‘If all goes well, in less than twenty-four hours from now.’
Here, indeed, was joyful tidings; but I suppose I must have looked somewhat incredulous, for a moment later the man added: ‘Monsieur will find that what I tell him is the truth.’
‘In that case, of course, I shall be quite willing to post any letter you may intrust to my care.’
‘O monsieur, thanks—a thousand thanks!’ replied the man in a tone the sincerity of which I could not doubt. ‘If Monsieur Karavich could do so, he would thank monsieur in person, because it is he who is the writer of the letter.’
‘Monsieur Karavich!’ I exclaimed aloud. ‘I thought that’——
The clatter of a dozen knives on the table drowned my voice. The steward had turned as white as a sheet. ‘For the love of heaven, monsieur, do not speak above a whisper,’ he said after a pause and a frightened look round. ‘What I am doing now is at the risk of my life—but that matters little. No; Monsieur Karavich is not dead. To avoid any dangerous questions being asked, he was brought down here as if he were a dead man in a coffin made for the purpose. Oh, but it was cunningly contrived! Of all Monsieur Karavich’s friends, no one knew—there was not one to warn him.’
Before I could say anything further, he had left the cabin, but he was back again in the course of two or three minutes. ‘Here is the letter, monsieur,’ he said, still in a whisper. ‘The thanks of ten, of twenty, of fifty thousand brave hearts would be yours, if they knew the service you have promised to do. In less than fifty hours, it will be known in every capital in Europe that Fedor Karavich is a prisoner.’
I took the letter and put it away in an inner pocket of my vest. ‘No eyes but mine shall see the letter. I will post it with my own hands as soon as I reach London. But tell me—who and what is Monsieur Karavich?’
‘One of the greatest and noblest of men, and a true patriot, if ever there was one. Monsieur Karavich is not his real name; he has twenty different names for different occasions. By birth he belongs to one of the noblest families in his native land; but his heart, his life, his fortune, have been given to the poor and oppressed. His real name is a name of terror wherever tyranny hides and trembles.’
‘And what will be his fate, now that his enemies have got him in their clutches?’