MY DECISION.
The news I heard from Prince Bilbassoff wrought me to a higher pitch of excitement than anything that had ever happened in my life. I was in a very highly strung condition, and my nerves were no doubt greatly wrought upon as the result of the stirring events of the previous few days. That may have rendered me unduly susceptible to this new development.
Be that as it may, I went out of the Prince's presence filled with a spurring desire to kill the man who as it seemed to me was planning my ruin in this most treacherous manner.
The view I took was that this Grand Duke was moved by the double motive of personal anger on the score of my affair with Alexandre Durescq and of a feeling of insecurity on account of the knowledge I had of his Nihilism. I knew too much to be trusted. The issues were so tremendous, the decision I had to make so full of moment, and the time for me to choose my course so short, that my wits had need to be at their sharpest.
I had out my horse and went for a hard gallop—one of the best prescriptions I know of to clear a tangled judgment. It acted now. As I rode at hot speed my thoughts began to settle; and then gradually a scheme occurred to me, wild, desperate, and hazardous at best, and fraught with fearful risks to others beside myself; but yet if successful, offering me what I wanted above all—complete deliverance from the whole of my present difficulties.
My first thought in all was for myself. Not for the Emperor, nor the army, nor Russia, nor any big interests—for myself and for my escape from the country whose most unwilling guest and compulsory servant I was. Had I been a Russian officer in reality, I could have taken but one course—disclosed the Nihilist plot, or so much of it as I knew, and thus have checkmated the whole devilish business at once. Had I ever received any particular mark of favour at the hands of the Government or the country, gratitude would have urged me to take the same course.
But I owed nothing to a soul in all Russia. Everyone had tried to use me as a tool. The Colonel of the regiment had begun by making use of my quarrel with Durescq to humiliate Devinsky. The officers, almost without exception, had swaggered over me contemptuously until my skill as a swordsman shewed them the price of contempt might be death. The Nihilists had first tried to assassinate me, and only when I had seemed to serve their ends with more daring and secrecy than any other man among them, had they turned with a demand for more sacrifices; while this Grand Duke, apparently one of the chief of them, was even now planning to get rid of me. Prince Bilbassoff was in the same list; and without a doubt would have shut up both Olga and myself on Paula Tueski's accusation, had he not wished to hire me as an assassin. Everywhere I turned it was the same.
What then did I owe to Russia that I should think of any single consideration except my own safety and welfare?
The question which I asked myself therefore, was whether I could plunge my hand into this seething cauldron of intrigue and murder and pluck out my own safety.
A word from me would foil the whole Nihilist plot, and the Czar would make his entry into Moscow in due form and time. But how should I profit? Supposing the Nihilist calculations were correct, and I was appointed to the section of the line where the "accident" was to happen, I should have to contrive obstacles and make difficulties which would in all probability draw down on me the suspicions of the whole Nihilist crew. Add that element of suspicion to the feeling which the Grand Duke already entertained and was inculcating into others, and what chance was there of my escaping either open ruin or assassination?
Assuming that I did escape even, what should I gain? I was tied to Russia by the word I had passed to the Prince, and could not hope to be set free from it until I had either fought the Grand Duke, or until the Prince was convinced that the duel was impossible. But as the Duke looked on me as nothing less than a pestilential traitor to the Nihilist cause, was it likely that he would consent to meet me? Certainly not. Even if we added the cause which the Prince had suggested—the spurious betrothal to the Princess—I should get no benefit. The Grand Duke would merely regard that as an additional reason for having me removed secretly from his path.
All this meant therefore, that even if I thwarted the plot in this way, I should be kept in Russia and apart from Olga, until the Grand Duke consented to fight me; or, in other words, until his emissaries had convinced themselves that they could not manage to assassinate me. Nor was it probable that that conviction would come until they had made a series of unsuccessful efforts.
A pleasant prospect, truly!
On the other hand, if I did nothing and allowed the infernal plot to be carried through and the Emperor murdered, it would mean death to me; certain death. As the officer placed in charge of the section of the line where the deed would be done, who had allowed the murderers disguised as soldiers to mix with my troops; who had actually posted them at the very spot where the train was to be derailed; and who above all was already suspected of Nihilist intrigue; I was certain of conviction, even without the Grand Duke's special animosity. Add that, however, and the result was as dead certain as that night alternates with day.
If I was to escape, therefore, it must be by a shrewd stroke dealt by myself alone and for myself alone. And such a stroke it was that suggested itself in the course of that ride.
Briefly, it was to allow everything to go forward right to the very supreme moment, and then by personal effort to save the Emperor's life by my own hand in such a way as to draw the Imperial attention directly on myself.
I thought I saw how it could be done: and when I turned my horse's head homeward I rode at a slower pace, meditating all the details of the plan with the closest attention. The Nihilists had told me enough to shew me how to act; and my sense of fair play urged me to use the knowledge for my sole advantage, and without involving a single Nihilist in danger by open denunciation. I was a Nihilist against my will; and though I had been forced into the plot, I was altogether opposed to telling what had been told to me in this spirit of confidence. At the same time I was a Russian officer, almost equally against my own seeking, and so long as I preserved the Emperor's life I need not regard other matters as a Russian officer would.
By the time I reached my rooms I had my plans shaped, and my scheme developed; and my accustomed mood of calm, wary self-possession had returned.
I changed and went to the club. The place was crammed with the officers stationed in Moscow and their friends who had been sent into the city on special duty in connection with the Czar's visit on the following day. Everyone was in the noisiest spirits. Good news had come of the prospects of war. All believed that on the next day the Little Father would make a ringing war speech that would render peace impossible; and many of the men were talking as though the sword had already leapt from the scabbard, and a million men, tramping warwards, were already driving the scared Turks before them, like husks before the winnowing fan.
I lounged about the place, exchanging a word now and then with one or another of my acquaintances, and I saw some of the youngsters stop their war babble as I passed and whisper to their companions, and the latter would turn and look in my direction. I was fool enough to be pleased at these little indications of the changed feelings with which in scarcely more than a month I had made my fellow-officers think and speak of "that devil Alexis."
More than once I smiled to myself as I thought what a bomb-shell would be exploded in the room if they were all told the hazardous secret which filled my thoughts just at that moment.
"To hell with the Turk, Alexis," cried Essaieff, catching sight of me and stopping me as I moved past.
"May the Sick Man never recover!" I returned, answering in the form that was then in vogue with us all.
"Drink, man, drink," he cried, excitedly, thrusting a glass of some kind of liquor to me. It was evident he had been toasting the war pretty freely. "Sit here with us. Take it easy, man, now while we can. We've a long march ahead before we catch a glimpse of the minarets of Constantinople. Gentlemen, here is a Russian of whom you will hear much when the war comes. Lieutenant Petrovitch of ours, gentlemen, my particular friend, and as good a fellow as ever held a commission. You can do anything with him, except quarrel; then, damme, you must look out for yourself, for there isn't a man in Moscow, nor I believe in Russia, can get through his guard; and as for shooting, God! I believe if a single devil of a Turk shews only the shadow of an eyelash round the corner of a fortification, he'll hit him with a ricochet. 'That devil Alexis,' he is to us; and if the devil's only half as good a fellow as this, I'll be content for one to serve him."
"I've heard of Lieutenant Petrovitch," said one of the men, as he bowed to me ceremoniously and lifted his glass in response to Essaieff's toast.
"Then you will know how to discount the exaggerations of my good friend Essaieff," said I, quietly.
"On the contrary, I knew Durescq."
"Is Lieutenant Petrovitch the officer who was in that matter?" asked another, shewing great interest in me at once.
"I should think he is," cried Essaieff, noisily enthusiastic. "It was in this very room that the thing occurred. I'll tell you...."
"Essaieff, my dear fellow, I'd much rather not," I interrupted; and turning to one of the officers I asked:—"Do you really think the war will come now?" But Essaieff would not let me change the subject.
"War come? of course it will; but this is something much better than war just now," he burst in. "Several of us thought there was mischief in the air when we saw Devinsky and Durescq together, and I was standing there, waiting for...."
"Excuse me," I interrupted, rising. "I wish to speak to a man I see over there; and really I can't stand Essaieff when he gets on this theme," and with that excuse I left.
Wherever I went there were the same signs of revelry, excitement and pleasure. All were anticipating a really splendid gala day on the morrow, with gaieties, festivities, balls, receptions, concerts, levees, everything that society deems life worth living for to follow.
I went away very early. I had to keep my nerves as firm as cold steel, and the noisy ruffled atmosphere of this place with its crowd of gesticulating, laughing, excited men, and the drink that was circulating so freely, formed the worst of all preparations for such a day as the morrow would be for me and the task I had to perform.
Before going home I strolled through one or two of the broader streets; and everywhere I went I could not fail to observe that while the unusual throngs of people in the streets reflected the feelings of rejoicing that had animated the officers whom I had just left, and that all Moscow was slowly going mad with anticipative excitement, the number of police agents was multiplied many times over. The leaven of suspicion embittered everything; and, as no one knew better than I, with what terrible cause. As I mingled with the great, jostling, bantering crowd I found myself speculating how the majority of them would decide such an issue as that which had been bewildering me; and the wild task I had for the morrow made me feel like a thing apart from everyone of them—an alien not only in race, but in every attribute and aspiration.
The contact with the crowd helped in a way to strengthen the decision I had made. I was one against all these thousands; fighting by myself for my own hand against desperate odds, and with none to help me in a single detail.
When I reached my rooms I went at once to bed, knowing that every minute of rest had its value as a preparation for the work of the following day. I had made my resolution, formed my plans, thought out even the details. I had gauged the risk and knew full well that the probabilities were all against my being alive on the following night.
But this at least was equally certain—if I lived and was free I would have won my way out of Russia.
These were the thoughts that filled me; and so occupied was I with them that it was not until I purposely put them away from me in order to get to sleep, that I recalled how little I had thought of Olga during the whole of that eventful day.
She was in my thoughts when I fell asleep, however: and her face cheered me in my dreams.