physically ill. The room was close and reeked of viletobacco fumes. There was no ventilation, and the oil lamps made theapartment insufferably hot. An hour, two hours passed, and no furthernotice was paid to the two men. 

"I can't understand it quite, " said Malinkoff in a low voice. "Ordinarily this would mean serious trouble, but if the Commissary hadany suspicion of you or me, we should have been in prison an hour ago. "

Then suddenly Boolba rose. 

"What is the hour?" he said. 

A dozen voices replied. 

"Half-past ten? It is time that the sweeper was here. "

He threw back his head and laughed, and the men joined in the laughter. With a great yellow handkerchief, which reminded Malcolm of somethingparticularly unpleasant, Boolba wiped the streams from his sightlesseyes and bent down to the woman at his side, and Malcolm heard him say:"What is his name--he told me, " and then he stood up. 

"Hay, " he said, "you are a boorjoo. You have ordered many men to sweepyour room. Is it not good that a house should be clean, eh?"

"Very good, Boolba, " said Malcolm quietly. 

"Boolba he calls me. He remembers well. That is good! I stood behindhim, comrades, giving wine and coffee and bowing to this great Englishlord! Yes, I, Boolba!" he struck his chest, "crawled on my knees to thisman, and he calls me Boolba now--Boolba!" he roared ferociously. "Comehere! Do this! Clean my boots, Boolba! Come, little Boolba, bow thy neckthat I may rest my foot!"

A voice from the door interrupted him. 

"Good!" he said. "My sweeper has arrived, Hay. Once a day she sweeps myroom and once a day she makes my bed. No ordinary woman will satisfyBoolba. She must come in her furs, drive in her fine carriage from theNijitnkaya--behold!"

Malcolm looked to the doorway and was struck dumb with amazement. 

The girl who came in was dressed better than he expected any woman tobe dressed in Moscow. A sable wrap was about her shoulders, a sabletoque was on her head. He could not see the worn shoes nor the shabbydress beneath the costly furs; indeed, he saw nothing but the face--theface of his dreams--unchanged, unlined, more beautiful than he hadremembered her. She stood stiffly in her pride, her little chin held up, her contemptuous eyes fixed upon the man at the table. Then loosing herwrap, she hung it upon a peg, and opening a cupboard, took out a broadbroom. 

"Sweep, Irene Yaroslav, " said the man. 

Malcolm winced at the word, and Malinkoff turned to him sharply. 

"You know her?" he said. "Of course you do--I remember. Was that whyBoolba kept us waiting?"

"He was butler in the Yaroslav household, " said Malcolm in the sametone. 

"That explains it, " said Malinkoff. "All this is for the humiliation ofthe Grand Duchess. "

"Sweep well, little one, " scoffed Boolba from his table. "Does it not doyour heart good, Sophia Kensky? Oh, if I had only eyes to see! Does shego on her knees? Tell me, Sophia. "

But the woman found no amusement in the sight, and she was not smiling. Her high forehead was knitted, her dark eyes followed every movement ofthe girl. As Boolba finished speaking she leant forward and demandedharshly:

"Irene Yaroslav, where is Israel Kensky?"

"I do not know, " replied the girl, not taking her eyes from her work. 

"You lie, " said the woman. "You shall tell me where he is and where hehas hidden his 'Book of All-Power. ' She knows, Boolba. "

"Peace, peace!" he said, laying his big hand on her shoulder. "Presentlyshe will tell and be glad to tell. Where is your father, IreneYaroslav?"

"You know best, " she replied, and the answer seemed to afford himamusement. 

"He was a religious man, " he scoffed. "Did he not believe in miracles?Was there any saint in Kieff he did not patronize? He is with the saintsthis day, " and then, in a fierce whisper to Sophia--"How did she look?Tell me, Sophia. How did she look when I spoke?"

"He died three weeks ago, " said Irene quietly, "at the Fortress of Peterand Paul, " and Boolba rapped out an oath. 

"Who told you? Who told you?" he roared. "Tell me who told you, and Iwill have his heart out of him! I wanted to tell you that myself!"

"The High Commissary Boyaski, " she replied, and Boolba swallowed hisrage, for who dared criticize the High Commissaries, who hold power oflife and death in their hands, even over their fellow officials? He sankdown in his chair again and turned impatiently to Sophia. 

"Have you no tongue in your head, Sophia Kensky!" he asked irritably. "Tell me all she does. How is she sweeping--where?"

"By the men, near the big bookcase, " said the woman reluctantly. 

"Yes, yes, " and he nodded his great head. 

He rose, walked round the table, and paced slowly to the girl as shestood quietly waiting. Malcolm had no weapon in his pocket. He had beenwarned by Malinkoff that visitors were searched. But on the table lay asheathed sword--possibly the mark of authority which Boolba carried. Butevidently this ceremony was a nightly occurrence. Boolba did no morethan pass his hand over the girl's face. 

"She is cool, " he said in a disappointed tone. "You do not work hardenough, Irene Yaroslav. To-morrow you shall come with water and shallscrub this room. "

The girl made no reply, but as he walked back to his seat of authorityshe continued her work, her eyes fixed on the floor, oblivious of hersurroundings. Presently she worked round the room until she came towhere Malcolm stood, and as she did so for the first time she raised herhead, and her eyes met his. Again he saw that little trick of hers; herhand went to her mouth, then her head went down, and she passed on asthough she had never seen him. 

"What did she do, Sophia? Tell me what she did when she came to theEnglishman. Did she not see him?"

"She was startled, " grumbled Sophia; "that is all. Boolba, let the womango. "

"Nay, nay, my little pigeon, she must finish her work. "

"She has finished, " said Sophia impatiently; "how long must this go on, Boolba? Is she not an aristocrat and a Romanoff, and are there none ofyour men who want wives?"

Malcolm felt rather than saw the head of every soldier in the room liftto these words. 

"Wait a little, " said Boolba. "You forget the book, my littlepigeon--the 'Book of All-Power. ' I would have that rather than thatIrene Yaroslav found a good husband from our comrades. You may go, IreneYaroslav, " he said. "Serge!"

The officer who had taken the death warrants, and who stood waiting fordismissal, came forward. 

"Take our little brother Malinkoff and the Britisher Hay and place themboth in the prison of St. Basil. They are proved enemies to theRevolution. "

"I wonder who will feed my little horse to-night, " said Malinkoff as, handcuffed to his companion, he marched through the streets in the lightof dawn, en route, as he believed, to certain death. 

CHAPTER XII

IN THE PRISON OF ST. BASIL

The temporary prison called by Boolba "St. Basil, " was made up of fourblocks of buildings. All save one were built of grey granite, andpresented, when seen from the courtyard below, tiers of little windowsset with monotonous regularity in discoloured walls. The fourth wasevidently also of granite, but at some recent period an attempt had beenmade to cover its forbidding facade with plaster. The workmen hadwearied of their good intent and had left off when their labours werehalf finished, which gave the building the gruesome appearance of havingbeen half skinned. Flush with the four sides of the square was an openconcrete trench, approached at intervals by flights of half a dozenstone steps leading to this alley-way. 

Malcolm Hay was pushed down one of these, hurried along the alley-way, passing a number of mailed iron doors, and as many barred windows, andwas halted before one of the doors whilst the warder who all the timesmoked a cigar, produced a key. The door was unlocked, and Hay wasthrust in. Malinkoff followed. The door slammed behind them, and theyheard the "click-clock" of the steel lock shooting to its socket. 

The room was a medium-sized apartment, innocent of furniture save for atable in the centre of the room and a bench which ran round the walls. Light came from a small window giving a restricted view of the courtyardand a barred transom above the doorway. An oblong slit of ground glassbehind which was evidently an electric globe served for the night. 

There were two occupants of the room, who looked up, one--a grimy, dishevelled priest--blankly, the other with the light of interest in hiseyes. 

He sat in his shirt-sleeves, his coat being rolled up to serve as apillow. Above the "bed" hung a Derby hat--an incongruous object. He wasshort, stout, and fresh coloured, with a startling black moustacheelaborately curled at the ends and two grey eyes that were lined aroundwith much laughter. He walked slowly to the party and held out his handto Malcolm. 

"Welcome to the original Bughouse, " he said, and from his accent it wasimpossible to discover whether he was American or English. "On behalf ofself an' partner, we welcome you to Bughouse Lodge. When do you go tothe chair--he's due to-day, " he jerked his thumb at the crooning priest. "I can't say I'm sorry. So far as I am concerned he's been dead eversince they put him here. "

Malcolm recognized the little man in a flash. It was his acquaintance ofLondon. 

"You don't remember me, " smiled Malcolm, "but what is your particularcrime?"

The little man's face creased with laughter. 

"Shootin' up Tcherekin, " he said tersely, and Malinkoff's eyebrows rose. 

"You're--Beem--is that how you pronounce it?"

"Bim, " said the other, "B-I-M. Christian name Cherry--Cherry Bim; seethe idea? Named after the angels. Say, when I was a kid--I've got aphotograph way home in Brooklyn to prove it--I had golden hair in longringlets!"

Malinkoff chuckled softly. 

"This is the American who held up Tcherekin and nearly got away with tenmillion roubles, " he said. 

Cherry Bim had taken down his Derby and had adjusted it at the angledemanded by the circumstances. 

"That's right--but I didn't know they was roubles. I _should_ excite mymentality over waste paper! No, we got word that it was French money. "

"There was another man in it?" said Malinkoff, lighting acigarette--there had been no attempt to search them. 

"Don't let that match go out!" begged Cherry Bim, and dug a stub fromhis waistcoat pocket. "Yes, " he puffed, "Isaac Moskava--they killed poorold Issy. He was a good feller, but too--too--what's the word when afeller falls to every dame he meets?"

"Impressionable?" suggested Malcolm. 

"That's the word, " nodded Cherry Bim; "we'd got away with twentythousand dollars' worth of real sparklers in Petrograd. They used tobelong to a princess, and we took 'em off the lady friends of Groobal, the Food Commissioner, and I suggested we should beat it across theSwedish frontier. But no, he had a girl in Moscow--he was that kind ofguy who could smell patchouli a million miles away. "

Malcolm gazed at the man in wonderment. 

"Do I understand that you are a--a----" He hesitated to describe hiscompanion in misfortune, realizing that it was a very delicate position. 

"I'm a cavalier of industry, " said Cherry Bim, with a flourish. 

"Chevalier is the word you want, " suggested Malcolm, responding to hisgeniality. 

"It's all one, " said the other cheerfully. "It means crook, I guess?Don't think, " he said seriously, "don't you think that I'm one of thosecheap gun-men you can buy for ten dollars, because I'm not. It was thelove of guns that brought me into trouble. It wasn't trouble thatbrought me to the guns. I could use a gun when I was seven, " he said. "My dad--God love him!--lived in Utah, and I was born at Broke Creek andcut my teeth on a '45. I could shoot the tail-feathers off a fly'swing, " he said. "I could shoot the nose off a mosquito. "

It was the deceased Isaac Moskava who had brought him to Russia, hesaid. They had been fellow fugitives to Canada, and Isaac, who hadfriends in a dozen Soviets, had painted an entrancing picture of thepickings which were to be had in Petrograd. They worked their way acrossCanada and shipped on a Swedish barque, working their passage before themast. At Stockholm Issy had found a friend, who forwarded them carriagepaid to the capital, whereafter things went well. 

"Have you got any food?" asked Cherry Bim suddenly. "They starve youhere. Did you ever eat _schie_? It's hot water smelling of cabbage. "

"Have you been tried?" asked Malinkoff, and the man smiled. 

"Tried!" he said contemptuously. "Say, what do you think's goin' tohappen to you? Do you think you'll go up before a judge and hire alawyer to defend you? Not much. If they try you, it's because they'vegot something funny to tell you. Look here. "

He leapt up on to the bench with surprising agility and stood on tiptoe, so that his eyes came level with a little grating in the wall. Theopening gave a view of another cell. 

"Look, " said Cherry Bim, stepping aside, and Malcolm peered through theopening. 

At first he could see nothing, for the cell was darker than the room hewas in, but presently he distinguished a huddled form lying on thebench, and even as he looked it was galvanized to life. It was an oldman who had leaped from the bench mumbling and mouthing in his terror. 

"I am awake! I am awake!" he screamed in Russian. "_Gospodar_, observeme! I am awake!"

His wild yells shrunk to a shrill sobbing, and then, with a long sigh, he climbed back to the bench and turned his back to the wall. Malcolmexchanged glances with Malinkoff, who had shared the view. 

"What is it?" he asked. 

"Come down and I'll tell you. Don't let the old man hear you speak--he'sfrightened. "

"What did he say?" he asked curiously. 

Malcolm repeated the words, and Cherry Bim nodded. 

"I see. I thought they were stuffing me when they told me, but it'sevidently true. He's a Jew, " he went on. "Do you think them guys don'tkill Jews? Don't you make any mistake about that--they'll kill anybody. This old man has a daughter or a granddaughter, and one of the comradesgot fresh with him, so poor old Moses--I don't know his name but helooks like the picture of Moses that we had in our Bible at home--shotat this fellow and broke his jaw, so they sent him to be killed in hissleep. "

"In his sleep?" repeated Malcolm incredulously, and Cherry Bim nodded. 

"That's it, " he said. "So long as he's awake they won't kill him--atleast they say so. I guess when his time comes they'll settle him, asleep or awake. The poor old guy thinks that so long as he's awake he'ssafe--do you get me?"

"It's hellish!" said Malcolm between his teeth. "They must be devils. "

"Oh, no, they're not, " said Cherry Bim. "I've got nothing on theSoviets. I bet the fellow that invented that way of torturing the oldman thinks he's done a grand bit of work. Say, suppose you turned a lotof kids loose to govern the United States, why Broadway would be allcluttered up with dead nursery maids and murdered governesses. That'swhat's happening in Russia. They don't mean any harm. They're doing allthey know to govern, only they don't know much--take no notice of hisreverence, he always gets like this round about meal times. "

The voice of the black-coated priest grew louder. He stood before thebarred window, crossing himself incessantly. 

"It is the celebration of the Divine Mystery, " said Malinkoff in a lowvoice, and removed his cap. 

"For our holy fathers the high priests Basil the Great, Gregory theDivine, Nicholas of Myra in Lycia, for Peter and Alexis and Jonas, andall holy high priests, " groaned the man, "for the holy wonder workers, the disinterested Cosmas and Damiauns, Cyrus and John, Pantaleon andHermolaus, and all unmercenary saints... !

"By the intercession of these, look down upon us, O God!"

He walked back to his seat and, taking compassion upon this man with awhite, drawn face, Malcolm went to him. 

"Little father, " he said, "is there anything we can do for you?"

He produced his cigarette case, but the pope shook his head. 

"There is nothing, my son" he replied in a weary voice, which he didnot raise above one monotonous tone, "unless you can find the means ofbringing Boolba to this cell. Oh, for an hour of the old life!" Heraised his hand and his voice at the same moment, and the colour came tohis cheeks. "I would take this Boolba, " he said, "as holy Ivan took thetraitors before the Kremlin, and first I would pour boiling hot waterupon him and then ice cold water, and then I would flay him, suspendinghim by the ankles; then before he was dead I would cut him in fourpieces----"

"Phew!" said Malcolm, and walked away. 

"Did you expect to find a penitent soul?" asked Malinkoff dryly. "Mydear fellow, there is very little difference between the Russian ofto-day and the Russian of twelve months ago, with this exception, thatthe men who had it easy are now having it hard, and those who had towork and to be judged are now the judges. "

Malcolm said nothing. He went to the bench and making himself ascomfortable as possible he lay down. It was astounding that he could be, as he was, accustomed to captivity in the space of a few hours. He mighthave lived in bondage all his life, and he would be prepared to live forever so long as--he did not want to think of the girl, that sweeper ofBoolba's. 

As to his own fate he was indifferent. Somehow he believed that he wasnot destined to die in this horrible place, and prayed that at least hemight see the girl once more before he fell a victim to the malice ofthe ex-butler. 

To his agony of mind was added a more prosaic distress--he wasravenously hungry, a sensation which was shared by his two companions. 

"I've never known them to be so late, " complained Cherry Bimregretfully. "There's usually a bit of black bread, if there's nothingelse. "

He walked to the window and, leaning his arms on the sill, lookeddisconsolately forth. 

"Hi, Ruski!" he yelled at some person unseen, and the other inmates ofthe room could see him making extravagant pantomime, which producednothing in the shape of food. 

It was three o'clock in the afternoon, and Malcolm was dozing, when theyheard the grate of the key in the lock and the slipping of bolts, thenthe door opened slowly. Malcolm leapt forward. 

"Irene--your Highness!" he gasped. 

The girl walked into the cell without a word, and put the big basket shehad been carrying upon the table. There was a faint colour in the faceshe turned to Malcolm. Her hands were outstretched to him, and he caughtthem in his own and held them together. 

"Poor little girl!"

She smiled. 

"Mr. Hay, you have made good progress in your Russian since I met youlast, " she said. "General Malinkoff, isn't it?"

The general stood strictly to attention, his hand at his cap--a factwhich seemed to afford great amusement to the gaoler who stood in thedoorway, and who was an interested spectator. 

"It was Boolba's idea that I should bring you food, " said the girl, "andI have been ordered to bring it to you every day. I have an idea that hethinks"--she stopped--"that he thinks I like you, " she went on frankly, "and of course that is true. I like all people who fly into danger torescue distressed females, " she smiled. 

"Can anything be done for you?" asked Malcolm in a low voice. "Can't youget away from this place? Have you no friends?"

She shook her head. 

"I have one friend, " she said, "who is in even greater danger thanI--no, I do not mean you. Mr. Hay"--she lowered her voice--"there may bea chance of getting you out of this horrible place, but it is a veryfaint chance. Will you promise me that if you get away you will leaveRussia at once?"

He shook his head. 

"You asked me that once before, your Highness, " he said. "I am lessinclined to leave Russia now than I was in the old days, when the dangerwas not so evident. "

"Highness"--it was the priest who spoke--"your magnificence has broughtme food also? Highness, I served your magnificent father. Do you notremember Gregory the priest in the cathedral at Vladimir?"

She shook her head. 

"I have food for you, father, " she said, "but I do not recall you. "

"Highness" he spoke eagerly and his eyes were blazing, "since you gofree, will you not say a prayer for me before the miraculous Virgin? Or, better still, before the tomb of the holy and sainted Dimitry in thecathedral of the Archangel! And, lady, " he seized her hand in entreaty, "before the relics of St. Philip the Martyr in our Holy Cathedral of theAssumption. "

Gently the girl disengaged her arm. 

"Father, I will pray for you, " she said. "Good-bye!" she said toMalcolm, and again extended both her hands, "till to-morrow!"

Malcolm raised the hands to his lips, and stood like a man in a dream, long after the door had slammed behind her. 

"Gee!" said the voice of Cherry Bim with a long sigh. "She don'tremember me, an' I don't know whether to be glad or sorry--some peach!"

Malcolm turned on him savagely, but it was evident the man had meant noharm. 

"She is a friend of mine, " he said sharply. 

"Sure she is, " said the placid Cherry, unpacking the basket, "and theright kind of friend. If this isn't caviare! Say, shut your eyes, andyou'd think you were at Rectoris. "

CHAPTER XIII

CHERRY BIM MAKES A STATEMENT

Malcolm was awakened in the night by a scream. He sprang from the bench, his face bathed in perspiration. 

"What was that?" he asked hoarsely. 

Malinkoff was sitting on the edge of the bench rubbing his eyes. 

"I heard something, " he yawned. 

Only Cheery Bim had not moved. He was lying on his back with his kneesup and his hands behind his head, wide awake. 

"What was it, Cherry?" asked Malcolm. 

Slowly the little man rose and stretched himself. 

"I wonder what the time is, " he said evasively. 

Malcolm looked at his watch. 

"Half-past three, " he replied. 

"He's asleep anyway, " said Cherry, nodding towards the recumbent figureof the priest. "He might have been useful--but I forgot the old man's aJew. "

"Do you mean----?" said Malinkoff and glanced at the gate. 

Cherry nodded again. 

"I never thought they'd carry it out according to programme, " he said, "but they did. I heard 'em come in. "

There was the thud of a door closing. 

"That's the door of his cell. They have taken him out, I guess. The lastfellow they killed in there they hung on a hook--just put a rope roundhis neck and pushed him in a bag. He was a long time dying, " he saidreflectively, and Malcolm saw that the little man's lower lip wastrembling in spite of his calm, matter-of-fact tone. 

Malinkoff had walked across to the priest, and had shaken him awake. 

"Father, " he said, "a man has just died in the next cell. Would you notread the Office of the Dead?"

The priest rose with an ill grace. 

"Why should I be awakened from my sleep?" he complained. "Who is thisman?"

"I do not know his name, " said Malinkoff, "but he is a Jew----"

"A Jew!"

The priest spat on the ground contemptuously. 

"What, I speak an office for a Jew?" he demanded, wrath in his face. 

"For a man, for a human fellow creature, " said Malinkoff sternly, butthe priest had gone back to his hard couch, nor would he leave it, andMalinkoff, with a shrug of his shoulders, went back to his bed. 

"That is Russia--eternal Russia, " he said, and he spoke withoutbitterness. "Neither Czar nor Soviet will alter it. "

They did not go to sleep again. Something was speaking to them from thenext cell, something that whimpered and raised its hands in appeal, andthey welcomed the daylight, but not the diversion which daylightbrought. Again the door banged open, and this time a file of soldiersstood in the entrance. 

"Boris Michaelovitch, " said the dark figure in the entrance, "it is thehour!"

The priest rose slowly. His face was grey, the hands clasped togetherbefore him shook; nevertheless, he walked firmly to the door. 

Before the soldiers had closed around him he turned and raised his handin blessing, and Malinkoff fell upon his knees. 

Again the door slammed and the bolts shot home, and they waited insilence. 

There was no sound for ten minutes, then came a crash of musketry, sounexpected and so loud that it almost deafened them. A second volleyfollowed, and after an interval a third, and then silence. Cherry Bimwiped his forehead. 

"Three this morning, " he said unsteadily. "Anyway, it's better thanhanging. "

There was a long pause, and then:

"Say, " he said, "I'm sorry I said I was glad that guy was going. "

Malcolm understood. 

The day brought Irene at the same hour as on the previous afternoon. Shelooked around for the priest, and apparently understood, for she made noreference to the missing man. 

"If you can get away from here, " she said, "go to Preopojenski. That isa village a few versts from here. I tell you this, but----"

She did not complete her sentence, but Malcolm could guess from thehopeless despair in her voice. 

"Excuse me, miss, " interrupted Cherry Bim. "Ain't there any way ofgetting a gun for a man? Any old kind of gun, " he said urgently; "Colt, Smith-Wesson, Browning, Mauser--I can handle 'em all--but Coltpreferred. "

She shook her head sadly. 

"It is impossible, " she said. "I am searched every time I come inthrough the lodge. "

"In a pie, " urged Cherry. "I've read in stories how you can get thesethings in a pie. Couldn't you make----"

"It's quite impossible, " she said. "Even bread is cut into four pieces. That is done in the lodge. "

Cherry Bim cast envious eyes on the tall guard at the doorway. He had along revolver. 

"I'll bet, " said Cherry bitterly, "he don't know any more about a gunthan a school-marm. Why, he couldn't hit a house unless he was inside ofit. "

"I must go now, " said the girl hastily. 

"Tell me one thing, " said Malcolm. "You spoke yesterday of having onefriend. Is that friend Israel Kensky?"

"Hush!" she said. 

She took his hand in both of hers. 

"Good-bye, Mr. Hay, " she said. "I may not come to-morrow. "

Her voice was hard and strained, and she seemed anxious to end theinterview. 

"Boolba told me this morning, " she went on, speaking rapidly but littleabove a whisper, "that he had----certain plans about me. Good-bye, Mr. Hay!"

This time she shook hands with Malinkoff. 

"Don't forget the village of Preopojensky, " she repeated. "There is onlythe slightest chance, but if God is merciful and you reach the outsideworld, you will find the house of Ivan Petroff--please remember that. "And in a minute she was gone. 

"I wonder what was wrong, " said Malcolm. "She was not so frightenedwhen she came in, then she changed as though----"

Looking round he had seen, only for the fraction of a second, a handthrough the grating over the bench. Someone had been listening in thenext cell, and the girl had seen him. He sprang upon a bench and peeredthrough, in time to see the man vanish beyond the angle of his vision. Malinkoff was lighting his last cigarette. 

"My friend, " he said, "I have an idea that in the early hours of themorning you and I will go the same way as the unfortunate priest. "

"What makes you think so?" asked Malcolm quickly. 

"Not only do I, but the Grand Duchess thinks so also, " said Malinkoff. "Possibly this is news. "

Again the door was opened, and this time it was an officer of the RedGuard who appeared. He had evidently been chosen because of hisknowledge of English. 

"I want the thief, " he said tersely in that language. 

"That sounds remarkably like me, " said Cherry. 

He put on his Derby hat slowly and went forth in his shirt-sleeves. Theywatched him through the window being taken across the courtyard andthrough the archway which led to the prison offices and the outer gate. 

"They haven't released him, I suppose?" asked Malcolm, and Malinkoffshook his head. 

"He is to be interrogated, " he said. "Evidently there is something whichBoolba wants to know about us, and which he believes this man willtell. "

Malcolm was silent, turning matters over in his mind. 

"He won't tell anything that will injure us, " he said. 

"But the man is a crook, " said Malinkoff; "that is the word, isn't it?"

"That's the word, " agreed Malcolm grimly, "but he's also a man of my ownrace and breed, and whilst I would not trust him with my pocket-book--orI should not have trusted him before I came in here--I think I can trusthim with my life, supposing that he has my life in his hands. "

In twenty minutes Cherry Bim was back, very solemn and mysterious untilthe gaoler was gone. Then he asked:

"Who is Israel Kensky, anyway?"

"Why?" asked Malcolm quickly. 

"Because I'm going to make a statement about him--a written statement, "he said cheerfully. "I'm going to have a room all to myself, " he spokeslowly as though he were repeating something which he had already toldhimself, "because I am not a quick writer. Then I am going to tell allthat she said about Israel Kensky. "

"You can tell that in a second, " said Malcolm sternly, and the littleman raised a lofty hand. 

"Don't get up in the air. "

"Why have they sent you back now?"

"To ask a question or two, " said Cherry. 

He put on his coat, examined the interior of his hat thoughtfully, andjammed it down on his head. 

"Ten minutes are supposed to elapse, " he said melodramatically, "passedin light and airy conversation about a book--the 'Book of--of----"

"'All-Power'?" said Malcolm. 

"That's the fellow. I should say it's the history of this darned place. Here they come. "

He pulled down his coat, brushed his sleeves and stepped forward brisklyto meet the English-speaking officer. 

They passed an anxious two hours before he returned, and, if anything, he was more solemn than ever. He made no reply to their questions, butpaced the room, and then he began to sing, and his tune had more reasonthan rhyme. 

"Look through the grating, " he chanted, "see if anybody is watching orlistening, my honey, oh my honey!"

"There's nobody there, " said Malcolm after a brief inspection. 

"He'll be back again in five minutes, " said Cherry, stopping his songand speaking rapidly. "I told him I wanted to be sure on one point, andhe brought me back. I could have done it, but I wouldn't leave youalone. "

"Done what?" asked Malcolm. 

"Saved myself. Do you know what I saw when I got into that room for thefirst time? The guy in charge was locking away in a desk three guns andabout ten packets of shells. It sounds like a fairy story, but it'strue, and it's a desk with a lock that you could open with your teeth!"

It was Malinkoff who saw the possibilities of the situation which theman described. 

"And they left you alone in the room?" he asked quickly. 

"Sure, " said Cherry. "Lift my hat, and lift it steady. "

Malcolm pulled his hat up, and the butt of a revolver slipped out. 

"There's a Browning there--be careful, " said Cherry, ducking his headand pulling off his hat in one motion. "Here's the other under my arm, "he put his hand beneath his coat and pulled out a Colt. 

"Here are the shells for the automatic. I'll take the long fellow. Nowlisten, you boys, " said Cherry. "Through that gateway at the end of theyard, you come to another yard and another gate, which has a guard onit. Whether we get away or whether we don't, depends on whether our luckis in or out. "

"Look!" he whispered, "here comes Percy!"

The door swung open and the officer beckoned Cherry forward with a liftof his chin. Cherry walked toward him and the officer half turned in theattitude of one who was showing another out. Cherry's hand shot out, caught the man by the loose of his tunic and swung him into the room. 

"Laugh and the world laughs with you, " said Cherry, who had anassortment of literary quotations culled from heaven knows where. "Shoutand you sleep alone!"

The muzzle of a long-barrelled '45 was stuck in the man's stomach. Hedid not see it, but he guessed it, and his hands went up. 

"Tie him up--he wears braces, " said Cherry. "I'll take that belt ofdeadly weapons. " He pulled one revolver from the man's holster andexamined it with an expert's eye. "Not been cleaned for a month, " hegrowled; "you don't deserve to be trusted with a gun. "

He strapped the belt about his waist and sighed happily. 

They gagged the man with a handkerchief, and threw him ungently uponthe bench before they passed through the open door to comparativefreedom. Cherry locked and bolted the door behind them, and pulled downthe outer shutter, with which, on occasions, the gaoler made life in thecells a little more unendurable by excluding the light. The cells werebelow the level of the courtyard, and they moved along the trench fromwhich they opened. 

Pacing his beat by the gateway was a solitary sentry. 

"Stay here, " whispered Cherry; "he has seen me going backward andforward, and maybe he thinks I'm one of the official classes. "

He mounted the step leading up from the trench, and walked boldly towardthe gateway. Nearing the man, he turned to wave a greeting to animaginary companion. In reality he was looking to see whether there wereany observers of the act which was to follow. 

Watching him, they did not see exactly what had happened. Suddenly thesoldier doubled up like a jack-knife and fell. 

Cherry bent over him, lifted the rifle and stood it against the wall, then, exhibiting remarkable strength for so small a man, he picked upthe man in his arms and dropped him into the trench which terminated atthe gateway. They heard the thud of his body, and, breaking cover, theyraced across the yard, joining Cherry, who led the way through the deeparch. 

Now they saw the outer barrier. It consisted of a formidable irongrille. To their right was a gloomy building, which Malcolm judged wasthe bureau of the prison, to the left a high wall. On either side of thegateway was a squat lodge, and before these were half a dozen soldiers, some leaning against the gate, some sitting in the doorway of thelodges, but all carrying rifles. 

"This way, " said Cherry under his breath, and turned into the office. 

The door of the room on his left was open, and into this they walked. Itwas empty, but scarcely had they closed the door than there werefootsteps outside. Cherry, with a gun in each hand, a hard and ugly grinon his fat face, covered the door, but the footsteps passed. 

There was a babble of voices outside and a rattle and creak of gates. Malcolm crept to the one window which the office held (he guessed it washere that Cherry had written his "statement"), and peeped cautiouslyforth. 

A big closed auto was entering the gate, and he pulled his head back. Cherry was at his side. 

"Somebody visiting--a fellow high up, " whispered the latter hoarsely;"they'll come in here, the guy we left in the cell told me he'd wantthis room. Try that door!"

He pointed to a tall press and Malinkoff was there in a second. Thepress was evidently used for the storage of stationery. There was oneshelf, half way up, laden with packages of paper, and Malinkoff liftedone end. The other slipped and the packets dropped with a crash. But thepurring of the auto in the yard was noisy enough to drown the soundunless somebody was outside the door. 

"Three can squeeze in--you go first, Mr. Hay. "

It was more than a squeeze, it was a torture, but the door closed onthem. 

Malcolm had an insane desire to laugh, but he checked it at the sound ofa voice--for it was the voice of Boolba. 

"I cannot stay very long, comrade, " he was saying as he entered theroom, "but.... "

The rest was a mumble. 

"I will see that she is kept by herself, " said a strange voice, evidently of someone in authority at the prison. 

Malcolm bit his lips to check the cry that rose. 

"Irene!"

"... " Boolba's deep voice was again a rumble. 

"Yes, comrade, I will bring her in ... Let me lead you to a chair. "

He evidently went to the door and called, and immediately there was atramp of feet. 

"What does this mean, Boolba?"

Malcolm knew the voice--he had heard it before--and his relief was suchthat all sense of his own danger passed. 

"Sophia Kensky, " Boolba was speaking now, "you are under arrest by orderof the Soviet. "

"Arrest!" the word was screamed, "me----?"

"You are plotting against the Revolution, and your wickedness has beendiscovered, " said Boolba. "_Matinshka!_ Little mama, it is ordered!"

"You lie! You lie!" she screeched. "You blind devil--I spit on you! Youarrest me because you want the aristocrat Irene Yaroslav! Blind pig!"

"_Prekanzeno, dushinka!_ It is ordered, dear little soul, " murmuredBoolba. "I go back alone--listen! My auto is turning. I go back alone, _drushka_, and who shall be my eyes now that my little mama is gone?"

They heard the chair pushed back as he rose and the scream and flurry asshe leapt at him. 

"Keep her away, little comrade, " roared Boolba. "Keep her away--I amblind; her father blinded me; keep her away!"

It was Cherry Bim who slipped first from the cupboard. 

Under the menace of his guns the soldiers fell back. 

"Auto Russki--hold up the guard, Hay, " he muttered, and Malinkoff jumpedthrough the doorway to the step of the big car in one bound. 

Cherry held the room. He spoke no Russian, but his guns weremulti-lingual. There was a shot outside before he fired three times intothe room. Then he fell back, slamming the door, and jumped into the caras it moved through the open gateway. 

Malcolm was on one footboard, Malinkoff by the side of the chauffeur onthe other. 

So they rocked through the ill-paved streets of Moscow, and rushed thesuburban barricade without mishap. 

CHAPTER XIV

IN THE HOLY VILLAGE

"Preopojensky, but by a circuitous route, " said Malinkoff, speakingacross the chauffeur. "What about the wires?"

He looked up at the telegraph lines, looping from pole to pole, andMalcolm thrust his head into the window of the limousine to communicatethis danger to the sybaritic Mr. Bim, who was spraying himself withperfume from a bottle he had found in the well-equipped interior of thecar. 

"Stop, " said Cherry. "We're well away from Moscow. "

At a word from Malinkoff the chauffeur brought the car to a standstilland Cherry slipped out, revolver in hand. 

Then to the amazement of Malcolm and the unfeigned admiration of thegeneral, Cherry Bim made good his boast. Four times his gun cracked andat each shot a line broke. 

"To be repeated at intervals, " said Cherry, climbing into the car. "Wakeme in half an hour, " and, curling himself up in the luxurious depths ofswansdown cushions, he fell asleep. 

Happily Malinkoff knew the country to an inch. They were not able toavoid the villages without avoiding the roads, but they circumnavigatedthe towns. At nightfall they were in the depths of a wood which ran downto the edge of the big lake on which the holy village of Preopojenskystands. 

"The chauffeur is not the difficulty I thought he would be, " reportedMalinkoff; "he used to drive Korniloff in the days when he was adivisional general, and he is willing to throw in his lot with ours. "

"Can you trust him!" asked Malcolm. 

"I think so, " said Malinkoff, "unless we shoot him we simply must trusthim--what do you think, Mr. Bim?"

"You can call me Cherry, " said that worthy. He was eating bread and sourcheese which had been bought at a fabulous price in one of the villagesthrough which they had passed. Here again they might have been compelledto an act which would have called attention to their lawless character, for they had no money, had it not been for Cherry. He financed the partyfrom the lining of his waistcoat (Malcolm remembered that the little manhad never discarded this garment, sleeping or waking) and made a casualreference to the diamonds which had gone to his account via asoi-disant princess and the favourite of a Commissary. 

"Anyway, " he said, "we could have got it from the chauffeur--he's opento reason. "

They did not ask him what argument he would have employed, but were gladsubsequently that these arguments had not been used. 

What was as necessary as food was petrol. Peter the chauffeur said thatthere were big army supplies in Preopojensky itself, and undertook tosteal sufficient to keep the car running for a week. 

They waited until it was dark before they left the cover of the wood, and walked in single file along a cart-track to the half a dozenblinking lights that stood for Preopojensky. 

The car they had pulled into deeper cover, marking the place with asplinter of mirror broken from its silver frame. 

"Nothing like a mirror, " explained Cherry Bim. "You've only to strike amatch, and it shows a light for you. "

The way was a long one, but presently they came to a good road whichcrossed the track at right angles, but which curved round until it ranparallel with the path they had followed. 

"There is the military store, " whispered the chauffeur. "I will go now, my little general. "

"I trust you, _drushka_, " said Malinkoff. 

"By the head of my mother I will not betray you, " said the man, anddisappeared in the darkness. 

After this they held a council of war. 

"So far as I can remember, Petroff is the silk merchant, " saidMalinkoff, "and his house is the first big residence we reach comingfrom this direction. I remember it because I was on duty at theCoronation of the Emperor, and his Imperial Majesty came toPreopojensky, which is a sacred place for the Royal House. Peter theGreat lived here. "

Luck was with them, for they had not gone far before they heard a voicebellowing a mournful song, and came up with its owner, a worker in thesilk mills (they had long since ceased to work) who was under theinfluence of methylated spirit--a favourite tipple since vodka had beenukased out of existence. 

"Ivan Petroff, son of Ivan?" he hiccoughed. 

"Yes, my little dove, it is there. He is a boorjoo and an aristocrat, and there is no Czar and no God!--_prikanzerio_--it is ordered by theSoviet!... "

And he began to weep

"No Czar and no God! Long live the Revolution! Evivo! No blessed saintsand no Czar! And I was of the Rasholnik!... "

They left him weeping by the roadside. 

"The Rasholniks are the dissenters of Russia--this village was a hotbedof them, but they've gone the way of the rest, " said Malinkoff sadly. 

The house they approached was a big wooden structure ornamented withperfectly useless cupolas and domes, so that Malcolm thought at firstthat this was one of the innumerable churches in which the villageabounded. 

There was a broad flight of wooden stairs leading to the door, but thisthey avoided. A handful of gravel at a likely-looking upper windowseemed a solution. The response was immediate. Though no light appeared, the window swung open and a voice asked softly:

"Who is that?"

"We are from Irene, " answered Malcolm in the same tone. 

The window closed, and presently they heard a door unfastened andfollowed the sound along the path which ran close to the house. It was asmall side door that was opened, and Malcolm led the way through. 

Their invisible host closed the door behind them, and they heard theclink of a chain. 

"If you have not been here before, keep straight on, touching the wallwith your right hand. Where it stops turn sharply to the right, " saidthe unknown rapidly. 

They followed his directions, and found the branch passage. 

"Wait, " said the voice. 

The man passed them. They heard him turn a handle. 

"Straight ahead you will find the door. "

They obeyed, and their conductor struck a match and lit an oil lamp. They were in the long room--they guessed that by the glow of the closedstove they had seen as they entered. 

The windows were heavily shuttered and curtained, and even the door washidden under a thick portière. The man who had brought them in wasmiddle-aged and poorly dressed, but then this was a time when everybodyin Russia was poorly dressed, and his shabbiness did not preclude thepossibility of his being the proprietor of the house, as indeed he was. 

He was eyeing them with suspicion, not wholly unjustified, for thepatent respectability of Cherry's Derby hat was no compensation for thearmoury belted about his rotund middle. 

But when the man's eyes fell upon Malinkoff, his whole demeanourchanged, and he advanced with outstretched hand. 

"General Malinkoff, " he said, "you remember me; I entertained youat----"

"At Kieff! Of course!" smiled Malinkoff. "I did not know the IvanPetroff of Moscow was the Ivan of the Ukraine. "

"Now, gentlemen, what is your wish?" asked the man, and Malinkoffexplained the object of the visit. 

Petroff looked serious. 

"Of course, I will do anything her Highness wishes, " he said. "I saw heryesterday, and she told me that she had a dear friend in St. Basil. "Malcolm tried to look unconcerned under Malinkoff's swift scrutiny andfailed. "But I think she wished you to meet another--guest. "

He paused. 

"He has gone into Moscow to-night against my wishes, " he said withtrouble in his face; "such an old man----"

"Kensky?" said Malcolm quickly. 

"Kensky. " The tone was short. "I told him that no good would come ofit--her Highness was married to-night. "

Malcolm took a step forward, but it was an unsteady step. 

"Married?" he repeated. "To whom was she married?"

Petroff looked down at the floor as though he dare not meet the eye ofany man and say so monstrous a thing. 

"To the servant Boolba, " he said. 

CHAPTER XV

THE RED BRIDE

Irene Yaroslav came back to the home which had always been associated inher mind with unhappy memories, to meet the culminating disaster whichFate had wrought. Whatever thoughts of escape she may have treasured insecret were cut into by the sure knowledge that she was watched day andnight, and were now finally terminated by the discovery that the bigapartment house, a suite of which Boolba had taken for her disposal whenhe had ousted her from her father's house, was practically in possessionof the Soviet Guard. 

She drove to the palace with an undisguised escort of mounted men, oneon either side of the carriage, one before and one behind, and went upthe stairs--those grim stairs which had frightened her as a child andhad filled her nights with dreams, passing on her way the now emptybureau which it had been Boolba's whim for her to keep. 

Maria Badisikaya, an officer of the Committee for the Suppression ofthe Counter-Revolution, formerly an operative in the Moscow CigaretteCompany, was waiting in the small drawing-room which still retained someof its ancient splendour. Maria was a short, stumpy woman with a slightmoustache and a wart on her chin, and was dressed in green satin, cutlow to disclose her generous figure. About her stiff, coal-black hairwas a heavy diamond bandeau. She was sitting on a settee, her feethardly touching the ground, cleaning her nails with a littlepocket-knife as the girl entered. Evidently this was her maid of honour, and she could have laughed. 

The woman glowered up at her and jumped briskly to her feet, closing theknife and slipping it into her corsage. 

"You are late, Irene Yaroslav, " she said shrilly. "I have somethingbetter to do than to sit here waiting for a boorjoo. There is acommittee meeting at ten o'clock to-night. How do you imagine I canattend that? Come, come!"

She bustled into an ante-room. 

"Here is your dress, my little bride. See, there is everything, even tostockings--Boolba has thought of all, yet he will not see! La! la! Whata man!"

Numerous articles of attire were laid out on chairs and on the back ofthe sofa, and the girl, looking at them, shuddered. It was Boolba'sidea--nobody but Boolba would have thought of it. Every garment was ofred, blood red, a red which seemed to fill the room with harsh sound. Stockings of finest silk, shoes of russian leather, cobwebunderwear--but all of the same hideous hue. In Russia the word "red" isalso the word "beautiful. " In a language in which so many delicateshades of meaning can be expressed, this word serves a double purpose, doing duty for that which, in the eyes of civilized people, is garish, and that which is almost divine. 

Maria's manner changed suddenly. From the impatient, slightly pompousofficial, conscious of her position, she became obsequious and evenaffectionate. Possibly she remembered that the girl was to become thewife of the most powerful man in Moscow, whose word was amply sufficientto send even Gregory Prodol to the execution yard, and Gregory'sposition seemed unassailable. 

"I will help you to dress, my little dear, " she said. "Let me take yourhat, my little dove. "

"I would rather be alone, " said the girl. "Will you please wait in thenext room, Maria Badisikaya?"

"But I can help you so, my little darling, " said the woman, fussingabout. "A bride has no luck for thirty years if she puts on her ownstockings. "

"Go!" said the girl imperiously, and the woman cringed. 

"Certainly, Excellenz, " she stammered, and went out without anotherword. 

The girl changed quickly, and surveyed herself in the pier glass at theend of the room. It was striking but horrible. There came a tap at thedoor and the agitated Maria entered. 

"He has sent for you, my little dove, " she said. "Come, take my arm. Donot tremble, my little pretty. Boolba is a good man and the greatest manin Moscow. "

She would have taken the girl's arm, but Irene waved her aside, andwalked swiftly from the drawing-room into the grand saloon. She wantedthe ordeal over as soon as possible. 

The room was crowded, and though many of the electric lamps in the greatglass chandelier were not in working order and a broken fuse had puthalf the wall brackets in darkness, the light was almost dazzling. Thiswonderful saloon, where ten Czars had eaten bread and salt with tengenerations of Yaroslavs, was thick with humanity. Some of the men werein uniform, some were in a nondescript costume which was the Sovietcompromise between evening-dress and diplomatic uniform. One man wore acorrect evening-jacket and a white waistcoat with a perfectly starchedshirt, over uniform trousers and top-boots. The women were as weirdlyclothed. Some were shabby to the point of rags, a few wore court dressesof the approved pattern, and there was one woman dressed like a man, whosmoked all the time. The air was blue with tobacco smoke and buzzingwith sound. 

As she came into the saloon somebody shouted her name, and there wasvigorous applause, not for her, she knew, nor for the name she bore, butfor the novelty and the "beauty" of her wedding gown. 

At the farther end of the room was a table covered with a red cloth, andbehind it sat a man in evening-dress, whom she recognized as one of thenewly-appointed magistrates of the city. Nudged behind by Maria, shemade her way through the press of people, whose admiring comments werespoken loud enough for her to hear. 

"What a little beauty! Too good for a blind man, eh?"

"We have knelt for her many times, now she shall kneel for us. "

"Such a dress! This Boolba is a wonderful fellow. "

She halted before the table, her hands clasped lightly in front of her. Her head was high, and she met every glance steadily and disdainfully. 

The clock struck a quarter after ten when Boolba made his entranceamidst a storm of applause. 

They had never seen him in such a uniform before. Some thought it was anew costume which had been sanctioned by the supreme Soviet for itsCommissaries; others that it had been planned especially for themarriage. Irene alone knew it, and a cold, disdainful smile lit for amoment her expressionless face. 

She had seen Boolba in knee-breeches and white silk stockings before;she knew the coat of green and gold which the retainers of the house ofYaroslav wore on state occasions. Boolba was marrying her in hisbutler's livery--a delicate piece of vengeance. 

The ceremony was short, and, to the girl, unreal. Religious marriages, though they had not altogether been banned, were regarded by theofficial Russia as unnecessary, and a new marriage service had beendesigned, which confined the ceremony to the space of a few minutes. Theattempts to abolish marriage altogether had been strenuously opposed, not so much by the public women who were on the innumerable councils andcommittees, but by the wives of the more important members of theorganization. 

Boolba was led to her side, and reached out his hand gropingly, and invery pity of his blindness she took it. Questions were asked him, towhich he responded and similar questions were asked her, to which shemade no reply. The whole ceremony was a farce, and she had agreed to itonly because it gave her a little extra time, and every minute counted. From the moment the magistrate pronounced the formula which made them, in the eyes of the Soviet law at any rate, man and wife, Boolba neverloosened his hold of her. 

He held her hand in his own big, hot palm, until it was wet and herfingers lost all feeling. From group to group they moved, and when theycrossed the dancing space of the saloon, the revellers stepped aside toallow the man to pass. She noticed that in the main they confinedthemselves to country dances, some of which were new to her. And all thetime Boolba kept up a continuous conversation in an undertone, pinchingher hand gently whenever he wanted to attract her attention. 

"Tell me, my new eyes, my little pigeon of God, what are they doing now?Do you see Mishka Gurki? She is a silly woman. Tell me, my little pet, if you see her. Watch her well, and tell me how she looks at me. Thatwoman is an enemy of the Revolution and a friend of Sophia Kensky.... Ah! it is sad about your poor friends. "

The girl turned cold and clenched her teeth to take the news which wascoming. 

"They tried to escape and they were shot down by our brave guard. Iwould have pardoned them for your sake, all but the thief, who brokethe jaw of comrade Alex Alexandroff. Yes, I would have pardoned themto-night, because I am happy. Else they would have died with SophiaKensky in the morning.... Do I not please you, that I put away thiswoman, who was my eyes and saw for me--all for your sake, my littlepigeon, all for your sake!... Do you see a big man with one eye? He hashalf my misfortune, yet he sees a million times more than Boolba! Thatis the butcher Kreml--some day he shall see the Kreml[A], " hechuckled.... "Why do you not speak, my darling little mama? Are youthinking of the days when I was Boolba the slave? Na, na, _stoi_! Thinkof to-day, to-night, my little child of Jesus!"

There were times when she could have screamed, moments of madness whenshe longed to pick up one of the champagne bottles which littered thefloor, and at intervals were thrown with a crash into a corner of theroom, and strike him across that great brutal face. There were timeswhen she was physically sick and the room spun round and round and shewould have fallen but for the man's arm. But the hour she dreaded mostof all came at last, when, one by one, with coarse jests at herexpense, the motley company melted away and left her alone with theman. 

"They have all gone?" he asked eagerly. "Every one?"

He clutched more tightly. 

"To my room. We have a supper for ourselves. They are pigs, all thesefellows, my little beautiful. "

The old carpet was still on the stairs, she noticed dully. Up above usedto be her own room, at the far end of the long passage. She had a pianothere once. She wondered whether it was still there. There used to be aservant at the head and at the foot of these stairs--a long, green-coated Cossack, to pass whom without authority was to court death. The room on the left had been her father's--two big saloons, separatedby heavy silken curtains; his bureau was at one end, his bedroom at theother. 

It was into the bureau that the man groped his way. A table had beenset, crowded with bottles and glasses, piled with fruit, sweetmeats, andat the end the inevitable samovar. 

"I will lock the door, " said Boolba. "Now you shall kiss me on the eyesand on the mouth and on the cheeks, making the holy cross. "

She braced herself for the effort, and wrenched free. In a flash he cameat her, and his hands caught the silken gown at the shoulder. Shetwisted under his arm, leaving a length of tattered and torn silk inhis hand, and the marks of his finger-nails upon her white shoulder. Hestopped and laughed--a low, gurgling laugh--and it was to the girl likethe roar of some subterranean river heard from afar. 

"Oh, Highness, " he mocked, "would you rob a blind man of his bride? Thenlet us be blind together!"

He blundered to the door. There was a click, and the room was indarkness. 

"I am better than you now, " he said. "I hear you in the dark; I canalmost see you. You are by the corner of the table. Now you are pushinga chair. Little pigeon, come to me!"

Whilst he was talking she was safe because she could locate him. It waswhen he was silent that she was filled with wild fear. He moved assoftly as a cat, and it seemed that his boast of seeing in the dark wasalmost justified. Once his hand brushed her and she shrank back onlyjust in time. The man was breathing heavily now, and the old, mockingterms of endearment had changed. 

"Come to me, Irene Yaroslav!" he roared. "Have I not often run to you?Have I not waited throughout the night to take your wraps and bring youcoffee? Now you shall wait on me by Inokente! You shall be eyes andhands for me, and when I am tired of you, you shall go the way of SophiaKensky. "

She was edging her way to the door. Once she could switch on the lightshe was safe, at any rate for the time being. There was a long silence, and, try as she did, she could not locate him. He must have beencrouching near the door, anticipating her move, for as her hand fell onthe switch and the lights sprang into being, he leapt at her. She sawhim, but too late to avoid his whirling hands. In a second he had her inhis arms. The man was half mad. He cursed and blessed her alternately, called her his little pigeon and his little devil in the same breath. She felt the tickle of his beard against her bare shoulder, and stroveto push him off. 

"Come, my little peach, " he said. "Who shall say that there is nojustice in Russia, when Yaroslav's daughter is the bride of Boolba!"

His back was to the curtain, and he was half lifting, half drawing herto the two grey strips which marked its division, when the girlscreamed. 

"Again, again, my little dear, " grinned Boolba. "That is fine music. "

But it was not her own danger which had provoked the cry. It was thatvision, twice seen in her lifetime, of dead white hands, blue-veined, coming from the curtain and holding this time a scarlet cord. 

It was about Boolba's neck before he realized what had happened. With astrangled cry he released the girl, and she fell back again on thetable, overturning it with a crash. 

"This way, Highness, " said a hollow voice, and she darted through thecurtains. 

She heard the shock of Boolba's body as it fell to the ground, and thenIsrael Kensky darted past her, flung open the door and pushed herthrough. 

"The servants' way, " he said, and she ran to the narrow staircase whichled below to the kitchen, and above to the attics in which the servantsslept. 

Down the stairs, two at a time, she raced, the old man behind her. Thestairway ended in a square hall. There was a door, half ajar, leading tothe kitchen, which was filled with merrymakers, and a second doorleading into the street, and this was also open. She knew the wayblindfolded. They were in what had been the coach-yard of the Palace, and she knew there were half a dozen ways into the street. Israel chosethe most unlikely, one which led again to the front of the house. 

A drosky was waiting, and into this he bundled her, jumping in by herside, holding her about the waist as the driver whipped up his twohorses and sped through the deserted streets of Moscow. 

FOOTNOTE:

[A] "Kreml" is literally Kremlin, one of the places ofdetention in Moscow. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE BOOK OF ALL-POWER

Malcolm was the first to hear the sound of wheels on the roadway, andthe party listened in silence till a low whistle sounded and their hostdarted out of the room. 

"What was that?" asked Malinkoff. "Somebody has come to the front door. "

A few minutes later Petroff staggered through the doorway, carrying thelimp figure of Irene. It was Malcolm who took the girl in his arms andlaid her upon the sofa. 

"She is not dead, " said a voice behind him. 

He looked up; it was Israel Kensky. The old man looked white and ill. Hetook the glass of wine which Ivan brought him with a shaking hand, andwiped his beard as he looked down at the girl. There was neitherfriendliness nor pity in his glance, only the curious tranquillity whichcomes to the face of a man who has done that which he set out to do. 

"What of Boolba?" asked Petroff eagerly

"I think he lives, " said Kensky, and shook his head. "I am too weak andtoo old a man to have killed him. I put the cord about his neck andtwisted it with a stick. If he can loosen the cord he will live; if hecannot, he will die. But I think he was too strong a man to die. "

"Did he know it was you?" asked Petroff. 

Kensky shook his head. 

"What is the hour?" he asked, and they told him that it was two o'clock. 

"Sophia Kensky dies at four, " he said, in such a tone of unconcern thateven Malinkoff stared at him. 

"It is right that she should die, " said Kensky, and they marvelled thathe, who had risked his life to save one of the class which hadpersecuted his people for hundreds of years, should speak in somatter-of-fact tones about the fate of his own blood. "She betrayed herrace and her father. It is the old law of Israel, and it is a good law. I am going to sleep. "

"Is there a chance that you have been followed?" asked Malinkoff, andKensky pulled at his beard thoughtfully. 

"I passed a watchman at the barricade, and he was awake--that is theonly danger. "

He beckoned to Malcolm, and, loth as the young man was to leave thegirl's side, now that she was showing some signs of recoveringconsciousness, he accompanied the old man from the room. 

"_Gospodar_, " said Israel Kensky (it sounded strange to hear that oldtitle), "once you carried a book for me. "

"I remember. " Malcolm smiled in spite of himself. 

"'The Book of All-Power, '" repeated the Jew quietly. "It is in my room, and I shall ask you to repeat your service. That book I would give tothe Grand Duchess, for I have neither kith nor child, and she has beenkind to me. "

"But surely, Kensky, " protested Malcolm, "you, as an intelligent man, donot believe in the potency of books or charms of incantations?"

"I believe in the 'Book of All-Power, '" said Kensky calmly. "Remember, it is to become the property of the Grand Duchess Irene. I do not thinkI have long to live, " he added. "How my death will come I cannot tell, but it is not far off. Will you go with me now and take the book?"

Malcolm hesitated. He wanted to get back to the girl, but it would havebeen an ungracious act not to humour the old man, who had risked so muchfor the woman he loved. He climbed the stairs to the little bedroom, andwaited at the door whilst Kensky went in. Presently the old manreturned; the book was now stitched in a canvas wrapping, and Malcolmslipped the book into his pocket. The very act recalled another scenewhich had been acted a thousand miles away, and, it seemed, a millionyears ago. 

"Now let us go down, " said Kensky. 

"Lord, " he asked, as Malcolm's foot was on the stair, "do you love thisyoung woman?"

It would have been the sheerest affectation on his part to have evadedthe question. 

"Yes, Israel Kensky, " he replied, "I love her, " and the old man bowedhis head. 

"You are two Gentiles, and there is less difference in rank than inrace, " he said. "I think you will be happy. May the Gods of Jacob and ofAbraham and of David rest upon you and prosper you. Amen!"

Never had benediction been pronounced upon him that felt so real, orthat brought such surprising comfort to the soul of Malcolm Hay. He feltas if, in that dingy stairway, he had received the very guerdon ofmanhood, and he went downstairs spiritually strengthened, and everydoubt in his mind set at rest. 

The girl half rose from the couch as he came to her, and in her queer, impulsive way put out both her hands. Five minutes before he might havehesitated; he might have been content to feel the warmth of her palmsupon his. But now he knelt down by her side, and, slipping one arm abouther, drew her head to his shoulder. He heard the long-drawn sigh ofhappiness, he felt her arm creep about his neck, and he forgot the worldand all the evil and menace it held: he forgot the grave Malinkoff, theinterested Cherry Bim, still wearing his Derby hat on the back of hishead, and girt about with the weapons of his profession. He forgoteverything except that the world was worth living for. There lay in hisarms a fragrant and a beautiful thing. 

It was Petroff who put an end to the little scene. 

"I have sent food into the wood for you, " he said, "and my man has comeback to tell me that your chauffeur is waiting by the car. He has allthe petrol that he requires, and I do not think you should delay toolong. "

The girl struggled to a sitting position, and looked with dismay at herscarlet bridal dress. 

"I cannot go like this, " she said. 

"I have your trunk in the house, Highness, " said Petroff, and the girljumped up with a little cry of joy. 

"I had forgotten that, " she said. 

She had forgotten also that she was still weak, for she swayed and wouldhave stumbled, had not Malcolm caught her. 

"Go quickly, Highness, " said Petroff urgently. "I do not think it wouldbe safe to stay here--safe for you or for Kensky. I have sent one of mymen on a bicycle to watch the Moscow road. "

"Is that necessary?" asked Malinkoff. "Are you suspect?"

Petroff nodded. 

"If Boolba learns that Kensky passed this way, he will guess that it isto me that he came. I was in the service of the Grand Duke, and if itwere not for the fact that a former workman of mine is now AssistantMinister of Justice in Petrograd, I should have been arrested long ago. If Boolba finds Israel Kensky here, or the Grand Duchess, nothing cansave me. My only hope is to get you away before there is a search. Understand, little general, " he said earnestly, "if you had not the car, I would take all risks and let you stay until you were found. "

"That seems unnecessary, " said Malinkoff. "I quite agree. What do yousay, Kensky?"

The old man, who had followed Malcolm down the stairs, nodded. 

"I should have shot Boolba, " he said thoughtfully, "but it would havemade too much noise. "

"You should have used the knife, little father, " said Petroff, butKensky shook his head. 

"He wears chain armour under his clothes, " he said. "All thecommissaries do. "

Preparations for the journey were hurriedly made. The girl's trunk hadproved a veritable storehouse, and she came down in a short tweed skirtand coat, her glorious hair hidden under a black tam o' shanter, andMalcolm could scarcely take his eyes from her. 

"You have a coat, " said the practical Malinkoff. "That is good--you mayneed it. "

Crash!

It was the sound of a rifle butt against the door which struck themdumb. Muffled by the thick wood, the voice of the knocker yet cameclearly: "Open in the name of the Revolution!"

Petroff blinked twice, and on his face was a look as though he could notbelieve his ears. The girl shrank to Malcolm's side, and Malinkoffstroked his beard softly. Only Cherry Bim seemed to realize thenecessities of the moment, and he pulled both guns simultaneously andlaid them noiselessly on the table before him. 

"Open in the name of the Revolution!"

A hiss from Kensky brought them round. He beckoned them through the doorby which they had made their original entry to the room, and pointed tothe light. He gripped Petroff by the shoulder. 

"Upstairs to your bedroom, friend, " he said. "Put on your night-shirtand talk to them through the window. "

Down the two passages they passed and came to the little door, whichKensky unchained and opened. He put his lips close to Malinkoff's ears. 

"Do you remember the way you came?" he asked, and the general nodded andled the way. 

Last but one came Cherry Bim, a '45 in each hand. There were no soldiersin view at the back of the house, but Malinkoff could hear their feet onsome unknown outside road, and realized that the house was in process ofbeing surrounded, and had the man who knocked at the door waited untilthis encirclement had been completed, there would have been no chance ofescape. 

They struck the main road, and found the cart track leading to the wood, and none challenged them. There was no sound from the house, andapparently their flight had not been discovered. 

Kensky brought up the rear in spite of Cherry's frenzied injunctions, delivered in the four words of Russian which he knew, to get a move on. They had reached the fringe of the wood when the challenge came. Out ofthe shadow rode a horseman, and brought his charger across the path. 

"Halt!" he cried. 

The party halted, all except Cherry, who stepped from the path andmoved swiftly forward, crouching low, to give the sentry no background. 

"Who is that?" asked the man on the horse. "Speak, or I'll fire!"

He had unslung his carbine, and they heard the click of the bolt as thebreech opened and closed. 

"We are friends, little father, " said Malinkoff. 

"Give me your names, " said the sentry, and Malinkoff recited with glibease a list of Russian patronymics. 

"That is a lie, " said the man calmly. "You are boorjoos--I can tell byyour voices, " and without further warning he fired into the thick ofthem. 

The second shot which came from the night followed so quickly upon thefirst that for the second time in like circumstances the girl thoughtonly one had been fired. But the soldier on the horse swayed and slid tothe earth before she knew what had happened. 

"Go right ahead, " said the voice of Cherry Bim. 

He had caught the bridle of the frightened horse, and had drawn himaside. They quickened their steps and came up to the car, which thethoughtful chauffeur had already cranked up at the sound of the shots. 

"Where is Kensky?" asked Malcolm suddenly, "did you see him, Cherry?"

A pause. 

"Why, no, " said Cherry, "I didn't see him after the lamented tragedy. "

"We can't leave the old man, " said Malcolm. 

"Wait, " said the little gun-man. "I will go back and look for him. "

Five minutes, ten passed and still there was no sign or sound of IsraelKensky or of Cherry. Then a shot broke the stillness of the night, andanother and another. 

"Two rifles and one revolver, " said Malinkoff. "Get into the car, Highness. Are you ready, Peter?"

There was another shot and then a fusillade. Then came slow footstepsalong the cart track, and the sound of a man's windy breathing. 

"Take him, somebody, " said Cherry. 

Malinkoff lifted the inanimate figure from Cherry's shoulder and carriedhim into the car. A voice from the darkness shouted a command, there wasa flash of fire and the "zip" of a bullet. 

"Let her go, Percy, " said Cherry, and blazed away with both guns intothe darkness. 

He leapt for the footboard and made it by a miracle, and only once didthey hear him cry as if in pain. 

"Are you hit?" asked Malcolm anxiously. 

"Naw!" drawled his voice jerkily, for the road hereabouts was full ofholes, and even speech was as impossible as even riding. "Naw, " hesaid. "I nearly lost my hat. "

He spoke only once again that night, except to refuse the offer to rideinside the car. He preferred the footboard, he said, and explained thatas a youth it had been his ambition to be a fireman. 

"I wonder, " he said suddenly, breaking the silence of nearly an hour. 

"What do you wonder?" asked Malinkoff, who sat nearest to the window, where Cherry stood. 

"I wonder what happened to that boy on the bicycle?"

CHAPTER XVII

ON THE ROAD

Israel Kensky died at five o'clock in the morning. They had made a roughattempt to dress the wound in his shoulder, but, had they been the mostskilful of surgeons with the best appliances which modern surgery hadinvented at their hands, they could not have saved his life. He diedliterally in the arms of Irene, and they buried him in a little foreston the edge of a sluggish stream, and Cherry Bim unconsciously deliveredthe funeral oration. 

"This poor old guy was a good fellow, " he said. "I ain't got nothing onthe Jews as a class, except their habit of prosperity, and that justgets the goat of people like me, who hate working for a living. He wasstraight and white, and that's all you can expect any man to be, or anywoman either, with due respect to you, miss. If any of you gents wouldcare to utter a few words of prayer, you'll get a patient hearing fromme, because I am naturally a broad-minded man. "

It was the girl who knelt by the grave, the tears streaming down hercheeks, but what she said none heard. Cherry Bim, holding his hat crownoutward across his breast, produced the kind of face which he thoughtadequate to the occasion; and, after the party had left the spot, hestayed behind. He rejoined them after a few minutes, and he was puttingaway his pocket-knife as he ran. 

"Sorry to keep you, ladies and gents, " he said, "but I am a sentimentalman in certain matters. I always have been and always shall be. "

"What were you doing?" asked Malcolm, as the car bumped along. 

Cherry Bim cleared his throat and seemed embarrassed. 

"Well, to tell you the truth, " he said. "I made a little cross and stuckit over his head. "

"But----" began Malcolm, and the girl's hand closed his mouth. 

"Thank you, Mr. Bim, " she said. "It was very, very kind of you. "

"Nothing wrong, I hope?" asked Cherry in alarm. 

"Nothing wrong at all, " said the girl gently. 

That cross over the grave of the Jew was to give them a day's respite. Israel Kensky had left behind him in the place where he fell a fur hatbearing his name. From the quantity of blood which the pursuers found, they knew that he must have been mortally wounded, and it was for agrave by the wayside that the pursuing party searched and found. It wasthe cross at his head which deceived them and led them to take the fordand try along the main road to the south of the river, on the banks ofwhich Kensky slept his last dreamless sleep. 

The danger for the fugitives was evident. 

"The most we can hope, " said Malinkoff, "is to escape detection for twodays, after which we must abandon the car. "

"Which way do you suggest?" asked Malcolm. 

"Poland or the Ukraine, " replied the general quickly. "The law of theMoscow Soviet does not run in Little Russia or in Poland. We may get toOdessa, but obviously we cannot go much farther like this. I have--orhad, " he corrected himself, "an estate about seventy versts from here, and I think I can still depend upon some of my people--if there are anyleft alive. The car we must get rid of, but that, I think, will be asimple matter. "

They were now crossing a wide plain, which reminded Malcolm irresistiblyof the steppes of the Ukraine, and apparently had recalled the samescene to Irene and Malinkoff. There was the same sweep of grass-land, the same riot of flowers; genista, cornflour and clover dabbled thegreen, and dwarf oaks and poverty-stricken birches stood in lonelypatches. 

"Here is a Russia which the plough has never touched, " said Malinkoff. "Does it not seem to you amazing that the Americans and British who goforth to seek new colonies, should lure our simple people to foreigncountries, where the mode of living, the atmosphere, is altogetherdifferent from this, when here at their doors is a new land undiscoveredand unexploited?"

He broke off his homily to look out of the window of the car. He haddone that at least a dozen times in the past half-hour. 

"We're going fairly fast, " said Malcolm. "You do not think anything willovertake us?"

"On the road--no, " said Malinkoff, "but I am rather nervous crossingthis plain, where there is practically no cover at all, and the car israising clouds of dust. "

"Nervous of what?"

"Aeroplanes, " said Malinkoff. "Look, there is a pleasant little wood. Isuggest that we get under cover until night falls. The next village isTruboisk, which is a large market centre and is certain to hold localofficers of the Moscow Soviet. "

Both his apprehensions and his judgment were justified, for scarcelyhad the car crept into the cover of green boughs, than a big aeroplanewas sighted. It was following the road and at hardly a hundred feetabove them. It passed with a roar. They watched it until it was a speckin the sky. 

"They are taking a lot of trouble for a very little thing. Russia mustbe law-abiding if they turn their aeroplanes loose on a party offugitive criminals!"

"Boolba has told his story, " said Malinkoff significantly. "By this timeyou are not only enemies of the Revolution, but you are accreditedagents of capitalistic Governments. You have been sent here by yourPresident to stir up the bourgeois to cast down the Government, becauseof British investments. Mr. Bim will be described as a secret serviceagent who has been employed to assassinate either Trotsky or Lenin. Ifyou could only tap the official wireless, " said Malinkoff, "you wouldlearn that a serious counter-revolutionary plot has been discovered, andthat American financiers are deeply involved. Unless, of course, "corrected Malinkoff, "America happens to be in favour in Petrograd, inwhich case it will be English financiers. "

Malcolm laughed. 

"Then we are an international incident?" he said. 

"You are an 'international incident, '" agreed Malinkoff gravely. 

Cherry Bim, sitting on the step, smoking a long cigar, a box of whichPetroff had given him as a parting present--looked up, blowing out ablue cloud. 

"A secret service agent?" he said. "That's a sort of fly cop, isn't it?"

"That's about it, Cherry, " replied Malcolm. 

"And do you think they'll call me a fly cop?" said the interestedCherry. 

Malinkoff nodded, and the gun-man chewed on his cigar. 

"Time brings its revenges, don't it?" he said. "Never, oh never, did Ithink that I should be took for a fellow from the Central Office! Itonly shows you that if a guy continues on the broad path that leadeth todestruction, and only goes enough, he'll find Mrs. Nemesis--I thinkthat's the name of the dame. "

Malinkoff strolled to the edge of the wood and came back hurriedly. 

"The aeroplane is returning, " he said, "and is accompanied by another. "

This time neither machine took the direct route. They were sweeping thecountry methodically from side to side, and Malinkoff particularlynoticed that they circled about a smaller wood two miles away and seemedloth to leave it. 

"What colour is the top of this car?" he asked, and Bim climbed up. 

"White, " he said. "Is there time to put on a little of this 'camelflage'I've heard so much about?"

The party set to work in haste to tear down small branches of trees andscraps of bushes, and heap them on to the top of the car. Cherry Bim, who had the instinct of deception, superintending the actual masking ofthe roof, and as the sun was now setting detected a new danger. 

"Let all the windows down, " said Cherry. "Put a coat over the glassscreen and sit on anything that shines. "

They heard the roar of the aeroplane coming nearer and crouched againstthe trunk of a tree. Suddenly there was a deafening explosion whichstunned the girl and threw her against Malcolm. She half-rose to run buthe pulled her down. 

"What was it?" she whispered. 

"A small bomb, " said Malcolm. "It is an old trick of airmen when theyare searching woods for concealed bodies of infantry. Somebody is boundto run out and give the others away. "

Cherry Bim, fondling his long Colt, was looking glumly at the cloud ofsmoke which was billowing forth from the place where the bomb haddropped. Round and round circled the aeroplane, but presently, as ifsatisfied with its scrutiny, it made off, and the drone of the enginegrew fainter and fainter. 

"War's hell, " said Cherry, wiping his pallid face with a hand thatshook. 

"I can't quite understand it, " said Malinkoff. "Even supposing thatBoolba has told his story, there seems to be a special reason for thisurgent search. They would, of course, have communicated----"

He fell silent. 

"Has Boolba any special reasons, other than those we know?" he asked. 

Malcolm remembered the "Book of All-Power" and nodded. 

"Have you something of Kensky's?" asked Malinkoff quickly. "Not thatinfernal book?"

He looked so anxious that Malcolm laughed. 

"Yes, I have that infernal book. As a matter of fact, it is the infernalbook of the Grand Duchess now. "

"Mine?" she said in surprise. 

"Kensky's last words to me were that this book should become yourproperty, " said Malcolm, and she shivered. 

"All my life seems to have been associated with the search for thatdreadful book, " she said. "I wonder if it is one of Kensky's ownbinding. You know, " she went on, "that Israel Kensky bound books for ahobby? He bound six for me, and they were most beautifully decorated. "

"He was a rich man, was he not?" asked Malcolm. 

She shook her head. 

"He was penniless when he died, " she said quietly. "Every store of hiswas confiscated and his money was seized by order of the new Government. I once asked him definitely why he did not turn to his 'Book ofAll-Power' for help. He told me the time had not yet come. "

"May I see the book?"

Malcolm took the volume with its canvas cover from his pocket, and thegirl looked at it seriously. 

"Do you know, I have half a mind to throw it into the fire?" she said, pointing to the smouldering wood where the bomb had fallen. "There seemssomething sinister, something ominous about its possession that fills mewith terror. "

She looked at it for a moment musingly, then handed it back to Malcolm. 

"Poor Israel!" she said softly, "and poor Russia!"

They waited until darkness fell before they moved on. Malinkoff had anidea that there was a crossroad before the town was reached, andprogress was slow in consequence, because he was afraid of passing it. He was determined now not to go through the village, which lay directlyahead. The fact that the aeroplane had been able to procure a recruit, pointed to the existence of a camp of considerable dimensions in theneighbourhood and he was anxious to keep away from armed authority. 

It was a tense hour they spent--tense for all except Cherry Bim, who hadimprovised a cushion on the baggage carrier at the back of the car, andhad affixed himself so that he could doze without falling off. The sideroad did not appear, and Malinkoff grew more and more apprehensive. There were no lights ahead, as there should be if he were approachingthe village. Once he thought he saw dark figures crouching close to theground as the car passed, but put this down to nerves. Five hundredyards beyond, he discovered that his eyes had not deceived him. A redlight appeared in the centre of the road, and against the skyline--forthey were ascending a little incline at the moment--a number of darkfigures sprang into view. 

The chauffeur brought the car to a halt with a jerk, only just in time, for his lamps jarred against the pole which had been placed across theroad. 

Malcolm had drawn his revolver, but the odds were too heavy, besideswhich, in bringing his car to a standstill, the driver had shut off hisengine and the last hope of bunking through had disappeared. 

A man carrying a red lamp came to the side of the car, and flashed thelight of a torch over the occupants. 

"One, two, three, four, " he counted. "There should be five. "

He peered at them separately. 

"This is the aristocrat general, this is the American revolutionary, this is the woman. There is also a criminal. Did any man jump out?" heasked somebody in the darkness, and there was a chorus of "No!"

Footsteps were coming along the road; the guard which had been waitingto close them in from the rear, was now coming up. The man with thelamp, who appeared to be an officer, made a circuit of the car anddiscovered the carrier seat, but its occupant had vanished. 

"There was a man here, you fools, " he shouted. "Search the road; hecannot have gone far. Look!"

He put the light on the road. 

"There are his boots. You will find him amongst the bushes. Searchquickly. "

Malcolm, at the girl's side, put his arm about her shoulder. 

"You are not afraid?" he said gently, and she shook her head. 

"I do not think I shall ever be afraid again, " she replied. "I havefaith in God, my dear. Cherry has escaped?" she asked. 

"I think so, " he replied in a guarded tone. "He must have seen thesoldiers and jumped. They have just found his boots in the roadway. "

The officer came back at that moment. 

"You have weapons, " he said. "Give them to me. "

It would have been madness to disobey the order, and Malcolm handed overhis revolver and Malinkoff followed suit. Not satisfied with this, theman turned them out in the road whilst he conducted a search. 

"Get back, " he said after this was over. "You must go before theCommissary for judgment. The woman is required in Moscow, but we shalldeal summarily with the foreigner and Malinkoff, also the little thief, when we find him. "

He addressed the chauffeur. 

"I shall sit by your side, and if you do not carry out my instructions Ishall shoot you through the head, little pigeon, " he said. "Get down andstart your machine. "

CHAPTER XVIII

THE MONASTERY OF ST. BASIL THE LEPER

He gave an order to the soldiers, and the barrier was removed, then hestruck a match and lit a flare which burnt a dazzling red flame for halfa minute. 

"A signal, " said Malinkoff, "probably to notify our capture. "

A few minutes later, with a soldier on either footboard, and the officersitting beside the chauffeur, the car sped through the night, checkingonly before it came to the cross-roads which Malinkoff had sought for. Turning to the left, the car swung into a road narrower and lesscomfortable for the passengers. 

"I wonder if they will catch our brave friend, " said the girl. 

"They will be sorry if they do, " replied Malcolm dryly. "Cherry will notbe caught as we were. "

Ahead of them and to the right apparently, on a hill by their height, adozen fires were burning, and Malinkoff judged that the camp they wereapproaching was one of considerable size. He guessed it was aconcentration camp where the Reds were preparing for their periodicaloffensive against the Ukraine. It must be somewhere in this districtthat the Polish Commissioners were negotiating with the SupremeGovernment--an event which had set Moscow agog. 

An eerie experience this, riding through the dark, the figures of thesoldier guards on either footboard gripping to the posts of the car. Bump, bump, bump it went, swaying and jolting, and then one of theguards fell off. They expected him to jump on the footboard again, forthe auto was going at a slow pace, but to their surprise he did notreappear. Then a similar accident happened to the man on the otherfootboard. He suddenly let go his hold and fell backwards. 

"What on earth----" said Malcolm. 

"Look, look!" whispered the girl. 

A foot and a leg had appeared opposite the window, and it came from theroof of the car. Then another foot, and the bulk of a body against thenight. 

"It's Cherry!" whispered the girl. 

Swiftly he passed the window and came to the side of the officer, whosehead was turned to the chauffeur. 

"Russki, " said Cherry, "_stoi_!"

"Stop!" was one of the four Russian words he knew, and the chauffeurobeyed, just at the moment when the car came to where the road splitinto two, one running to the right and apparently to the camp, the otherand the older road dipping down to a misty valley. 

The Red officer saw the gun under his nose and took intelligent action. His two hands went up and his revolver fell with a clatter at thechauffeur's feet. Deftly Cherry relieved him of the remainder of hisarms. 

By this time Malcolm was out of the car, and a brief council of war washeld. 

To leave the man there would be to ask for trouble. To shoot him wasrepugnant even to Cherry, who had constituted himself the officialassassin of the party. 

"We shall have to take him along, " said Malinkoff. "There are plenty ofplaces where we can leave him in the night, and so long as he does notknow which way we go, I do not think he can do us any harm. "

The Red officer took his misfortune with the philosophy which thechauffeur had displayed in similar circumstances. 

"I have no malice, little general, " he said. "I carry out my orders as asoldier should. For my part I would as soon cry 'Long live the Czar!'as 'Long live the Revolution!' If you are leaving Russia I shall beglad to go with you, and I may be of service because I know all thelatest plans for arresting you. There is a barrier on every road, evenon this which you are taking now, unless, " he added thoughtfully, "it isremoved for the Commissary Boolba. "

"Is he coming this way?" asked Malcolm. 

"You saw me fire a flare, " said the man. "That was a signal to the campthat you were captured. The news will be telegraphed to Moscow, andBoolba will come to sentence the men and take back his wife. "

He evidently spoke in the terms of his instructions. 

"What road will he take, little soldier?" asked Malinkoff. 

"The Tver road, " said the man. "It is the direct road from Moscow, andwe shall cross it very quickly. At the crossing are four soldiers and anunder officer, but no barricade. If you will direct me I will tell thema lie and say that we go to meet Boolba. "

"We're in his hands to some extent, " said Malinkoff, "and my advice isthat we accept his offer. He is not likely to betray us. "

The car resumed its journey, and Cherry, who had taken his place inside, explained the miracle which had happened. 

"I saw the first lot of soldiers we passed, " he said, "and when the carstopped suddenly I knew what had happened. I took off my boots andclimbed on to the roof. I only made it just in time. The rest was likeeating pie. "

"You didn't shoot the soldiers who were standing on the footboard, didyou?" asked Malcolm. "I heard no shots. "

Cherry shook his head. 

"Why shoot 'em?" he said. "I had only to lean over and hit 'em on thebean with the butt end of my gun, and it was a case of 'Where am I, nurse?'"

Half an hour's drive brought them to the cross-roads, and the fourapathetic sentries who, at the word of the Red officer, stood aside toallow the car to pass. They were now doubling back on their tracks, running parallel with the railroad (according to Malinkoff) which, ifthe officer's surmise was accurate, was the one on which Boolba wasrushing by train to meet them. So far their auto had given them notrouble, but twenty miles from the camp both the front tyres puncturedsimultaneously. This might have been unimportant, for they carried twospare wheels, only it was discovered that one of these was alsopunctured and had evidently been taken out of use the day on which theysecured the car. There was nothing to do but to push the machine into afield, darken the windows and allow the chauffeur to make his repairs onthe least damaged of the tubes. They shut him into the interior of thecar with the Red officer who volunteered his help, furnished him with alamp, and walked down the road in the faint hope of discovering somecottage or farm where they could replenish their meagre store of food. 

Half an hour's walking brought them to a straggling building which theyapproached with caution. 

"It is too large for a farm, " said Malinkoff; "it is probably one ofthose monasteries which exist in such numbers in the Moscow Government. "

The place was in darkness and it was a long time before they found theentrance, which proved to be through a small chapel, sited in one cornerof the walled enclosure. The windows of the chapel were high up, butMalcolm thought he detected a faint glow of light in the interior, andit was this flicker which guided them to the chapel. The door was halfopen, and Malinkoff walked boldly in. The building, though small, wasbeautiful. Green malachite columns held up the groined roof, and thewalls were white with the deadly whiteness of alabaster. A tiny altar, on which burnt the conventional three candles, fronted them as theyentered, and the screen glittered with gold. A priest knelt before thealtar, singing in a thin, cracked voice, so unmusically that the girlwinced. Save for the priest and the party, the building was empty. 

He rose at the sound of their footsteps, and stood waiting theirapproach. He was a young and singularly ugly man, and suspicion and fearwere written plainly on his face. 

"God save you, little brother of saints!" said Malinkoff. 

"God save you, my son!" replied the priest mechanically. "What is it youwant?"

"We need food and rest for this little lady, also hot coffee, and wewill pay well. "

Malinkoff knew that this latter argument was necessary. The priest shookhis head. 

"All the brethren have gone away from the monastery except FatherJoachim, who is a timid man, Father Nicholas and myself, " he said. "Wehave very little food and none to spare. They have eaten everything wehad, and have killed my pretty chickens. "

He did not say who "they" were, and Malinkoff was not sufficientlycurious to inquire. He knew that the priests were no longer the power inthe land that they were in the old days, and that there had beeninnumerable cases where the villagers had risen and slaughtered the menwhose words hitherto had been as a law to them. A third of themonasteries in the Moscow Government had been sacked and burnt, andtheir congregations and officers dispersed. 

He was surprised to find this beautiful chapel still intact, but he hadnot failed to notice the absence of the sacred vessels which usuallyadorned the altar, even in the midnight celebration. 

"But can you do nothing for our little mama?" asked Malinkoff. 

The priest shook his head. 

"Our guests have taken everything, " he said. "They have even turnedBrother Joachim from the refectory. "

"Your guests?" said Malinkoff. 

The priest nodded. 

"It is a great prince, " he said in awe. "Terrible things are happeningin the world, Antichrist is abroad, but we know little of such things inthe monastery. The peasants have been naughty and have broken down ourwall, slain our martyred brother Mathias--we could not find his body, "he added quickly, "and Brother Joachim thinks that the Jews have eatenhim so that by the consecrated holiness of his flesh they might averttheir eternal damnation. "

"Who is your prince?" asked Malcolm, hope springing in his breast. 

There were still powerful factions in Russia which were grouped aboutthe representatives and relatives of the late reigning house. 

"I do not know his name, " said the priest, "but I will lead you to him. Perhaps he has food. "

He extinguished two of the candles on the altar, crossing himself allthe while he was performing this ceremony, then led them through thescreen and out at the back of the chapel. Malcolm thought he saw a facepeering round the door as they approached it, and the shadow of a flyingform crossing the dark yard. Possibly the timid Father Joachim hethought. Running along the wall was a low-roofed building. 

"We are a simple order, " said the priest, "and we live simply. "

He had taken a candle lantern before he left the chapel, and this heheld up to give them a better view. Narrow half-doors, the tops beingabsent, were set in the face of the building at intervals. 

"Look!" he said, and pushed the lamp into the black void. 

"A stable?" said Malinkoff. 

He might have added: "a particularly draughty and unpleasant stable. "There were straw-filled mangers and straw littered the floor. 

"Do you keep many horses?"

The priest shook his head. 

"Here we sleep, " he said, "as directed in a vision granted to our mostblessed saint and founder, St. Basil the Leper. For to him came an angelin the night, saying these words: 'Why sleepest thou in a fine bed whenour Lord slept lowly in a stable?'"

He led the way across the yard to a larger building. 

"His lordship may not wish to be disturbed, and if he is asleep I willnot wake him. "

"How long has he been here?" asked Malcolm. 

"Since morning, " repeated the other. 

They were in a stone hall, and the priest hesitated. Then he opened thedoor cautiously, and peeped in. The room was well illuminated; theycould see the hanging kerosene lamps from where they stood. 

"Come, " said the priest's voice in a whisper, "he is awake. "

Malcolm went first. The room, though bare, looked bright and warm; a bigwood fire blazed in an open hearth, and before it stood a man dressed ina long blue military coat, his hands thrust into his pockets. The hoodof the coat was drawn over his head, and his attitude was one ofcontemplation. Malcolm approached him. 

"Excellenz, " he began, "we are travellers who desire----"

Slowly the man turned. 

"Oh, you 'desire'!" he bellowed. "What do you desire, Comrade Hay? Iwill tell you what _I_ desire--my beautiful little lamb, my prettylittle wife!"

It was Boolba. 

CHAPTER XIX

THE END OF BOOLBA

Cherry Bim, the last of the party to enter the room, made a dash for thedoor, and came face to face with the levelled rifle held in the hands ofa soldier who had evidently been waiting the summons of Boolba's shout. Behind him were three other men. Cherry dropped to the ground as theman's rifle went off, shooting as he fell, and the man tumbled down. Scrambling to his feet, he burst through the doorway like a human cannonball, but not even his nimble guns could save him this time. The hallwas full of soldiers, and they bore him down by sheer weight. 

They dragged him into the refectory, bleeding, and the diversion at anyrate had had one good effect. Only Boolba was there, roaring and raging, groping a swift way round the walls, one hand searching, the otherguiding. 

"Where are they?" he bellowed. "Come to me, my little beauty. Hay! Iwill burn alive. Where are they?"

"Little Commissary, " said the leader of the soldiers, "she is not here. They did not pass out. "

"Search, search!" shouted Boolba, striking at the man. "Search, youpig!"

"We have the other boorjoo, " stammered the man. 

"Search!" yelled Boolba. "There is a door near the fire--is it open?"

The door lay in the shadow, and the man ran to look. 

"It is open, comrade, " he said. 

"After them, after them!"

Boolba howled the words, and in terror they left their prisoner andflocked out of the door. Cherry stood in the centre of the room, hishands strapped behind his back, his shirt half ripped from his body, andlooked up into the big blinded face which came peering towards him asthough, by an effort of will, it could glimpse his enemy. 

"You are there?"

Boolba's hands passed lightly over the gun-man's face, fell upon hisshoulders, slipped down the arm. 

"Is this the thief? Yes, yes; this is the thief. What is he doing?"

He turned, not knowing that the soldiers had left him alone, and againhis hands passed lightly over Cherry's face. 

"This is good, " he said, as he felt the bands on the wrists. "To-morrow, little brother, you will be dead. "

He might have spared himself his exercise and his reproaches, because toCherry Bim's untutored ear his reviling was a mere jabber of meaninglesswords. Cherry was looking round to find something sharp enough on whichto cut the strap which bound him, but there was nothing that looked likea knife in the room. He knew he had a minute, and probably less, to makehis escape. His eyes rested for a moment on the holster at Boolba'sbelt, and he side-stepped. 

"Where are you going?"

Boolba's heavy hand rested on his shoulder. 

"Not out of the doorway, my little pigeon. I am blind, but----"

So far he had got when Cherry turned in a flash, so that his back wastoward Boolba. He stooped, and made a sudden dash backward, collidingwith the Commissary, and in that second his hand had gripped the gun atBoolba's waist. There was a strap across the butt, but it broke with ajerk. 

Then followed a duel without parallel. Boolba pulled his second gun andfired, and, shooting as blindly, Cherry fired backward. He heard a groanover his shoulder and saw Boolba fall to his knees. Then he ran for themain door, stumbled past the state-bedroom of the monks, and into thechapel. It was his one chance that the priest had returned to hisdevotions, and he found the man on his knees. 

"Percy, " said Cherry, "unfasten that strap. "

The priest understood no language but his own. But a gesture, the strapabout the wrists, blue and swollen, and the long revolver, needed noexplanation. The strap fell off and Cherry rubbed his wrists. 

He opened the breech of his gun; he had four shells left, but he wasalone against at least twenty men. He guessed that Boolba had made themonastery his advance headquarters whilst he was waiting for news of thefugitives, and probably not twenty but two hundred were within call. 

He reached the road and made for the place where the car had been left. If the others had escaped they also would go in that direction. He sawno guard or sentry, and heard no sound from the walled enclosure of themonastery. He struck against something in the roadway and stooped andpicked it up. It was stitched in a canvas cover and it felt like a book. He suddenly remembered the scraps of conversation he had overheardbetween the girl and Malcolm. 

This, then, was the "Book of All-Power. "

"Foolishness, " said Cherry, and put it in his pocket. But the bookshowed one thing clearly--the others had got away. He had marked theplace where they had stopped, but the car was gone!

It was too dark to see the tracks, but there was no question that it hadbeen here, for he found an empty petrol tin and the still air reeked ofrubber solution. 

He had need of all his philosophy. He was in an unknown country, afugitive from justice, and that country was teeming with soldiers. Everyroad was watched, and he had four cartridges between him and capture. There was only one thing to do, and that was to go back the way the carhad come, and he stepped out undauntedly, halting now and again to stoopand look along the railway line, for he was enough of an old campaignerto know how to secure a skyline. 

Then in the distance he saw a regular line of lights, and those lightswere moving. It was a railway train, and apparently it was turning acurve, for one by one the lights disappeared and only one flicker, whichhe judged was on the engine, was visible. He bent down again and saw thelevel horizon of a railway embankment less than two hundred yards on hisleft, and remembered that Malinkoff had spoken of the Warsaw line. 

He ran at full speed, floundering into pools, breaking through bushes, and finally scrambled up the steep embankment. How to board the trainseemed a problem which was insuperable, if the cars were moving at anyspeed. There was little foothold by the side of the track, andundoubtedly the train was moving quickly, for now the noise of it was adull roar, and he, who was not wholly unacquainted with certainunauthorized forms of travel, could judge to within a mile an hour therate it was travelling. 

He fumbled in his pocket and found a match. There was no means of makinga bonfire. The undergrowth was wet, and he had not so much as a piece ofpaper in his pocket. 

"The book!"

He pulled it out, ripped off the canvas cover with his knife, and triedto open it. The book was locked, he discovered, but locks were to Cherrylike pie-crusts--made to be broken. A wrench and the covers fell apart. 

He tore out the first three or four pages, struck the match, and theflame was touching the corner of the paper when his eyes fell upon theprinted words. He stood open-mouthed, the flame still burning, gazing atthe torn leaf until the burning match touched his finger and he droppedit. 

Torn between doubts, and dazed as he was, the train might have passedhim, but the light of a match in the still, dark night could be seen formiles, and he heard the jar of the brakes. He pushed the book and theloose leaves into his pocket and ran along the embankment to meet theslowing special--for special it was. 

He managed to pass the engine unnoticed, then, crouching down until thelast carriage was abreast, he leapt up, caught the rail and swunghimself on to the rear footboard, up the steel plates which serve assteps, to the roof of the carriage, just as the train stopped. 

There were excited voices demanding explanations, there was a confusionof orders, and presently the train moved on, gathering speed, and Cherryhad time to think. It was still dark when they ran into a littlejunction, and, peeping over the side, he saw a group of officers descendfrom a carriage to stretch their legs. To them came a voluble andgesticulating railway official, and again there was a confusion ofvoices. He was telling them something and his tone was apologetic, almost fearful. Then, to Cherry's amazement, he heard somebody speak inEnglish. It was the voice of a stranger, a drawling English voice. 

"Oh, I say! Let them come on, general! I wouldn't leave a dog in thiscountry--really I wouldn't. "

"But it is against all the rules of diplomacy, " said a gruffer voice inthe same language. 

"Moses!" gasped Cherry. 

The road led into the station-yard and he had seen the car. There was nodoubt of it. The lights from one of the train windows were sufficientlystrong to reveal it, and behind the stationmaster was another littlegroup in the shadow. 

"It is a matter of life and death. " It was Malcolm's voice. "I must getthis lady to the Polish frontier--it is an act of humanity I ask. "

"English, eh?" said the man called the general. "Get on board. "

Malcolm took the girl in his arms before them all. 

"Go, darling, " he said gently. 

"I cannot go without you, " she said, but he shook his head. 

"Malinkoff and I must wait. We cannot leave Cherry. We are going back tofind him. I am certain he has escaped. "

"I will not leave without you, " she said firmly. 

"You'll all have to come or all have to stay, " said the Englishmanbriskly. "We haven't any time to spare, and the train is now going on. You see, " he said apologetically, "it isn't our train at all, it belongsto the Polish Commission, and we're only running the food end of thenegotiations. We have been fixing up terms between the Red Army and thePoles, and it is very irregular that we should take refugees from thecountry at all. "

"_Go!_"

Malcolm heard the hoarse whisper, and it was as much as he could do tostop himself looking up. He remembered the motor-car and Cherry'smysterious and providential appearance from the roof, and he could guessthe rest. 

"Very well, we will go. Come, Malinkoff, I will explain in the car, "said Malcolm. 

They lifted the girl into the carriage and the men followed. A shriekfrom the engine, a jerk of the cars, and the train moved on. Before therear carriage had cleared the platform a car rocked into thestation-yard, dashing through the frail wooden fencing on to theplatform itself. 

"_Stoi! Stoi!_"

Boolba stood up in the big touring car, his arms outstretched, the whitebandage about his neck showing clearly in the car lights. Cherry Bimrose to his knees and steadied himself. Once, twice, three times hefired, and Boolba pitched over the side of the car dead. 

"I had a feeling that we should meet again, " said Cherry. "That's not abad gun. "

CHAPTER THE LAST

"All my life, " said Cherry Bim, fondling his Derby hat affectionately, "I have been what is called by night-court reporters a human parricide. "

He occupied a corner seat in the first-class compartment which had beenplaced at the disposal of the party. To the Peace Commissioners in theirsaloon the fugitives had no existence. Officially they were not on thetrain, and the hot meal which came back to them from the Commissioner'sown kitchenette was officially sent to "extra train-men, " and wasentered as such on the books of the chef. 

The girl smiled. There was cause for happiness, for these dreary flatswhich were passing the window were the flats of Poland. 

"I have often thought, Mr. Bim, that you were a human angel!"

Cherry beamed. 

"Why, that's what I was named after, " he said. "Ain't you heard of theCherry Bims? My sister Sarah was named the same way--you've heard ofSarah Bims?"

"Seraphims, " laughed Malcolm; "true, it's near enough. But why thisdissertation on your moral character, Cherry?"

"I'm only remarking, " said Cherry, "I wouldn't like you gu--fellers togo away thinkin' that high-class female society hadn't brought about achange in what I would describe, for want of a better word, as myoutlook. "

"All our outlooks have been shaken up, " said the girl, laying her handon Cherry's arm. 

"I am a Grand Duchess of Russia and you are--you are----"

"Yes, I'm that, " said Cherry, helping her out. "I'm one of nature'sextractors. But I'm through. I hate the idea of workin' and maybe Iwon't have to, because I've got enough of the--well, any way, I've gotenough. "

Malcolm slapped him on the knee. 

"You've brought more from Russia than we have, Cherry, " he said. 

"But not the greatest prize. " It was the silent Malinkoff who spoke. "Highness, is there no way of recovering your father's fortune?"

She shook her head. 

"It is gone, " she said quietly, "and if Russia were pacified to-morrow Ishould be poor--you know that, Malcolm!"

He nodded. 

"I have not even, " she smiled, "poor Israel Kensky's wonderful book. "

"I was a careless fool, " growled Malcolm, "when we struck the road I wasso intent upon getting to the auto that I did not realize the book haddropped out. We hadn't a second to lose, " he explained for the thirdtime to Cherry. "The soldiers were searching in the yard when Malinkofffound the breach in the wall. I hated leaving you----"

"Aw!" said the disgusted Cherry. "Ain't we settled that? Didn't I hearyou tellin' Percy--and say, is it true that the young lady is--isbroke?"

"'Broke' is exactly the word, " she said cheerfully. "I am going to be anice Scottish wife and live within my husband's means--why, Cherry?"

He had a book in his hand--the "Book of All-Power. "

"Where----?"

"Found it on the road, " he said. "I broke the lock an' tore out a coupleof leaves to light a flare. I wanted to flag the train--but I've got'em--the leaves, I mean. "

"You found it?"

She reached out her hand for the volume, but he did not give it to her. 

"I can't read Russian, " he said. "What does this say?" and he pointed tothe inscription on the cover, and she read, translating as she went on:

 "THE BOOK OF ALL-POWER

 "Herein is the magic of power and the words and symbols which unlock the sealed hearts of men and turn their proud wills to water. "

Cherry was silent. 

"That's a lie, " he said quietly, "for it didn't turn my will towater--take it, miss!"

She took it from his hand, wondering, and turned the broken cover. Shecould not believe her eyes ... And turned the leaves quickly. Every pagewas a Bank of England note worth a thousand pounds. 

 * * * * *

"That was how Kensky kept his money evidently, " said Malinkoff. "In suchtroublesome times as the Jews passed through, he must have thought itsafest to convert his property into English money, and when he hadreached the limit of his hoard he bound the notes into a book. "

The girl turned her bewildered face to Cherry. 

"Did you know that this was money?" she asked. 

"Sure, " he said; "didn't I start in to burn it?"

THE END