The International Spy

CHAPTER XXVII

THE BALTIC FLEET

Fortunately I am accustomed to face emergencies without losing my presence of mind.

The manner of Vassileffsky had prepared me for some display of suspicion on his part, though I hardly anticipated his procedure would be so theatrical.

Fixing him with my sternest look, I responded,

“Captain Vassileffsky, I do not think you quite understand what you are doing. I will talk to you in the morning, when you are more yourself.”

He drew back, considerably disconcerted.

“Very well, I will listen to what you have to say in the morning. In the meantime you will be under a guard.”

I shrugged my shoulders with a disdainful smile.

“Be good enough to let me see my quarters,” I said.

More and more abashed, the Captain summoned one of his officers, and gave him some instructions.

“Follow me, sir,” said the lieutenant. I walked after him with perfect self-possession.

“I do not wish to make a fuss to-night, as Captain Vassileffsky is not himself,” I said haughtily, as we drew out of hearing. “But you will understand that unless I receive an apology in the morning, I shall complain to his majesty the Czar, by whose orders I am here.”

The lieutenant looked badly frightened.

“It is not my fault, as you can see, sir. I am only obeying orders. Will you accept my own berth for the night, sir?”

I thanked him and entered a small, comfortably-fitted state-room. With profuse apologies, he turned the key and left me to my own reflections.

I slept soundly, rocked by the tide of the Finland Gulf.

In the morning my jailer came to wake me.

“Captain Vassileffsky presents his compliments, and asks you to breakfast with him in his cabin, in half an hour.”

This message was a welcome proof to me that my bluff had produced the desired effect. I accepted the invitation as if it was a matter of course.

I dressed, and went to the cabin where Vassileffsky awaited me.

“Are we friends or foes this morning?” I called out with a good-humored laugh, as I greeted him.

The Russian looked dull and nervous.

“I hope all will be well,” he muttered. “Let us have something to eat before we talk.”

He might have said, something to drink, for his own breakfast was mainly of champagne. I, myself, made a point of eating heartily, and drank only coffee.

“Now, Vassileffsky,” I said in authoritative tones, “to business. First of all, you want some money.”

It was a guess, but a fairly safe one. Without waiting for the astonished man to reply, I took out my pocket-book.

“How much can you do with till the fleet sails?” I asked, still in the same matter-of-fact tone.

Fairly nonplussed, the Captain blurted out,

“I should like two thousand.”

I shook my head.

“I can let you have only a thousand now, but you shall have the balance this day week.” I counted the thousand rubles, and handed them to him. “They are grumbling, rather, in Berlin over the expense.”

It was, of course, my object to give Vassileffsky no opening for a cross-examination, but to take it for granted that we were on confidential terms.

At the word “Berlin” he opened his eyes pretty wide.

“Does this money come from Germany?” he exclaimed, half-withdrawing his hand.

I affected surprise in my turn.

“You have not received any information at all, apparently! My message must have miscarried. Didn’t the Princess see you?”

Vassileffsky looked still more surprised. His demeanor taught me a good deal. I saw that Petrovitch had not trusted him very far. The financier had evidently kept all the threads of the intrigue in his own hands, as far as possible.

So much the better, I reflected. His removal would disorganize matters even more thoroughly than I had ventured to hope.

“What Princess?” the Captain asked.

“The Princess Y – , of course.”

He brightened up a little, as though this name, at all events, was familiar.

“No, she has not been here.”

“One can never trust these women,” I muttered aloud. “She has not been at all the same since the death of her Englishman.”

“Of Sterling, do you mean?”

“Yes. You heard of it, I suppose?”

Vassileffsky grinned.

“Rather sudden, wasn’t it?”

I smiled meaningly, as I retorted,

“You remember he fainted rather unexpectedly that night he dined with me.”

A look of relief broke out on Vassileffsky’s face, as I thus referred to an incident which he naturally supposed could be known only to Petrovitch.

“My dear fellow, I beg a thousand pardons for my stupid conduct last night,” he burst out. “But you must admit that your disguise is extraordinary.”

“Not a word!” I returned. “It is always better to err on the side of distrust. Besides, I wished to spend a night on your ship in any case. Your crew can be thoroughly depended on, if I am any judge.”

“They would bombard the Tower of London, if I gave the word,” boasted Vassileffsky.

It is extraordinary how widely the belief prevails on the Continent of Europe that the London Tower is still a fortress, charged with the protection of the British capital.

“At all events, they will not be frightened by the sight of the Union Jack?” I returned.

The Russian officer gave me an alarmed glance.

“You do not mean – you are not asking us to fire on the British fleet?”

“No, no,” I reassured him.

“Ah, that is all right. For the moment I confess you frightened me. They say we shall have to pass Admiral Beresford!”

“What are you prepared to do?” I asked, concealing my deep interest in the reply.

Vassileffsky’s manner became slightly reproachful.

“You did not bargain with me to attack an armed ship,” he said in the tone of one who reminds another of his agreement. “It was understood that we were to attack merchantmen, like the Vladivostockers.”

At last I had a direct confirmation of my suspicions.

“And what is the tone of the fleet generally?” I inquired.

“I have done my best to make them all of the same mind. They will do their best, depend on it. I think there will be a few English vessels mysteriously lost at sea during the next two or three months! The prize courts cannot always be depended on.”

By an effort I restrained my indignation at these atrocious hints. The Baltic Fleet was about to seek the open sea, secretly intending to miss no chance of sinking a British merchantman that should be unlucky enough to cross its path.

It was with a feeling of chagrin that I perceived it would be useless to send any message to Lord Bedale of what was in preparation. On certain subjects the British people are deaf and blind. They believe that all foreign statesmen are as high-minded as a Gladstone, and all foreign officials as scrupulous and truthful as the Chevalier Bayard himself.

Captain Vassileffsky continued,

“Our men are badly scared by reports of the Japanese plans. It is supposed that they have torpedo boats lurking in the English ports. Hull is said to be full of them.”

“Why, Hull?”

Vassileffsky gave me a wink.

“Hull is the great fishing center. Whole fleets of traders come out from there to the fishing banks in the North Sea. We are going to stir them up a bit.”

The outlines of the plot became every moment more clear.

“On what pretext?” I asked.

The Russian answered me without noticing that I was not so well informed as himself.

“Oh, we shall find pretexts enough, you bet. For one thing, we shall signal them to clear out of the way, and when they have their trawl nets down and can’t move! That will be lively. There will be a collision or two, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“But isn’t that against the rule of the road?”

Though not a seaman, I had always heard that a vessel in motion is bound to avoid one that is at rest. I knew, moreover, that a steamship was bound to make way for a sailing vessel.

Vassileffsky cursed the rule of the road.

“It will be a question of evidence,” he exclaimed. “My word against a dirty fisherman’s. What do you say?”

I pretended to be thoroughly satisfied. Still, knowing what I did of the Russian character, I had some hope that the Captain was boasting in order to impress me, and that he would not really dare to run down a British vessel within reach of the shores of England.

Our conversation was interrupted by a gun.

As the report died away, a junior officer ran down the companionway, helter-skelter, and burst into the cabin.

“Something’s up, sir,” he cried to his commander. “They are signaling from the Admiral’s ship.”

Vassileffsky darted up the steps and on to the bridge, and I followed.

The Baltic fleet presented a striking spectacle. Every vessel was busily reporting the signals from the flag ship, the launches were dashing to and fro, and there was every sign of bustle and activity.

The signal officer read out Admiral Rojestvensky’s order:

“The fleet will proceed to Libau to-day en route to the East. Anchors will be weighed at noon. By order of the Czar.”

M. Auguste had failed me at last!

With the frightful boasts of Vassileffsky still ringing in my ears, I felt that I must make one effort to stay its departure.

“This news compels me to return to Petersburg immediately,” I told the Captain. “Have the goodness to put me ashore at once.”

For a moment or two the Russian made no answer. I glanced at him curiously.

His face had gone suddenly livid. His limbs were trembling. He gave me the dull look of a man stupefied by fear.

“The Japanese!” he ejaculated in a thick voice.

I seized him by the arm.

“Are you pretending?” I whispered.

He gave me a savage glance.

“It’s true!” he said. “Those devils will be up to something. It’s all over with the fleet. No one believes we shall ever see Port Arthur.”

Grave and pre-occupied, I went ashore and caught a fast train to Petersburg.

It was late when I got to the little house on the Alexander Quay. The faithful Breuil received me with a serious face.

“Fauchette is here,” he announced.

“Fauchette?”

“Yes. She has some news for you.”

“Let me see her.”

I strode in front to my study, where I was immediately joined by the maid, who appeared not a little alarmed.

I never like to see my assistants agitated.

“Sit down, my good girl,” I said soothingly. “Do not be afraid; I know what pains you take to serve me. Now, what is it?”

“Madame has dismissed me.”

I had feared as much.

“On what grounds?”

“She gave none, except that she was leaving home.”

I pricked up my ears.

“Did she tell you where she was going?”

“Yes, to her estates in the country.”

“It was a lie, I suppose. She had come to suspect you, had she not?”

“Since Monsieur’s escape, I fear yes.”

“And have you ascertained – ?”

“The Princess has left Petersburg by the midday train for – ”

“For?” I broke in impatiently.

“For Berlin.”

I rang the bell. Breuil appeared.

“Have you got the tickets?” I asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“And my dress as a pilot of the Kiel Canal?”

“It is packed.”

“And what time does the next train leave?”

“In two hours from now.”

“Good. And now, my children, we will have supper.”

CHAPTER XXVIII

ON THE TRACK

As the really exciting moment of the protracted struggle drew near, I summoned all my energies to meet it.

I alighted in Berlin armed only with two weapons, the passport made out in the name of Petrovitch, and a fairly accurate knowledge of the schemes, or at all events the hopes, of the German Government.

From the first beginning of my long investigation, all the clues I had picked up had led steadily in one direction.

The great disorganized Empire of the Czar’s, with its feeble-willed autocrat, its insubordinate grand dukes, its rival ministers pulling different ways, and its greedy officials whose country was their pocket, had been silently and steadily enfolded in the invisible web of German statecraft.

The brilliant personality of Wilhelm II had magnetized the vacillating, timorous Nicholas. Count Bülow had courted the Russian Foreign Office with the assiduous arts of a lover, and his wooing had been crowned by complete success. Through Petrovitch the grand dukes had been indirectly bribed, and the smaller fry like M. Auguste had been bought outright. Even the Army and Navy had been cajoled, or bought, or terrorized by pretended revelations of Japanese designs.

Russia had become a supple implement in the hands of the German Kaiser, the sovereign who for nearly twenty years had been striving toward one goal by a hundred different crooked paths.

It was evident that the unexplained disappearance of Petrovitch must have struck consternation into his employers. I suspected that the Princess Y – had been summoned to Berlin to throw light on the event, and possibly to be furnished with instructions which would enable her to take over the dead man’s work.

My position was now peculiarly difficult. I wished to get in touch with the principals for whom Petrovitch had acted, but to avoid, if possible, meeting any one who had known him personally.

Above all, I was determined not to risk an encounter with Sophia. She knew that I was still alive, and I feared that her feminine intuition, quickened by love, would penetrate through whatever disguise I might adopt.

Under these circumstances I decided to begin by approaching Herr Finkelstein, the head of the imperial Secret Service in Berlin.

This man was an old crony of mine. While a magnificent organizer of espionage, he was a poor observer himself, and I had already succeeded on one occasion in imposing myself on him under a false identity.

I had brought with me the papers which I had obtained by bribery from the police agent Rostoy, representing me as an inspector in the secret police of the Russian Empire.

Wearing my pilot’s dress, but carrying these and other papers in my pocket, I presented myself at Finkelstein’s office, and asked to see him.

I was shown in first, as I had expected, to Finkelstein’s secretary, who asked me my business.

“I can tell that only to the Herr Superintendent himself,” I said.

“If you will let him know that I have just come from Petersburg, I am sure he will receive me.”

The secretary seemed to think so too. He went straight into his chief’s room and came out immediately to fetch me in.

As soon as I found myself alone with the head of the German service, I said quietly,

“I have brought you a message from M. Petrovitch.”

“Petrovitch!” exclaimed the Superintendent, surprised out of his usual caution. “But he is dead!”

“You have been misinformed,” I replied in an assured tone.

Finkelstein looked at me searchingly.

“My informant does not often make mistakes,” he observed.

“The Princess is deceived this time, however,” was my retort.

It was a fresh surprise for the Superintendent.

“The Princess! Then you know?” He broke off short, conscious that he was making an admission.

“The Princess Y – having left Petersburg, it was natural to suppose that she had come here to consult you,” I answered modestly, not wishing to appear too well informed.

Finkelstein frowned.

“You have not yet told me who you are,” he reminded me.

I produced the forged papers.

“I am an inspector attached to the Third Section, as you will see. I must inform you, however, that I am not here with the knowledge of my superiors.”

The German gave a glance at the papers, which were similar to others which he must have had presented to him from time to time.

“That is all satisfactory,” he said, as he returned them to me. “But you say that you have a message from M. Petrovitch?”

“He had no opportunity of giving me any but this,” I responded, producing the passport.

This time Finkelstein seemed really satisfied.

“It is clear that you know something about him, at least,” he remarked. “I will listen to what you have to say.”

“M. Petrovitch is confined in Schlüsselburg.”

The name of the dreaded fortress, the last home of so many political prisoners, caused Finkelstein a shock.

“Gott im Himmel! You don’t say so! How did he get there? Tell me everything.”

“He does not know from what quarter the blow came. The only person he can think of who might have denounced him is the Princess herself.”

“The Princess Y – ?”

“Exactly.”

The German looked incredulous.

“But they were hand in glove. The Princess was his best agent.”

“True. Unfortunately there is always one source of danger where a woman is concerned – she cannot control her affections. It appears that M. Petrovitch ordered her to remove a certain Englishman, a spy of some kind, who was giving trouble, and Madame Y – was attached to the fellow. She carried out her orders, but M. Petrovitch fears that she has taken revenge on him.”

Finkelstein gave a superior smile.

“I can dispose of that suspicion,” he said confidently. “The Princess did not carry out her orders. The man you speak of – who is the most dangerous and unprincipled scoundrel in the world – has escaped, and we have lost all trace of him.”

It was my turn to show surprise and alarm.

“What you tell me is appalling! I ought to see the Princess as soon as possible. If what she says is true, it must be the Englishman who has brought about Petrovitch’s arrest.”

“He is no Englishman,” the Superintendent returned. “He is an American, a Pole, a Frenchman, whatever you please. That man has been at the bottom of all the troubles in Europe for the last twenty years. I have employed him myself, sometimes, so I ought to know something about him.”

I listened with an interest that was not feigned to this character of myself. It was, all the same, a lie that Finkelstein had ever employed me; on the contrary, I had been called in by his imperial master to check his work.

“Then what is to be done?” I asked, as the German finished speaking. “M. Petrovitch sent me here to warn you against the Princess, and to demand your influence to secure his release.”

“That will be a difficult matter. I shall have to consult the Minister. In the meantime, where can I find you?”

I mentioned the name of a hotel.

“And the Princess Y – ? Where can I see her?”

“I expect that she has left for Kiel,” said the Superintendent. “She has volunteered to carry out the plan originally proposed by Petrovitch.”

“Then in that case you will not require my services?” I said, with an air of being disappointed. “M. Petrovitch thought you might find me useful in his place.”

“I must consult others before I can say anything as to that,” was the cautious reply.

He added rather grudgingly,

“I did not know M. Petrovitch myself, you see. It was thought better that he should not come to Berlin.”

This statement relieved me of a great anxiety. I now saw my way to take a bolder line.

“So I understood, sir. But I did not venture to approach his majesty except through you.”

Finkelstein started again, and gave me a new look of curiosity.

“Who authorized you to mention the Emperor?”

I tried to play the part of a man who has made an unintentional slip.

“I spoke too quickly. Petrovitch informed me – that is to say, I supposed – ” I broke down in feigned confusion.

I knew inquisitiveness to be the Superintendent’s besetting sin, and, up to a certain point, I had an interest in tempting him on.

“You appear to be more in the confidence of M. Petrovitch than you are willing to admit,” he said sagely. “Up to the present you have not explained how he came to make you his messenger.”

I leaned back with a faint smile.

“I imagine you are quite astute enough to guess my secret, if you choose, Herr Finkelstein. But you must excuse me if I am a little careful whom I trust, especially after the behavior of Princess Y – .”

“You are M. Petrovitch himself! Of course! I thought as much all along,” Finkelstein said with a smile of triumph. “Well, you are certainly right to be cautious; but, as you see, it is not easy to deceive an old hand like myself.”