We rode back rapidly to my quarters to inquire if M. de Lambert had returned in the interval, and, finding that he was yet absent, went on upon our errand. The improbability of his voluntarily staying so long away now that Najine was absent was palpable enough, and I had no longer any doubt that he had met with foul play. We had searched every quarter where he was likely to visit, with the result of receiving repeated assurances that he had not been seen that day, and I was deeply disquieted. The dusk was gathering, and we rode back upon our tracks in an aimless fashion. I had ordered my two attendants in front, and was riding several yards behind absorbed in troubled thought. We were below the Kremlin, on the bank of the Moskva, and so lost was I in meditation that I started when my horse shied at the sudden appearance of a man before him. The stranger laid his hand on my bridle, and I drew my pistol, thinking him some cut-purse.
“You stop me at your peril, knave,” I said harshly, wrenching the rein free.
“Do not shoot, sir!” he exclaimed, and I knew his voice at once; it was the Swedish spy.
“You took a serious risk,” I remarked, putting up my weapon; “what would you have from me?”
“You are searching for M. de Lambert,” he said quietly; “I have heard of it. That man Tikhon knows something—and also, monsieur, Apraxin is here again.”
I started; these were evil tidings, for I looked upon him as an assassin. The Swede’s knowledge did not astonish me, since it was his business to acquire information, and his devoted gratitude had already been proved. I leaned from my saddle and spoke to him in a low tone.
“I thank you,” I said; “learn all you can, for I fear that he has met with foul play. They desire his absence or his death.”
“Compel yonder man to speak, M. le Vicomte,” he said earnestly, “and I will do my best. One good turn deserves another;” and with these words he slipped back behind the shadow of a low building, and I rode on.
He had scarcely detained me five minutes, but the others had gained upon me and were quite a way in advance, so that as I went I had time to formulate a plan for learning something definite from Tikhon. After a while I rode faster and, overtaking them, ordered them to proceed to the Zemlianui-gorod by way of a lonely lane with which I was familiar. It was now quite dark, and the quiet of the hour and the place suited my purpose. When we had reached the loneliest spot, I called Pierrot to me under the pretence that my saddle needed a tighter girth, and thus found an opportunity to whisper a word or so in his ear. Tikhon had halted and was waiting in sullen acquiescence, when Pierrot and I rode forward, one on either side of him, and, Pierrot seizing his horse’s rein, I pressed my pistol to his temple. He was taken unawares, and for the moment, I think, was badly frightened.
“We have had enough of this child’s play,” I said sternly, “and now you can tell us where to find M. de Lambert or you can die—like the miserable wretch that you are.”