“Tell me all that you know,” I urged, adopting a more conciliatory tone. “It is outrageous that this oppressor of Russia should conspire to kill an innocent member of the Imperial Family.”
“I know nothing of the circumstances. Excellency,” he said, feigning entire ignorance.
“But he gave you orders to throw that bomb,” I said. “What were your exact orders?”
“I am not likely to betray my employer,” he laughed. “If you do not answer these questions, then I shall carry out my threat of exposure,” Hartwig said in a hard, determined voice.
“Well,” said the informer hesitatingly, “my orders were not to throw the bomb unless the Grand Duchess Natalia was in the carriage.”
“Then the plot was to kill her—but unfortunately her father fell the victim of the dastardly outrage!” I cried.
“Yes,” the man replied. “It was to kill her—and you, Excellency.”
“But why?”
He shrugged his shoulders, and exhibited his palms in a gesture of complete ignorance.
“And your present intention is to effect in Brighton what you failed to do in Petersburg—eh?”