'And now,' he said, when he had ended, 'tell me how it fared with the Secretary.'
'I hate to think of it,' said the man who had borne the Litvinoff name for three years, and who, it seemed, was to bear it a little while longer. 'Whenever I think of that night, I see nothing but your face—dead, as I thought—turned up from the snow in the hateful dawn. Oh, my friend!' his voice faltered, and he held his hand out to Petrovitch again. After a pause, he resumed, 'I tried all I knew to revive you, but you were as cold as ice, and your heart did not beat. I stayed by you a long, long time. It did not occur to me to leave you, but at last, in a flash, I realised that you were gone—that I was there in the snow alone. And then I thought of escape. I said good-bye to your body. I felt as if your self was far away somewhere, and then I sprang up and dashed off in the direction we had been taking. It was broad daylight then, but I saw nothing of the soldiers, though I knew afterwards they must have found you, because when we sent, your body was gone. I must have kept pretty straight, for I came to a house at last, and I went straight up to it. I thought it must be Teliaboff's, and if it wasn't I felt I didn't much care. I went right in, asked for the master of the house, and when he came to me I told him all. It was Teliaboff. He was very good to me, and kept me there nearly a fortnight. We could hear nothing of you—nothing at all. By the way, it was he who first, unconsciously, gave me the idea of personating you, for when I entered his house on that horrible morning he greeted me by your name. I undeceived him at once, but the idea took root and bore fruit later. He was kindness itself, and his little daughter—she was only twelve, I think—took a fancy to me. I believe that child's companionship saved me from going mad.
'Then he got me a passport, and gave me money enough to get to Vienna. When I got there I was penniless, and I knew you had had money there. I did not feel somehow that I was robbing you when I forged your name—Heaven knows that was easily done, I knew your signature so well—and went on to Paris with your money as Count Michael Litvinoff. When I took your money I meant honestly to spend it all in the cause you had worked for, and for a time I did. But—I don't know how to explain it—I suppose the Revolution had not really taken hold of me. It was you I had cared for, and your creed I had held, not for itself, but because it was yours. And when your personal influence was not near me I grew careless and idle, and worked for Liberty only by fits and starts. It used to seem too much trouble to do things for the cause. It had been your approval I cared for, I think. You are so strong, I can't expect you to understand the imbecilities of such a weak fool as I am. From the moment when I ceased to spend all my time and all your money on your work, I seemed utterly degraded in my own eyes, and it did not seem to matter what I did, so I have gone on from bad to worse, and the principles you would die for, have only been will-o'-the-wisp lights to lead me into direr troubles than I should ever have known without them. I have not kept Michael Litvinoff's name clean. And the evil I have done is nothing to what I have tried to do. I sent Teliaboff his money back, but I have never heard from him. Have you? Do you know whether he is all right?'
'Haven't you heard?' Petrovitch asked gravely.
'Heard? No! What? Anything wrong?'
'Hanged,' was the brief reply.
'Hanged!'
'Yes, and his little daughter—she was fourteen, then, I think—was hanged with him.'
'For—for helping me?' gasped Litvinoff.
'No, for having "The Prophetic Vision" in her room.'