“He may probably,” suggested someone, “employ some private detective in this city, and, until that hope has failed him, endeavour to keep the Tsarevitch’s disappearance a secret from the Russian government.”
“Be that as it may,” concluded the president, “I think we may safely presume that our messenger will get a few days’ start on that slowly-moving old courtier, and three days is all he will need to seek out Taranïew, who will lose no time in seeing that the letter reaches its proper destination.”
“You are, of course, presuming all the time,” now said a voice—an elderly man’s voice, sober and sedate—“that Lavrovski, thinking only of his own safety, will at first merely endeavour to keep the matter of the disappearance of his charge as much of a secret as possible; those of our friends who know him best, seem, by judging his pretty well known dilatoriness, to have arrived at this conclusion, which no doubt is the right one. But we must all remember that there is one other person—shall I say enemy?—whom Lavrovski may, in spite of his fears, choose for a confidant, and that person is neither dilatory nor timorous, and has, moreover, an army of allies of every rank in Vienna to help her both speedily and secretly—you all know who I mean.”
The question was not answered. What need was there of it? They all knew her by reputation, the beautiful Madame Demidoff, and all suspected and feared her; yet who dared say she was a spy or worse, this grande dame who was one of the ornaments of Viennese society?
“I spoke to her at the opera ball to-night,” said Iván Volenski, who up to this point had taken very little part in the discussion.
“She was there then?” queried an anxious voice.
“She always is everywhere where there is a brilliant function,” replied Iván, “and it is just possible that she may have had instructions to keep her dainty ears open, whenever she came across any of her compatriots; when I met her, it was just after Maria Stefanowna had driven off in the fiaker, Madame Demidoff was wanting her carriage, and asked me to help her in finding it.”
“No doubt she is our greatest danger,” said the president, “for if anything did rouse her suspicions to-night, she certainly would not hesitate to employ a whole army of private and police detectives, and may force our hand before our brothers at Petersburg have had time to play the trump card.”
“After all,” said Mirkovitch, “if we find that she is exerting her powers too much, it is always within our means to give her a warning, that the Tsarevitch’s life is in actual danger through her interference.”
“Anyhow, my friends,” now concluded the president, “it is well that, knowing our foes, we keep a strict watch over them. After all, let us always remember that, though we all risk our lives and liberties, they, in their turn, must first see that the Tsarevitch is quite safe. We hold the most precious of hostages; for once we are absolutely masters of the situation. I don’t think we gain anything by discussing any further what Lavrovski and Madame Demidoff may or may not do. They must be strictly watched, that is evident, but the message to Taranïew is the important point; we can include as many conditions in our letter as we like, and leave them at Petersburg to do the rest.”