“Madame is right,” the Swede declared with sparkling eyes; “he will jump at a token from mademoiselle, and I know a lad who can take it unsuspected and get into Zotof’s house.”
“Apraxin is a greater fool than I think him, if he follows that bit of ribbon,” I remarked grimly; “however, it is worth the trial, and we have no time to lose. Therefore, Lenk, send your messenger with speed; but stay—where shall we bid the fellow come?”
We all stood thinking for a moment, and then, again, madame found a solution for the problem.
“Bid him come to that quiet street behind the palace of Mentchikof,” she said; “then he will think, quite naturally, that Mentchikof has been trying to abduct mademoiselle, and that she sends to her relative to rescue her, despairing of other aid.”
“Your wit is excellent, madame,” I said; “this may prove a clever trick. As for you, Lenk, send the message, and Pierrot and Touchet shall help you to secure him; but it must be without bloodshed.”
The Swede smiled. “Have no fear, your Excellency,” he replied; “assassins do not love an open fight, and it will be three to one.”
“He may come reinforced,” Zénaïde said; “he would scarcely come alone.”
“I differ from you,” I rejoined. “Zotof will not commit himself to open support of Apraxin while the czar feels as he does toward the scapegrace,—for not even his share in securing M. de Lambert will excuse his rash offence in his Majesty’s eyes.”
I went on to give Lenk some specific instructions, and to thank him for his aid, which was indispensable, although dangerous, for the help of a Swedish spy would ruin us if it were discovered; but a desperate game must be desperately played.
The Swede had just left the room when there was a sound of voices in the hall, and Madame de Brousson, who had been listening at the door, turned to me with a startled face.