The Queen's Advocate

by Arthur W. Marchmont

He chewed the notion for a moment and then his grim face relaxed into one of his rare smiles. “It is good,” he said; and we set to work and threshed out the plan in as much detail as practicable at that stage.

I decided that the half dozen men who with Karasch and myself were to take the risk of making the pretended arrest of Gatrina, should wear the uniform of soldiers and over that loose civilian’s clothes which could be easily slipped off in case of need. The men would in this way be available for both parts of the work before us; as civilians to resist the mob, or as soldiers to mislead the regular troops.

I based my plans on the calculation that in making any attempt on Gatrina’s house the troops were not likely to be in any considerable force. The movement would be more in the nature of an arrest; and if we could manage to get into the house before the soldiers sent to make the arrest, they would be likely to conclude, if they saw Gatrina in our hands, that in the confusion some mistake had been made in doubling the parties told off for the purpose.

I should be in command and should wear the uniform which Nikolitch had left behind him; and in the event of any complication arising, I should have to trust to my wits to explain it away.

My intention was to march with Gatrina straight to the house of the United States representative, where, of course, she would be safe. I knew him already for a man on whom I could rely implicitly.

Karasch went off to find the men and was to return at midnight to report progress; and I was to go out into the neighbourhood of Gatrina’s house to look for a place in which they could be placed. I was getting ready when my eye fell upon Nikolitch’s uniform and I tried it on. It was anything but comfortable after the freedom of civilian’s dress; and as I was much the broader man of the two, it was an uncommonly bad fit.

But I had to get used to it; so I resolved on a dress rehearsal of the part, and throwing on a long overcoat, I put a revolver in my pocket and set out on my quest, with Chris in close attendance at my heels.

The night was fine but moonless; and as the streets of Belgrade were very badly lighted, there was not much chance of my being recognised. The restaurants and supper houses were busy enough, and the flare of their lights streamed across the streets here and there; but they were easy to avoid; and there were none of them in the neighbourhood of Gatrina’s house.

As it was of course necessary that I should make myself as familiar with the entrances to the house as possible, I had a good look at it, being careful to keep well in shadow.

A massive stone house, it stood by itself at a corner and was almost surrounded by a high wall. The main door let out on to a broad thoroughfare; a strong massive door with a deep portico. In the wall at the side there was a smaller doorway—the servants’ entrance, I concluded; and this, also, was very heavily and strongly fashioned. All the lower windows were heavily barred, a custom I had observed to be general in the large houses in the city.