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Chapter III—THE EMPEROR STARTS

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I DID not leave my rooms on the following day, and passed the chief part of it preparing for the part I was to play in the evening, and discussing the details.

The Prince and I had several interviews, and his confidential attendant, a Frenchman named Pierre, waited on me. From him I had a number of hints as to little characteristics of the Emperor, gestures, movements, habits and so on, calculated to help out my rendering of the part.

We arranged that I should go in ordinary morning dress, and over this I was to wear a semi-military cloak borrowed from the Imperial wardrobe.

The papers I required were all prepared with scrupulous care. These were a patent of nobility making Boreski a Count—and I was instructed how to perform the little ceremony of investing him with it; a written consent to his marriage with the Duchess Stephanie; and a draft upon the Imperial Treasury for the sum of a million roubles.

“The draft is post dated, as you see,” said the Prince, “as the money is intended for the Duchess’s dowry, and is not payable until the marriage. You can explain this.”

“He’ll probably look for the money down,” I objected at once.

“He is dealing with an Emperor who would not break faith with him,” returned the Prince with a grim smile reminiscent of our previous night’s discussion.

“If these papers are so valuable, why not give the money at once and let me take it in bank notes?”

“When we have the papers we can deal with him for a tenth part of the sum. A million, indeed!”

“If your economic instincts lead to trouble, don’t blame me,” I returned a little sharply. “I repeat I think you should send notes.”

“Your Majesty can promise him anything. If he raises any difficulty he can come to me,” he added.

“There is nothing else I have to take?”

“Nothing except this ring of the Emperor’s. You had better wear it, as it is well known; and perhaps had better take a revolver, although I don’t think you will have any trouble calling for one.”

“One never knows,” said I, and decided to take his advice.

“You will, of course, be cautious not to attempt a word of Russian. Your accent would betray you in a moment. You can use French with absolute safety, as His Majesty’s unfortunate preference for that language is well known. That is most important.”

“I’m not likely to forget. I can understand everything in Russian, but I know my limitations.”

“Then I will go and get ready to accompany you on the first part of the journey to the rendezvous at the Square of St. Peter.”

Now that the time was so close I was a good deal excited and impatient for the curtain to go up.

“You have His Majesty’s figure and walk remarkably, m’sieur,” said the Prince’s man watching me closely. “From behind I myself should be deceived even at so short a distance and in so good a light as this. It is wonderful.”

“Unfortunately I can’t keep my back turned to people all the time.”

“That is true, m’sieur; but then it is always safer to turn the face to—dangers, is it not?” He put so much emphasis on the word that I turned and looked at him.

“You think a good deal of the dangers, then, Pierre?”

“There is always danger in this Russia;” and he grimaced to show his French dislike of it.

“Yet you stay here.”

“I am only a valet, m’sieur, they pass over my head. But I have been fifteen years in the country and have seen many strange things.”

“If the Emperor were really going on this business, you think he would run big risks?”

“It may be different with you, m’sieur; you may be discovered in time. But if it were the Emperor, I should rub my hands with pleasure to see him return.”

“You take a cheerful view of things, Pierre. I expect you have a liver that troubles you.”

He threw up his hands and shoulders.

“Americans and English are the same and like mad risks. But I would not do this—no, not for the crown of Russia. I know what I know.”

“And I do it for the love of the thing, and I suppose that’s about the difference between us.”

“Monsieur is monsieur,” he replied with a comical, lachrymose air. “But you will need to be very cautious. You have friends in Petersburg, probably?”

“No, indeed. No one knows of my presence here.”

“That is strange—but perhaps—convenient. You would not be missed.”

“No, not by a soul except here in the Palace.”

He smiled mysteriously.

“If you are discovered, m’sieur, I should not let that fact be known. I should speak of many. A friendless man may be a helpless one.”

“You have a pleasant imagination, Pierre.”

“Russia is not France, m’sieur, nor America,” he replied, cryptically, with so lugubrious an air that I smiled.

It was not a cheerful send-off, and in the carriage I told old Kalkov what his man had said.

“Pierre is a good valet but a fool,” he answered with a grunt. “He had his nerves twisted once in a Nihilist row, and ever since has seen a Nihilist conspiracy in every trouble.”

“You don’t take these conspiracies seriously?”

“As a rule, no; occasionally they are dangerous of course; but generally little more than froth and wind—mere political dyspepsia from the soured stomach of sectional discontent.”

“Is this Boreski a Nihilist?”

“Possibly. It is always possible. But I think not. We shall know much more when you return.”

“If I do return, that is.”

“Naturally;” and he smiled, not pleasantly.

I began to think how the cat must have felt when she had burnt her foot in drawing the chestnuts out of the fire and saw the monkey enjoying them. But it was too late to retreat now, even if I had been so minded. The Prince felt something of this, I fancy, for he gave me the opportunity.

“If you have any fear, M. Denver, and wish to draw back, we can return to the Palace.”

“Not on any account.”

“I want you to feel, whatever happens, that you have gone into the thing quite voluntarily. I wish to feel that too.”

“I shall see it through, Prince.”

“Spoken like an American,” he replied promptly, and a minute afterwards the carriage stopped. “We have arrived.”

We got out on the north side of a large square and looked about for the other carriage. None was in sight, but a hooded automobile stood in the shadow on the opposite side.

“Can that be it?” I asked the Prince.

“It would be very easily traced,” he said.

“But not so easily followed. There is no other and we are already a few minutes behind time.”

“We can cross and see.”

His face was full of doubt.

“I had better go alone,” I replied, detaining him.

“As you will. God send you may be successful for the sake of Russia.”

His tone was intensely earnest, and with the words ringing in my ears I swung off into the road in the direction of the autocar, and when I turned once I saw him watching me intently and eagerly.

Now that the moment for action had really come, I was as cool as I could have wished. I took a mental note of everything and I was careful to assume so far as possible the swinging stride of the man I was personating.

As I neared the car a man stepped from inside it and touched his cap.

“Who is your master?” I asked, putting all the authority I could into my manner, and staring hard at the man. He was dressed like a chauffeur, and save for his black beard and moustache his face was almost hidden by the peak of his cap and a pair of hideous driving goggles.

“M. Boreski, m’sieur.” His French was that of an educated man, I thought.

“What are your instructions?”

“We are waiting for some one from the Palace, m’sieur.” The “we” struck me as peculiar. I stopped by the car and looked harder at him.

“You speak French with a good accent, my man,” I said, with some suspicion in my tone, and then the unexpected happened.

A girl, closely veiled, put her head out from the hood which covered the back seat, and with a dash of contempt said—

“The American will scarcely be afraid to trust himself with a woman.”

I gave a start of genuine pleasure. It was the girl who had spoken to me on the train.

“With you, mademoiselle, I would trust myself anywhere;” and without hesitation I took the seat by her side.

The chauffeur got into his place and we were off at a smart pace into the darkness.

I looked back at old Kalkov and waved my hand to him, and as we whirled round the corner out of the square he drew himself up and gave me a military salute.

If I had any doubts before, they vanished the moment I was by the side of the girl. The adventure had taken just the turn I could have wished; and come what might, I was resolved to have a good time.

“That was Prince Kalkov, your Majesty?” she asked, speaking in Russian. I answered in French.

“Yes, my very faithful old friend and counsellor to whose planning I owe this—this excursion, shall we call it?”

“Your Majesty is——”

“Wait, please. This is a very unusual matter. I make one condition at the outset. My incognito must be strictly maintained by every one—by every one, if you please. I am not the Emperor, but as I told you yesterday, an American. My name is Harper C. Denver. I do not even speak the Russian language, although I can understand it, and I am travelling in Russia for pleasure.”

She was undeniably as smart as she was pretty. She listened to me intently, and she asked in English.

“You speak and understand English then perfectly.”

It was a pretty trap, but I was not to be drawn, so I replied in French—

“An American must necessarily speak his own language, mademoiselle;” and at that she laughed softly.

“You are doubtless staying at the Hotel Imperial, the favourite hotel with Americans?”

“No, I am staying at the Palace with my friend the Emperor;” a truth which sounded so ridiculous that she laughed again.

“We will be careful that a friend of our Emperor has his wishes regarded so far as possible.”

We rode some distance after that without speaking until I broke the silence.

“There are three questions I should like to ask, mademoiselle. Have I your permission?”

“I cannot pledge myself to answer them, m’sieur.”

“Where are we going?”

“That will depend upon whether you have kept faith with M. Boreski.”

“In what way?”

“Are we being followed?”

“I gave express orders to the contrary.”

“An American citizen can give orders to the police in Russia then, m’sieur,” she put in.

“Under certain circumstances an American citizen can be master of the situation,” I replied equivocally and with more truth than she could have any idea of. “Will you answer my question?”

“About ten miles, if all goes well—if your orders have been obeyed, that is. We shall soon know.”

“You shall have any proof I can give you of my good faith in this respect. How shall we know?”

She appeared to think for a few moments, then turned and looked at me through her veil.

“If you mean that, there will be no difficulty.”

“I give you my word of honour. Let me put my second question. Do you pledge yourself, you mademoiselle, personally, for my safety?”

“Unconditionally, and so will M. Boreski.”

“I don’t care about him. It is to you I trust.”

I felt her start and her voice was unsteady as she replied—

“On my honour, your Majesty shall not regret that confidence.”

“Then I will do anything and everything you ask. I put myself absolutely in your hands.”

She rose then and spoke to the chauffeur.

“M. Boreski says your spies are dogging us and that the streets are alive with them.”

“That is M. Boreski?” I asked indicating the chauffeur.

“Yes, that is M. Boreski. We anticipated there would be treachery of the kind.” There was again a spice of contempt in her tone.

“So far as I am concerned your suspicions are unwarranted, mademoiselle. I have been badly served, and some one shall suffer for it. But what do you propose?”

“Will you change from this carriage into another with me, leaving this to be followed by your police?”

There was the same touch of scorn in her manner.

“Certainly I will not if you continue to doubt my personal good faith. I will return to the Palace and leave the thing to be arranged in some other way. Otherwise, I am, as I said, absolutely in your hands.”

“I am convinced and ashamed of my doubts. Please forgive me.” She spoke quickly and eagerly.

“Then let us make the change as soon as you will.”

She spoke again to Boreski, and the machine gave a spurt forward as he increased the speed until we were flying along at a rate that made conversation almost impossible.

After some time we swung round a corner and stopped with a sudden jerk.

“Now,” cried Boreski eagerly, and in a moment we two were on the ground and he had started again, while the girl drew me inside the gates of a house.

“You will see now how you have been obeyed,” she said, and the words were scarcely out of her lips before a vehicle, driven at full gallop with a couple of mounted men close behind it, went dashing and clattering past us on the track of the automobile. “They are your police, monsieur, and have now a long ride before them.”

She referred to them with a shrug of utter contempt.

“We have a short distance to go in the opposite direction, and shall then find a carriage.”

Her coolness was admirable, and when we started to walk she could not have been more unconcerned if I had been merely seeing her home from a pink tea in New York.

We passed through two or three streets, meeting only a few loungers, and as we crossed a more important thoroughfare at the corner of which a man and a woman stood talking, my companion stopped and asked the woman where we could get a drosky. She spoke in broken Russian and added—

“We are Americans and have lost our way.”

“You will find none about here,” the man answered, and spoke in English.

“We are in a fix, it seems.”

“Which is the way to St. Mark’s Square?” I asked. “I know my way from there.”

He gave us minute directions and we walked on.

“Those are police spies,” said my companion quietly, “and if we had not spoken to them, they would probably have followed us. But no one suspects Americans.”

“How well you speak English,” I said, off my guard for a moment.

“No better than you, monsieur,” she replied simply. “Your question in English was a great stroke!”

“You have been in England?”

“Yes, two or three times. I was educated there and in France. What a country of freedom is England. We shall get our carriage here,” she said a little later, and presently it came rumbling along slowly and stopped at a signal from her.

“We shall not be more than a few minutes now,” she said as we got in.

“You have not told me your name, mademoiselle?”

“I am Helga; and take the same surname as my cousin, M. Boreski—until my mission is accomplished.”

“Your mission? What is that?”

“I will tell you some day—if you will grant me a hearing?”

“You may always depend on that, mademoiselle,” I answered as earnestly as I felt, so earnestly indeed that she turned and looked at me in surprise.

“Pray God your Majesty means that.”

And I was still pondering her reply when the carriage stopped and she told me we had reached our destination.

When I Was Czar

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