‘The assassination is to be carried out to-night, instead of next week.’
‘To-night!’
Exhausted as I was by the long journey, this news almost broke me down. I had to lean against my agent for support.
The poor wretch, conscious that he had blundered disastrously, dared not meet my eye, and I felt him trembling.
It is my maxim never to be angry with an employee except for bad faith. If an agent of mine blunders or breaks down I consider the fault is mine for having intrusted him with a task beyond his powers. Besides, there are no perfect instruments. In my own career I have made two mistakes.
Therefore I assured the unfortunate man that all was well, since Queen Draga was yet alive. We went together to the house in which my agent had been residing for some time in the character of correspondent of the Havas Agency. There I assumed the Servian dress which he had had the forethought to prepare for me, and, disguised as a sous-officier, I set off for the Palace.
My military uniform naturally inspired confidence in the sentries, those in the plot no doubt supposing that I was so, also.
I made my way round to a side entrance, suitable to my apparent station, and there, by my agent’s advice, asked to see Anna Petrovitch, the waiting-maid who had shared the Queen’s fortunes for many years.
I was admitted without any demur, and presently Anna herself appeared. She took me apart into a small chamber apparently used by the upper servants of the Palace, and asked me what I wanted.
‘I must see the Queen immediately, in private,’ I answered.