Читать книгу The Ostrekoff Jewels - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 8

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Morning dawned without visible signs of its coming. Huge banks of black clouds still held the earth in darkness. Haven sat up in bed with a shiver. Alexis was busy piling logs into the stove. He looked around with a cheerful smile.

"All day long it will snow," he announced. "It is good."

"The devil it is!" Haven grunted. "Why?"

Alexis stood up. He was dressed only in shirt and breeches and a huge mass of tousled hair almost covered his face. The eternal smile was there, however, at his lips.

"Our tracks here," he explained, "all buried—all lost. The car feet deep in the snow. No one will find."

"But who do you suppose is looking for us here?" Haven enquired.

Alexis drew a little nearer to the bedside. His expression became grave.

"Early this morning," he confided, "we had word by telephone that a body of Russian revolutionaries had crossed the frontier. They come by order of Starman, the peasant miller, the man who is now sacking Petrograd. They have special passports, with an appeal to the authorities here: they come in search of you—American Master."

"Good God!" Haven exclaimed. "What about pushing on?"

Alexis shook his head ponderously.

"Too much snow," he said. "Here they will not find us. We are hidden. The world is hidden. The road along which we travelled is part now of the marshes."

"But it is late in the season for snow like this," Haven pointed out. "It can't go on. Surely we should be safer if we got farther into the country and then made for one of the towns?"

"Safer here, American Master."

Haven considered the matter, frowning.

"What about telephoning to the nearest barracks?" he suggested. "Russian revolutionaries have no right this side of the frontier."

"Telephone went at five o'clock this morning," Alexis announced. "Either broken or cut ten minutes after we received our message. Paul has been out to examine. He thinks cut. What does it matter? We have food and wine and we are three who have broken up a mob. We shall protect young master. Those were our orders from His Highness. There is nothing else left to us in life."

The fire was roaring in the stove. Haven turned over in the bed. He felt the belt around his body, he patted the satchel chained to his wrist.

"I suppose you know best," he muttered drowsily and slept once more.

Haven awoke from an aftermath of sleep, marvellously refreshed and acutely aware of two strange happenings. The one was a positive blaze of sunshine, filling the crude, but stately apartment in which he lay with soft and almost unnatural illumination, and the other was the distinct crack of a rifle which seemed to him to come from immediately below his window. He slipped from his bed and peered out. Some forty yards away, from the centre of a circle of what, in the summer time, might have been turf, a youth in the costume of a Russian peasant, but wearing a grey military overcoat, was crawling on all fours. Under the trees of the avenue a little gathering of men were moving restlessly to and fro, talking and arguing together. Presently one of them emerged with a white handkerchief tied to the end of a stick. He paused to speak to his comrade, who was now limping back to shelter, and helped him for a few yards in his progress. Then he approached the house, waving his white flag vigorously, and came to a standstill about a dozen yards from the front door.

"Who will speak with me?" he called out.

Haven was on the point of completely opening the window, in order to hear better what was going on, when he felt a couple of mighty arms around his waist. He was drawn back by an invincible force.

"The master must not show himself," Alexis insisted. "It is for him they come, this rabble."

"Are these the men you spoke of?" Haven asked. "Who are they? Where do they come from?"

"They have crossed the frontier after you," was the grim reply. "They are Russian revolutionaries, men of Starman the miller."

"But they can't follow me here," Haven objected. "This is Poland."

Alexis shook his head.

"The great war wages," he said solemnly. "Men do strange things. There is Starman, and there is a little Jew who loves money, fighting for power in Petrograd. What does trouble with a sister country such as Poland mean to a country in the making, like Russia, when the laws are all upside down and an honest man does not know whom to call his master? It is money alone which counts and money which they must have."

Haven looked straight into the blue troubled eyes of the senior of his three guardians. How much did they know, he wondered? And, if they knew everything, how much did they fear?

"Why should they expect to find money here, Alexis?" he asked.

"The young American master knows," was the calm rejoinder.

Haven walked the length of the room and back again. The satchel was tucked securely under his arm.

"Who is talking to them below?" he enquired, as he neared the window again.

"It is Ivan," Alexis confided. "He is better at words and it is he who is on guard there. If only the snow had not suddenly stopped, they would never have reached us. If the young master would hear what Ivan says, he must remember always to keep himself invisible."

Alexis lifted the window sash a few more inches and Haven, kneeling down, listened.

"We tell no lies," he heard Ivan say. "We are not men who deal with anything but the truth. We are Russians as you are and we love our country as you do. But we have with us one who is in our charge—an American who carries with him papers belonging to his country. Him we shall conduct to safety, as we promised to our only and great master—the noble Prince Ostrekoff."

The man who stood feet deep in the snow chuckled. He had an evil face, a mouth like the mouth of a fox, narrow eyes and straight black hair almost reaching to his shoulders.

"You have no noble master," he jeered. "Michael Ostrekoff was sentenced to be shot yesterday in the fortress by order of the new Government. He chose to blow out his own brains. Wise man! There were many who would have been glad to kick the corpse of an Ostrekoff."

"Then the new Government may stew in hell before I stir a finger to help it," was Ivan's fierce reply. "Be he dead or alive, we carry out our master's orders. You have crossed the frontier and broken the law. Soon the Poles will be here to whip you and you will wish then that you'd stayed where you belong."

"We waste breath," the man in the snow declared, with signs of wicked temper in his expression and tone. "Give up the young American and what he carries with him, or we will set fire to the house and massacre every one within it."

Ivan laughed, and when he laughed it was as though the timbers of the house behind were creaking and the boughs of the trees swaying in sympathy. It was a roar of mirth which set even the muscles of Haven's mouth twitching and which brought a grin to the face of his guardian.

"We in this house are the Prince's men on Polish land, in which country our master is also a noble of great account," was the sturdy reply. "If you move a finger against us, those of you whom we do not kill will hang from the trees in the avenue when the Poles arrive. Get back over the frontier if you want to save your skins."

Ivan, with a gesture of contempt, turned around and strode back into the house. The emissary of the marauding band made his difficult way to the shelter of the avenue. The conference was at an end.

Alexis rolled a cigarette of black tobacco, which he emptied into the palm of his hand from a horn box.

"A little fighting," he grunted, "will be good for the muscles."

Haven moved into the anteroom, broke the ice in the zinc bath and, hanging his belt carefully in front of him, stripped and washed.

"The worst of fighting nowadays, Alexis," he remarked, as he crossed to the front of the stove, rubbing himself vigorously, "is that it all consists of little spits of fire, a pain in the chest, a hospital and a coffin."

Alexis nodded gloomily.

"Nevertheless," he argued, "there is also a thrill when the finger caresses the trigger and the eye works from the brain. Paul, Ivan and I, when we were striplings, before the master called us to his personal service, were rangers on his shooting land. We knew where to find wild boar and bears and we could smell the wolves whenever the wind moved. We learnt to shoot in the dark or in the light. Even if the battle comes to us that way, we are better than other men, American Master."

Haven, who had secured his belt and was completing his toilet, glanced out of the window.

"Well, it seems to me we shall soon learn something about a new method of fighting," he said. "You see how they are spreading out, Alexis? What about the back of the house?"

Alexis smiled contemptuously.

"The back of the house," he confided, "is solid stone for twenty feet high with neither foothold nor fingerhold for any human being. There is not a door or a window in the whole wall. Remember we are close to the frontier, young Master, and amongst a troublesome race. When this house was built it was a castle. There was fighting all the time. Even to-day the doors are a foot thick and to reach the lower windows one must climb. These men ask for the cemetery."

"There are only four of us to shoot," Haven reflected, a little dubiously.

"There are six other rangers within the house," Alexis told him. "Besides, there are two who have gone off to Irtsch to report to the Commandant that there is a raid of the Russian revolutionaries. They are men like us who can pick out the white of a bear's eye. Have no fear. It is not from such danger as this that you will suffer. Young Master would like to try his skill with a rifle, perhaps?"

Haven shivered. After all, these black crawling figures, scum of the earth though they might be, were human beings.

"I don't want to kill for the sake of killing," he objected.

"It may be that you will have to kill to save your own life," Alexis replied. "There are more of them than I thought and they all seem to have come armed. I think that Paul and Ivan will be shooting directly. I shall fetch rifles."

Almost as he spoke, three shots rang out from the lower part of the house. The three foremost figures in the line of invaders sank slowly into their bed of snow. Alexis scarcely glanced out of the window.

"I shall fetch rifles," he repeated. "Soon they will have had enough. After all, they have small chance of hurting us, and for them it is suicide."

Apparently the forward centre of the semicircle had had enough already, for no one hurried up to take the places of the fallen men. On the extreme right, however, nearer the opening from the avenue of trees, half a dozen of the invaders were almost flush with the house. Haven hurried into the anteroom and, opening the window a few inches, took careful aim at the man below with his automatic. The first time he missed. At the second discharge, the Russian, who had stopped with a start at the sound of the first shot, threw up his arms and collapsed. Haven heard the boards creak behind him and turned quickly around. Alexis was crawling like a bear on three legs across the floor, with the butts of two rifles under his free arm. He peered over the sill.

"Good!" he approved. "That was the dangerous spot. Still, one should not miss. It gives confidence. Watch, Master."

The muzzle of his rifle stole downwards. There were three men below, all of different heights, all closing in upon the angle of the house. Alexis' rifle spat out and the first one fell. The second one followed him in a matter of seconds. A bullet from the third sped through the window only a few inches above Alexis' head and buried itself in the wall. The man who had fired the shot and who had moved a step on one side in order to get a better aim never fired another. The sunlight which flashed upon his yellow hair showed the look of sudden bewilderment in his face, the opening mouth and the staring eyes. His rifle fell from his hands, he clutched at his chest, coughing, staggered backwards a few yards and disappeared in the snow.

"Well, well!" Alexis murmured. "They had better have gone to be food for the Austrian bullets. They would have lived longer. If these men had known that it was the Prince's rangers whom they faced," he added, with the happy self-complacency of a child, "they would never have ventured near the house."

The semicircle was broken and the attackers had withdrawn to the shelter of the avenue. Haven and his companion moved back to the front room. A fat, smiling woman, with heavily braided brown hair and face redolent of soap and sunshine, was busy setting out upon a table a huge bowl of coffee, a loaf of bread, some butter, and a great dish of fried bacon. Haven hastened to complete his toilet.

"Sit down, Alexis," he invited.

The man looked at him in round-eyed surprise. He was already standing at attention behind the high-backed chair which he had placed at the table.

"American Master will eat," he said quietly.

A fantastic week! Haven was never able to take real count of it or to realise the swiftly passing days. He seemed to be always tumbling into bed or called to the table to eat enormous dishes of stew—stew composed of bear's meat, hare, rabbit and birds which he judged to be pheasants. There was a great stock of crude red wine always on hand, of which he drank sparingly, and a small stock of whisky and brandy, both of the best. The besiegers who were camped in the avenue appeared to have lost their enterprise. All the time Alexis was walking from room to room, making ceaseless perambulations of the house, continually on the watch for an attack which never came. Only once Haven heard the crack of his rifle, and, hastening to the window, saw a dark splotch which he knew to be the figure of a man lying at the extreme end of the avenue. Alexis beamed at him with all the joy of a contented child.

"They are mad to face the rifle of the Prince's ranger in chief. Does Little Master know what I would do, if I missed one of those pigs? I think that the shame would kill me. It is like burying one's weapon in the hay and shooting the stack."

"You seem to have scared them off pretty well," Haven remarked.

"They wait till the night," Alexis explained contemptuously. "They think they will have a better chance. Ivan there has fixed up a searchlight from the dynamo. If ever they venture to come, we'll turn it on them and shoot them like frightened rabbits."

But there was to be no night attack upon the Prince's shooting box. Just before the coming of dusk on the sixth day, Alexis, who was standing on duty outside the door of the great dining room, made hasty and, for him, unceremonious entrance. He had laid down his rifle, a sign that it was not an attack he feared, and with a gesture of apology he drew aside the curtain, turned out the lights and threw open the window. Haven, hastening to his side, was conscious of a medley of distant sounds. Through the trees of the avenue came red flashes of flame, there was the thud of horses' hoofs, hoarse unintelligible cries, the crackle of Maxims and the yell of dying men—a battle going on, there in the avenue and in the road beyond, between the besiegers of the shooting box and a new force. Alexis watched long and anxiously. Then he closed the window.

"It is a massacre," he announced. "A company of Polish cavalry with Maxims in motor wagons."

"Bravo!" Wilfred Haven exclaimed. "Now perhaps I shall be able to make a move."

There was no answering gleam of satisfaction on Alexis' face. He walked the room restlessly for a moment; then, saluting, withdrew. Presently he reëntered.

"Little Master will come this way," he invited.

"What's wrong?" Haven enquired, as he rose to his feet.

Alexis explained his fears as they crossed the stone-flagged hall.

"This Russian mob," he confided—"this spawn of the revolutionaries from Petrograd—they will, without a doubt, tell the soldiers who have fallen upon them of the presence here of Little Master, of their own mission, and for what reason he is guarded by the Prince's men."

"I can't see that that matters so much," Haven observed.

Alexis shook his head gravely.

"This is not ordinary war time," he muttered. "Discipline is at an end. Every one is fighting for loot and gain. Young Master will please to be patient for a time. His Highness' last words were 'Trust no one.'"

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Haven asked, with a groan.

"American Master will please to follow me."

Alexis led the way to the musicians' gallery above the dining room. From here he mounted three steps, lifted a picture, and drew back one of the panels of the wall. It slowly opened and disclosed a smaller apartment, which had apparently been prepared for a final retreat, for the stove was lit and a lamp burning.

"Little Master will please remain here," Alexis begged.

They heard the trampling of horses below and the sound of heavy knocking at the great front door.

"If these are Polish cavalry," Haven expostulated, "why can't I go down and introduce myself to the officer in charge?"

"Little Master must please content himself," Alexis insisted. "There may be even worse danger to be feared from those who seem to be our saviours."

It was Alexis himself who, an hour or so later, brought Wilfred Haven his evening meal. He made his customary salute and, accepting from the hands of a servant waiting outside a tablecloth and a few other accessories, placed a roast hare and a bottle of wine upon the table. Haven rose from the couch where he had been dozing and stretched himself.

"What about these Poles, Alexis?" he asked anxiously. "Everything seems peaceful now, so far as one can tell. Is it necessary that I lie hidden here?"

"It is necessary, Little Master," was the grave reply.

Haven seated himself at the table. He felt that there was something behind the other's reticence, but he was beginning to learn the habit of patience in dealing with his guardians.

"They cleared the other lot off, did they?" he enquired.

"There were very few who escaped," Alexis announced. "Those who did are limping back towards the frontier. Nevertheless, there is still cause for uneasiness."

"In what way?" Haven demanded.

The Russian paused for a moment before speaking. He had left his accustomed place immediately behind the chair of the young man whom he was serving and was standing in the same respectful attitude by the side of the table, an enormous figure in the dimly lit chamber. His expressionless face betrayed little of the thoughts which were moving in his mind. Nevertheless, Haven was conscious of an atmosphere of trouble.

"Little Master," Alexis confided, his tone suggesting the disquietude which was stirring in his brain, "one sees only so far as one's eyes allow, but as it is with me, so it is with Ivan and Paul. We are greatly worried. There is disturbance everywhere. Discipline seems to be at an end. The men who have taken up their quarters in the outbuildings here are drinking and shouting and singing songs which have nothing to do with war or patriotism. They have posted no sentries. It seems as though the licence of the world across the frontier had reached them too. They are under the command of a Colonel Patinsky who once shot here as His Highness' guest."

"They are friendly, I suppose?"

"They are friendly," Alexis admitted. "Yet I beg that Little Master will be very careful. Patinsky appears to have secret knowledge of many things. He is full of suspicions and he asks questions all the time. He is aware of your presence here."

"The devil he is!" Haven exclaimed. "Then what's the use of my hiding?"

"It was not known to us," Alexis pointed out, in his deep throaty voice, "that such a position was possible. The rumours during the week have been that all telephone communication between Russia and the outside world has ceased, that the telephone offices have been blown up and the telephone wires cut, as we know that our own has been. Yet this Patinsky asks me particulars of the young American diplomat, with the satchel chained to his wrist, who left the train at the junction and travelled here under our charge. How did he know of that? Of your presence in this lodge he might hear from the mob they have been fighting, but no more than that. How did he know of our journey and of our mission?"

"Beats me," the young American confessed.

"I am not one of those," Alexis continued, "who speak of the things which happen beneath my noble master's roof. Paul is like that—so also is Ivan. His Highness has never had to do more than lift his hand, and our eyes would become blind and our ears deaf, yet now I shall speak of something in order that you, Little Master, may be prepared for all that may happen. Patinsky, who is in command of this troop of cavalry and who is under this roof at the present moment, is not a man to be trusted."

Haven pushed back his plate and held out his tumbler which Alexis promptly refilled with wine.

"That sounds bad."

"Four years ago," Alexis related, "there was a large shooting party here. His Highness was always anxious to show courtesy to his Polish neighbours and he invited the officer commanding the garrison at Frensh to join us. That officer was Patinsky."

"Well?"

"After the shooting," Alexis continued, "there was always a great feast and cards were played. On the last night it was my turn on duty."

"What do you mean by 'on duty'?" Haven enquired.

"Wherever His Highness went," Alexis explained, "since the days of the Nihilists, in peace time or at war, in the cities or in the country, we three—Paul, Ivan and myself—took it in turn to guard the person of our master. That night I walked the terrace. It was early in November. The snows had not come, the weather was warm and our stoves were piled with logs. His Highness had directed the windows of the banquet room to be opened. It was there that they always played cards after the service of dinner. As I patrolled the terrace, I was conscious of a great disturbance. I entered the room, as was my duty. His Highness was standing with his finger upon the bell. Krotonoff, his butler and major-domo in those days, who had come down with us from Petrograd, had just entered the room in reply to the summons. There was that light in His Highness' eyes which we, who have known him all our lives, have learned to fear.

"'Escort Colonel Patinsky to his rooms,' he told Krotonoff. 'See that servants assist him with his packing and order a car at once. The Colonel is obliged to leave us.'"

"Sounds like a bad business," Haven observed.

"It was a moment which I have never forgotten," Alexis declared solemnly. "Patinsky was white as a sheet. His hand kept on nervously fingering his side, where his sword would have hung had he been in uniform. His tongue was moistening his dry lips. It seemed as though he had been stricken dumb. He muttered something. His Highness made no reply. There were cards lying all across the table and the contents of a spilt bottle of wine still trickling on to the floor. But such a silence! It is by the silence I remember those moments. Even Patinsky failed to break it. He left the room. The Prince turned to the others.

"'Gentlemen,' he said, 'my apologies.'

"Then he motioned to the servants.

"'This table is befouled,' he added. 'Prepare another one.'

"They hurried to obey. He turned and saw me by the window and waved me away. I knew then that I was no longer wanted. I went back to my tramp along the terrace. That was the last time I saw Colonel Patinsky. It is he who is here to-night, who eats our food and drinks our wine below."

Haven moved uneasily in his chair.

"It doesn't sound exactly pleasant," he reflected. "You say he knows that I am here?"

"He knows," Alexis admitted. "No sort of concealment was possible. Spies have been at work. He knows that you are here and he demands an interview. For myself—many thoughts have come to me. At first it was in my mind to speak to him of that night and refuse Ostrekoff hospitality."

"I'm afraid that wouldn't go very well," Haven meditated.

"The Young Master is right," Alexis acknowledged. "We are in Patinsky's country, he has a troop of a hundred men quartered on the premises. I think it would be wiser for the Young Master to see him. If he should show curiosity about the papers or the contents of the satchel the Young Master is carrying, the Young Master will know how to deal with him. It is not our business. We can answer no question. We can only fight. That," Alexis continued, his voice becoming deeper, "we will do to the death, if necessary, but we think—I think, Ivan thinks and Paul thinks—that it would be well if Young Master talked first with Patinsky."

"Do you suppose," Haven asked bluntly, "that he knows exactly what my mission for His Highness is?"

"Spies have been at work," was the grave but evasive reply. "We have not brains, we three, only strong arms, sharp swords and a gift of shooting so that we kill. The next hours may be for us—this one is the Master's."

Wilfred Haven rose to his feet. Tall though he was, he was a head shorter than his gigantic guardian, by whose side he seemed little more than a smooth-faced boy; nevertheless, during the last nine days his lips had tightened and his eyes had grown harder.

"What about seeing him here and now?" he suggested.

"It would be the best," Alexis acknowledged, his eyes fixed steadily upon the satchel. "I think," he added, "that the Little Master should be prepared for anything that might happen."

Haven nodded. He touched a portion of the chain and his arm was free. He carried the satchel into the small anteroom, locked the door, and returned with the key in his pocket.

"What language does this man understand?" he enquired.

"Any language the Little Master cares to speak."

Haven stretched himself, touched his hip pocket, and lit one of the strangely flavoured Russian cigarettes which Alexis had placed upon the table.

"Let us know the worst," he enjoined, waving his hand towards the door. "Bring in Patinsky."