“I have been trying, but it is difficult to know what to do. I have received information that the house in which Mr. Lamont and Mr. Drummond lived is now deserted, and no one knows anything of its former occupants. That information comes to me semi-officially, but it does not lead far. I have started inquiry through more questionable channels; in other words, I have invoked the aid of a Nihilist society, and although I am quite determined to go to Russia with you, do not be surprised if I am arrested the moment I set foot in St. Petersburg.”
“Dorothy, why did you not let me know?”
“I was anxious to get some good news to give you, but it has not come yet.”
“Oh, Dorothy,” moaned Katherine, struggling to keep back the tears that would flow in spite of her. Dorothy patted her on the shoulder.
“You have been a little unjust,” she said, “and I am going to prove that to you, so that in trying to make amends you may perhaps stop brooding over this crisis that faces two poor lone women. You wrong the Englishman, as you call him. Jack was arrested at least two days before he was. Nihilist spies say that both of them were arrested, the Prince first, and the Englishman several days later. I had a letter from Mr. Drummond a short time after you received yours from Mr. Lamont. I never showed it to you, but now things are so bad that they cannot be worse, and you are at liberty to read the letter if you wish to do so. It tells of Jack’s disappearance, and of Drummond’s agony of mind and helplessness in St. Petersburg. Since he has never written again, I am sure he was arrested later. I don’t know which of the two was most at fault for what you call stubbornness, but I believe the explosion had more to do with the arrests than any action of theirs.”
“And I was the cause of that,” wailed Katherine.
“No, no, my dear girl. No one is to blame but the tyrant of Russia. Now the Nihilists insist that neither of these men has been sent to Siberia. They think they are in the prison of ‘St. Peter and St. Paul.’ That information came to me to-day in the letter I was just now answering. So, Katherine, I think you have been unjust to the Englishman. If he had been arrested first, there might be some grounds for what you charge, but they evidently gave him a chance to escape. He had his warning in the disappearance of his friend, and he had several days in which to get out of St. Petersburg, but he stood his ground.”
“I’m sorry, Dorothy. I’m a silly fool, and to-day, when I saw the snow—well, I got all wrought up.”
“I think neither of the men are in the snow, and now I am going to say something else, and then never speak of the subject again. You say I didn’t care, and of course you are quite right, for I confessed to you that I didn’t. But just imagine—imagine—that I cared. The Russian Government can let the Prince go at any moment, and there’s nothing more to be said. He has no redress, and must take the consequences of his nationality. But if the Russian Government have arrested the Englishman; if they have put him in the prison of ‘St. Peter and St. Paul,’ they dare not release him, unless they are willing to face war. The Russian Government can do nothing in his case but deny, demand proof, and obliterate all chance of the truth ever being known. Alan Drummond is doomed: they dare not release him. Now think for a moment how much worse my case would be than yours, if—if—” her voice quivered and broke for the moment, then with tightly clenched fists she recovered control of herself, and finished: “if I cared.”
“Oh, Dorothy, Dorothy, Dorothy!” gasped Katherine, springing to her feet.