CHAPTER IV
A HORSEDEALING TRANSACTION
AS I hurried to the station I tried to think over the position coolly and carefully.
In the first place, I was now a fugitive from the police; but as I had done no wrong, the fact had a sort of fascination for me. The scent of adventure and the prospective excitement attracted me, and the idea of a trial of wits with the authorities roused every combative instinct in my nature.
Even had there been no one else involved, I should have gone through with the thing for its own sake. But there was Volna. Her safety and that of her mother depended upon me; and that fact was the most powerful incentive I could have had to urge me to my utmost effort. The thought of helping such a splendid girl was just a sheer delight.
Those papers had to be got to Cracow. The mother’s safety required this; and the risk involved in the attempt formed the spice of the adventure. I had powerful and influential friends both at home and on the continent who would readily help me to get out of any bother so far as matters had gone at present; but it might be a very difficult thing if in the present excited state of the empire, I was caught helping the “P.F.F.” by carrying seditious documents for revolutionary purposes. Volna also had run no great risk as yet. The mere fact that she was travelling with Count Peter Valdemar was not by itself likely to involve her in any serious consequences. If the papers could have been destroyed, therefore, we could easily have put an end to the complication. But this was impossible. Their delivery in Cracow was imperative.
We stood thus at the dividing line between safety and risk; and there was nothing for it but to go through with the matter to the end.
My experience at the inn had its lesson. I recognized that I must move very warily indeed in making any inquiries at the station. The fussy little stationmaster, Blauben, might recognize me despite the change in my appearance; and I did not at all relish the prospect of interviewing him.
But in this one respect the luck was with me. I was surprised to see a small crowd of people at the generally deserted station, and it was an easy matter to mingle with them without being observed.
That was all the luck there was, however, as the reason for the crowd spelt further disaster to my plans of escape. The place was in a hubbub of excitement; and I soon learnt that there had been a very serious accident on the line at a place called Pulta, some seven or eight miles west of Bratinsk.
As a result of this the line to Cracow was blocked. There would be no train going west that night.