The door of the next room was opened a little, and I was able to observe, unknown to him, a boy, taller and stronger than the Czarevitch, who seemed to me fifteen or sixteen years old. His sailor’s costume, the colour of his hair, and the way it was arranged were vaguely reminiscent of Alexis Nicolaïevitch. There the resemblance ended.
I told General D—— the result of my observations. The boy was introduced to me. I put several questions to him in French: he remained dumb. When a reply was insisted upon he said that he understood everything I had said but had his own reasons for only speaking Russian. I then addressed him in that language. This, too, brought no results. He said he had decided to answer no one but Admiral Koltchak himself. So our interview ended.[77]
Chance had brought across my path the first of the countless pretenders who doubtless for many years to come will be a source of trouble and agitation among the ignorant and credulous masses of the Russian peasantry.
In March, 1920, I rejoined General Ditériks and N. Sokolof at Kharbine, whither they had drifted, like myself, after the collapse of Admiral Koltchak’s government. They were in a state of great agitation, for the situation in Manchuria was growing daily more precarious, and it was expected that at any moment the Chinese eastern railway might fall into the hands of the Reds. Bolshevik spies were already beginning to swarm over the station and its surroundings. What was to be done with the documents of the enquiry? Where could they be put in safety? General Ditériks and N. Sokolof had appealed to the British High Commissioner before his departure for Pekin, asking him to take to Europe the relics of the Imperial family and the evidence of the enquiry. He had asked for instructions from his Government. The reply was a long time coming. It came at last.... It was in the negative!
I then appealed personally to General Janin, informing him of the situation.[78]
“I am quite ready to help you,” he told me. “I can do it on my own responsibility, as there is not time to refer the matter to my Government. But it shall not be said that a French General refused the relics of one who was the faithful ally of France. Ask General Ditériks to furnish me with a written request expressing his certainty of my consent; I should consider doubt as a reflection on me.”
The letter was sent, and General Ditériks came to an understanding with General Janin as to the arrangements for transmitting the precious objects to the person named by him in Europe.
Two days later, General Ditériks, his two orderly officers, N. Sokolof, and myself took on our shoulders the heavy valises prepared beforehand and carried them to General Janin’s train, which was standing a short distance from the station. In single file we were approaching the platform when those in the rear suddenly saw several figures start up out of the shadows and accost us, shouting: “Where are you going? What have you got in those bags?” As we hurried on without reply they made as if to stop us and ordered us to open our valises. The distance that remained was fortunately not very great; we dashed forward at full speed, and a moment later reached the General’s carriage, the sentries having already run up to meet us.
At last all the evidence was in safety. It was time, for, as had just been proved, we were marked down. An hour later we slipped out of the train one after the other and made our way unobserved between the carriages of others standing near.
On the next day General Ditériks brought General Janin the box containing the relics of the Imperial family.