They turned their startled gaze towards the end of the room, in time to see the Emperor’s huge form sink slowly to the floor. A small man darted from his side, buried himself amid the crowd and made hastily towards the nearest door, concealing in his garments the dagger with which he had inflicted the blow.
He found the door guarded by three stalwart men, who seized him at once and forbade egress. They were members of Beilski’s police.
At the same instant the General himself tore off his mask, and cried out in stentorian tones, “Unmask, everybody. The doors are guarded. None can pass through till we are satisfied of their innocence. We know the names of all the traitors. At yonder door my men have got the assassin.”
Slowly they all unmasked, Zouroff amongst the rest. He knew now that he had been foiled by somebody, that his ambitions were quenched for ever. Siberia and the mines for him, as the lightest penalty.
To do him justice, he took his fate stoically. He folded his arms across his breast and cast a disdainful glance in the direction of the panic-stricken crowd.
Beilski, who had been standing close to that tall, commanding figure, went and touched him lightly on the shoulder.
“Get up, Sergius,” he whispered. “The first act of the tragedy is over.”
The apparently inanimate man rose slowly to his feet, threw off his mask and domino, disclosing a suit of chain mail beneath, which the dagger of the assassin had been unable to penetrate.
And then a great shout of loyalty burst forth from the assembly, as they recognised the situation. The Emperor had never been at the reception at all. This faithful left-handed relative of his, who so closely resembled his Imperial Master, had taken his place.
And then a side door opened and the Czar, in ordinary attire, came through and made his way to the top of the room. He was escorted by a strong bodyguard. It was just on the cards that one of these desperate men might make a second attempt, out of pure revenge.