“We are only, it seems, to thank heaven that your Imperial Highness has been once more providentially restored to us. That is all the information I have—officially.”
“And privately?”
“Oh! mere conjectures.”
“I must hear them.”
“I will give them to your Imperial Highness for what they are worth. But it is not often that my long experience as chief of his Majesty’s police leads my instinct on a wrong track. Before I started for Vienna, I had in my hand his Majesty’s letter, granting a free pardon to the gang of Nihilists, headed by one named Dunajewski, who were waiting condemnation for their last attempt against the very life of our august monarch. The letter was accompanied with a free pass for all of them across the frontier, signed by his Majesty’s own hand, and to which I was ordered to affix the official seal.”
“And these Nihilists?”
“Were set free that very evening, and under safe escort crossed the frontier in the early hours of last night, when they were handed their passports, and left to go whither they chose.”
“Even now I do not quite understand.”
“An official telegram was sent from Russia announcing this unparalleled liberation of Nihilist convicts to every Viennese paper, who have published the news this morning.”
And the Russian chief of police took from his pocket a copy of the Fremdenblatt and one or two other papers, and handed them over to the Tsarevitch.