“He is an assassin. He killed my brother Nicholas; yet it seems—if what you tell me be true—that Markoff compelled him to commit this crime.”
“Without a doubt,” was my reply.
“Then, Revolutionist or not, I will see him,” and he touched the electric button placed in the side of his writing-table.
A sentry appeared instantly, and at my suggestion His Majesty permitted me to go down the long corridor, at the end of which the dark, thin-faced man, in a rather shabby black suit, was sitting in a small ante-room, outside which stood a tall, statuesque Cossack sentry.
A few words of explanation, and somewhat reluctantly Danilovitch rose and followed me into the presence of the man he was ever plotting to kill.
The Emperor received him most graciously, and ordered him to be seated, saying:
“My niece here and Mr Trewinnard have been speaking of you, Danilo Danilovitch, and have told me certain astounding things.”
The man looked up at his Sovereign, pale and frightened, and His Majesty, realising this, at once put him at his ease by adding: “I know that, in secret, you are the mysterious ‘One’ who directs the revolutionary movement throughout the Empire, and the constant conspiracies directed against my own person. Well,” he laughed, “I hope, Danilovitch, you will not find me so terrible as you have been led to expect, and, further, that when you leave here you will think a little better of the man whose duty it is to rule the Russian nation than you hitherto have done. Now,” he asked, looking straight at the man, “are you prepared to speak with me openly and frankly, as I am prepared to speak to you?”
“I am, Your Majesty,” he said.
“Then answer me a few questions,” urged the Imperial autocrat. “First, tell me whether these constant conspiracies against myself—these plots for which so many hundreds are being banished to Siberia—are genuine ones formed by those who really desire to take my life?”