He broke off, and remained silent, in frowning thought, for a few seconds.
“I will ask you this,” he resumed. “If you should have any news of—her—you will send me word, at once, and in secret? Not openly; I am surrounded by spies, as we all are here! Mishka shall remain here, and accompany you to Petersburg. He will show you where and how you can leave a message that will reach me speedily and infallibly. For the present good-bye—and a swift recovery!”
He saluted me, and clanked out of the room. I heard him speaking to Mishka, who had remained on guard outside the door. A minute or two later there was a bustle in the courtyard below, whence, for some time past, had sounded the monotonous clank of a stationary motor car.
I went to the window, walking rather unsteadily, for I felt sick and dizzy after this strange and somewhat exciting interview. Two magnificent cars were in waiting, surrounded by a little crowd of officers in uniform and soldiers on guard. After a brief interval the Grand Duke came out of the hotel and entered the first car, followed by the stout rubicund officer I had seen in attendance on him at Wirballen. A merry little man he seemed, and as he settled himself in his seat he said something which drew a laugh from the Duke. Looking down at his handsome debonnaire face, it was difficult to believe that he was anything more than a light-hearted young aristocrat, with never a care in the world. And yet I guessed then—I know now—that he was merely bluffing an antagonist in a game that he was playing for grim stakes,—nothing less than life and liberty!
Three days later I arrived, at last, in Petersburg, to find letters from England awaiting me,—one from my cousin Mary, to whom I had already written, merely telling her that I missed Anne at Berlin, and asking if she had news of her. There could be no harm in that. Anne had played her part so well that, though Jim had evidently suspected her,—I wondered now how he came to do so, though I’d have to wait a while before I could hope to ask him,—Mary, I was certain, had not the least idea that her stay with them was an episode in a kind of game of hide and seek. To her the visit was but the fulfilment of the promise made when they were school-girls together. And I guessed that Anne would keep up the deception, which was forced upon her in a way, and that she would write to Mary. She would lie to her, directly or indirectly; that was almost inevitable. But she would write, just because she loved Mary, and therefore would not willingly cause her anxiety. I was sure of that in my own mind; and I hungered for news of her; even second-hand news. But she had not written!
“I am so anxious about Anne,” my cousin’s letter ran. “We’ve had no word from her since that post-card from Calais, and I can’t think why! She has no clothes with her, to speak of, for she only took her dressing-bag; and I don’t like to send her things on till I hear from her; besides, I hoped she would come back to us soon! Did you see her at Berlin?”
I put the letter aside; I could not answer it at present. Mary would receive mine from Dunaburg, and would forward me any news that might have reached her in the interval.
And meanwhile I had little to distract my mind. Things were very quiet, stagnant in fact, in Petersburg during those hot days of early summer; even the fashionable cafés in the Nevski Prospekt were practically deserted, doubtless because the heat, that had set in earlier than usual, had driven away such of their gay frequenters as were not detained in the city on duty.
I slept ill during those hot nights, and was usually abroad early. One lovely June morning my matutinal stroll led me,—aimlessly I thought, though who knows what subtle influences may direct our most seemingly purposeless actions, and thereby shape our destiny—along the Ismailskaia Prospekt,—which, nearly a year back, had been the scene of the assassination of De Plehve, the man who for two years had controlled Petersburg with an iron hand.
There were comparatively few people abroad, and they were work-people on their way to business, and vendors setting out their wares on the stalls that line the wide street on either side.