In the meanwhile not a word to his comrades. He had seen the president the evening before and told him of the alteration in the Cardinal’s plan, which would enable him, Volenski, to deliver the papers in Taranïew’s hands two days before the anticipated time. To tell them all of the dangers they were in, would be unnecessary cruelty. What could they do but wait for the blow, if it was destined to fall? Mirkovitch would wish to kill the Tsarevitch. It would be revolting to murder a defenceless prisoner.
Now his Eminence had quieted his anxieties. There was no fear, no hurry. After the Cardinal left, Volenski’s peace of mind enabled him to sleep quietly, without harassing dreams of prisons and Siberia.
He felt alert and well the next morning, ready to take the express through Oderberg to Petersburg; little more than twenty-four hours after Madame Demidoff, following closely on her footsteps.
He breakfasted cheerfully, as one free from care, and with mechanical hands opened the morning paper to glance at the news. And when he read it, there was that in the paper that crushed all his hopes, and for the first time led him to doubt that it was Providence who watched over the Socialist cause.
“ANOTHER DARING ROBBERY ON THE FRONTIER.
“Yesterday, during the examination of passengers’ luggage at Oderberg, at six o’clock in the morning, a daring robbery was committed.
“As Madame Demidoff, a lady well known in our aristocratic circles, was alighting from her coupé, a man, disguised in the uniform of our customs officials, offered to carry her dressing-bag and valise. He appeared to be following her with her belongings, and it was not till nearly a quarter of an hour later that Madame Demidoff realised that the man and all her belongings had disappeared. It is stated by the lady herself, that the valise contained some valuable articles; her extraordinary agitation on hearing of her loss was much commented upon. The matter is in the hands of the police, who already have an important clue.”
What this announcement in the paper meant to Volenski the reader will easily imagine. After the comparative peace and security of the last few hours, the blow seemed to fall on him with almost stunning vigour. The paper fell from his hand, and for fully ten minutes he sat there staring into vacancy, unable to think, to plan, his brain almost refusing to take in the fact and all the terrors it conveyed. But a few hours ago those papers, which he had with so light a heart confided to what he felt sure was the safest hiding-place he could devise, had, by some mysterious help of Providence, escaped the eyes of the most astute woman in Russia—unknown to herself she was carrying the secrets of a band of young Nihilists safely across the Russian frontier in the teeth of the police—she, an agent, a spy herself.
The situation was hazardous. Volenski had trembled that some remote chance might at the eleventh hour play him false, but the chance was so slight a one, that he had even the heart to laugh inwardly at the curious coincidence that caused a police agent to be the means of conveying nihilistic papers across the border. Moreover, in two days at most, he would once more have regained the papers, hand them over to his comrades, and, when all was safe again, laugh at his own terrors. But now how terribly was the situation altered. The fateful papers at this moment were at the mercy of thieves or receivers of stolen goods, who were sure to make the most profitable use of their find; for the secret of the candlesticks could not remain one for long, once they fell into the hand of bric-à-brac dealers, so expert in these matters. And Iván shuddered as he thought how completely in the power of scoundrels he and his comrades would presently be. Would the papers be used for blackmailing, denunciation, or what?
The valet had come in some little while ago, to warn the secretary that it was fully time to start, if he wished to catch the Kassa-Oderberg express, but Iván had impatiently said that his plans were changed; he was not starting that morning.
When the man had left him, and he was once more alone, he again took up the Fremdenblatt, and read the fateful article through and through, till his aching temples began to throb and the letters dance before his burning eyes, till he felt dizzy and faint with that most awful terror—the terror of the unknown.
“The police have an important clue,” he muttered. “What clue? and what would happen if they did discover the stolen goods?”