The Intriguers

The autocrat interposed. “My dear Baron, your young friend has been of the most inestimable service to us. You were always a great judge of men.”

The next to speak was Golitzine. “My dear Salmoros, I know full well that it is your zeal for the Emperor and the great Empire over which he rules that has led you to take this long and tedious journey. You have something of importance to communicate.”

Salmoros spoke in his slow, grave accents. He looked at the Emperor as he spoke, but he was really addressing Golitzine. He knew that in that remarkable man, apart from mere figureheads, lay the destinies of the great Russian Empire.

He was not oblivious to the fact that the two Generals were persons to be reckoned with; as a matter of fact, he was counting on their practical assistance; but Golitzine, the man of brains, the man of initiative, the true statesman, was his sheet-anchor.

Alexander was, of course, the mere titular head of the state, served by his subordinates, more or less well.

If Golitzine went, and some inferior person took on his office, then Alexander would be very badly served. He was not a monarch who could reign by himself.

The Baron bent his deep, penetrating gaze upon the assembly of notable persons – the Emperor, the two Generals, the Secretary, the modest and rather shrinking young Italian, somewhat embarrassed by his recent projection into matters of high statecraft.

Certain things at once struck his observant eyes. All except the Emperor were dressed in immaculate costume. The autocrat himself was attired in a loose dressing-gown. He had had no time to array himself in conventional garments.

As a matter of fact, Golitzine’s letter had reached him shortly before dawn, requesting his presence at the private counsel which was now taking place. Alexander, no doubt relying on the efforts of his faithful servants, had indulged in a little extra slumber, confident that he would be well looked after.

Salmoros reflected, with a certain contempt, upon the obvious inferences which were to be drawn from these very apparent facts.

He looked at Golitzine, that astute Secretary, who kept his master in order, spurred him when he was too sluggish, restrained him when he was too impetuous.

Cynical thoughts shaped themselves in his active brain, and if translated into speech, they might have expressed themselves thus: “Why do we men of intelligence and initiative give our best, the keenest of our brains, to these mere figureheads whom we flatter, but at heart despise for their feebleness? It is because we find the figurehead binds us more closely together, makes our own position more secure, while we are propping up his.”

He answered Golitzine’s question, with his slow, grave smile.

“A man of my age, Count, would not travel so many miles, at great personal inconvenience, without some very strong motive. I warned you some time ago of a slowly maturing conspiracy against the person of his Majesty.” He inclined his leonine head in the direction of the autocrat, the figurehead, who smiled back graciously in intimation that he fully appreciated the Baron’s services.

“I have, as you know, considerable resources at my command, but these people are very cunning. It is only quite lately that I have secured definite information as to day and date. As soon as I received that information, I cast all other considerations to the winds. I came to St. Petersburg as fast as special trains would bring me. Of course, I had no knowledge of what you were doing here, and one cannot express oneself very fully in telegrams.”

Golitzine gave him a glance which said as plainly as the language of the eyes could speak, “We are both men of the highest intelligence. Let us disregard the figureheads and the instruments and address ourselves to each other. The others can follow us at their leisure.”

Aloud he said, “Well, Baron, you have been well served, but we, in St. Petersburg, have not been idle. When do you say that Zouroff and his fellow conspirators will strike?”

“Within the next three days. That is my information, derived, of course, from a traitor, who has received a substantial reward,” was the answer of Salmoros. He thought, rather regretfully, that there were few secrets of this unhappy country, which could not be purchased for a liberal payment of gold. He was not even sure to what extent the most trusted adherents of the Emperor might not be bribed, always excepting Golitzine.

The Emperor broke in, in his rather awkward way, to prove that he was always master in his own house.

“You have done more than well, Baron, and you have now, as before and ever, our undying gratitude. But” – he pointed a finger towards the young Director of the Imperial Opera – “this gentleman is just a little bit in front of you. You say within three days. Signor Corsini will tell you that the great coup of Zouroff and his friends is planned for to-night at the Winter Palace. Speak, Signor, and tell the Baron something of what you have already told us.”

Golitzine’s heavy brows expressed displeasure. After his long journey, doubly trying to a man of his age, Salmoros need not have his own protégé flung in his face as it were. The situation could have been dealt with in a more diplomatic manner.

But Salmoros, man of the world and philosopher as he was, did not indicate by a flickering of the eyelid that he took the slightest notice of these small pinpricks, delivered by a maladroit, but not hostile hand.

He looked kindly at the young man. “Please repeat what you have already told to this illustrious assembly. If the pupil has beaten his master, it will be proof to me that my judgment of men seldom fails.”

He paused and bowed profoundly to the Emperor, who was just beginning to entertain an uneasy idea that he might have employed more diplomatic language.

“I am an old man, Sire, and perhaps my brain does not work quite so rapidly as it used. But you will kindly remember that I have several important interests at stake, besides watching over the destinies of Empires in a state of disturbance, such as seems afflicting your kingdom at the present moment. For many years, as you know, I have lived in free and prosperous England. We don’t have any of those troubles in that well-governed and tranquil country.”

The Emperor reddened under the mild rebuke, delivered in the most passionless tones. Golitzine hastened to pour oil on the troubled waters. The two Generals, men of action, of no subtlety of thought, had not noticed that the waters were troubled at all.

The Count addressed himself directly to Corsini.

“You were only embarking upon your narrative which the fortunate advent of the Baron cut short for a few moments. Will you kindly proceed? Our good friend will then realise how you have been aided by a most fortunate conjunction of circumstances.”

Nello proceeded with his narrative, but of course, he had to repeat portions of it, to bring Salmoros into line with the others.

He finished up with the pregnant words: “The attempt is to be made to-night at the Winter Palace at the big reception, the bal-masqué.” He turned to the Emperor. “Your Majesty is to be assassinated by one of the eight chief conspirators.”

Corsini had now come to a part of his narrative which he had not yet disclosed before the arrival of Salmoros.

“His name?” demanded the Emperor, with flashing eyes.

“I grieve very much that I cannot give that information. It was not settled last night at the meeting. I understood they would draw lots for it to-day.”

The Emperor subsided. For the moment he could not vent his vengeance on any particular person.

Corsini proceeded. “At the bal-masqué, your Majesty is to wear a pale-blue domino.”

“Quite true,” answered the autocrat. “That is the costume I have chosen.”

“These men are acquainted with every detail of the reception, and they have a hundred spies and adherents.”

“I see,” said the Emperor. “It is well known we are giving a big reception to-night, to which even this traitor Zouroff himself is invited. Truly, the conspirators have chosen a very convenient occasion.”

After these words the Czar of all the Russias leant his head upon his hand, apparently engrossed in deep thought.

Golitzine looked at Salmoros, the Baron flashed back an answering glance. The same thought had occurred to both. Had the Emperor’s brain, never of a very dominating quality, suddenly given way under the tragic possibilities of to-night?

The two Generals, admirable machines, but who were pretty well incapable of moving on their own volition, kept imperturbable faces.

Golitzine at last ventured to touch the shoulder of his Imperial Master. Even a favourite Secretary paused before taking liberties with an autocrat, so long as he was in his right mind. But Golitzine was beginning to doubt if he was, and Salmoros entertained the same suspicion.

“There is no time to be lost, Sire. They are going to strike to-night. We must be prepared to counter their blow. What does your Majesty suggest?”

The Emperor smiled calmly. It was evident that he had not gone out of his mind, as they had at first feared.

He spoke in measured accents. “I have been thinking very deeply, my good old friend Golitzine. One of the band is going to assassinate me to-night. Well, you leave that part of the problem to me.”

Golitzine recoiled in consternation. “It is my duty and that of my colleagues” – he pointed to the two inarticulate Generals – “to guard the sacred person of your Majesty. With all respect, Sire, I cannot leave that task to yourself.”

He turned to the Baron. “I think, Salmoros, you will agree with me?” he asked.

Salmoros spoke in very decided tones. “In a question of this importance, your Majesty must consent to take the advice of your faithful friends and legal supporters.” He had no very great opinion of the Emperor’s ability or capacity to deal with difficult circumstances.

The Emperor’s smile was more pronounced than before, as he tapped Golitzine on the shoulder and extended a hand to the venerable Salmoros.

He drew them aside, and spoke in a confidential whisper.