“In what part of the palace is the Princess Daria?” I demanded eagerly.
“In the rear, on the floor below,” replied Maluta promptly. “I know the very room.”
“Then lead the way,” I said, “and lose no time—I would I had my sword!”
They had stripped me of my weapons, and I felt the helplessness of bare fists. Maluta looked at me sideways, in his elfish fashion.
“I might steal one from the guard-room,” he said, and quietly drew a pistol from the bosom of his doublet and handed it to me.
“You little rogue,” I said, with a smile, “did you steal this also? But I thank you—even if you did,” I added, having, after examination, found the weapon loaded and primed, ready for use.
Then I followed him through the hall and down the stairs. As we descended the noises below grew even more distinct; we heard the fierce cries without and answering shouts within, and ever and anon the sharp crack of a pistol or a scream of agony. But the place where we were was utterly deserted, not even a serf lingered here; all were drawn to the scene of horror below, or had fled to safety elsewhere. Now and then the bells of the cathedrals burst out into wild, discordant chimes, as if demons set them going, and this clangour added a strange note to the tumult.
On Maluta led and I followed; further into the heart of the palace, and presently we passed through a long gallery where the windows, set in deep recesses, looked down upon the Red Place, and on the other side, through a lattice-work, we could see into one of the private chapels, for this was a gallery sometimes used by the women to witness the ceremonies from behind the screen, an Eastern custom that still prevailed in Moscow. At the further end of the passage was a door, and here Maluta paused and signed to me.
“She is here,” he whispered in my ear; “the czarevna locked her in!”
I did not hesitate a moment, I knocked boldly at the door, determined to speak to the princess. But there was no response, though she must have heard it, for the outcry of the mob had died down a moment, as it did at intervals—when there was bloody work to do. I knocked again, to no purpose, and then I tried the door; it yielded instantly to my hand and fell open, and I looked eagerly into the room, but it was empty. I turned angrily upon Maluta, who stood open-mouthed, gazing in with such honest astonishment that I knew he had not purposely deceived me.