CHAPTER XII
HOW GERMANY FOMENTS STRIFE
Ray Raymond had been engaged watching the house of Hermann Hartmann inPont Street ever since our discovery of the secret store of arms andammunition down at Chiswick.
I had been absent at Devonport, keeping observation upon the movementsof two Germans who had once or twice paid visits to Hartmann, and whohad evidently received his instructions personally. The two men inquestion were known to us as spies, for with two other compatriots wehad found them, only three months before, busily engaged in preparing aplan of the water-mains of East London, in order that, in case ofinvasion, some of the German colony could destroy the principal mainsand thus deprive half the metropolis of drinking-water.
In Leeds they had, we know, mapped out the whole water-supply, as Barkerhad done at North Shields; and again in Sheffield, the plans of whichwere in Berlin; but fortunately we had discovered them at work inLondon, and had been able to prevent them from accomplishing theirobject. Two of the men had returned to Germany on being detected, andthe other two were now at Devonport, where I had been living for a monthin irritating inactivity.
One afternoon, on receipt of a telegram from Ray, I immediately returnedto London, and as I entered the flat in Bruton Street, my friend said:
"The great _agent provocateur_ of the German Government, our friendHermann Hartmann, has left for Russia, Jack. His employers have sent himthere for some special reason. Would it not be wise for you to follow,and ascertain the latest move?"
"If you think so, I'll go," I said readily. "You can take my place downat Devonport. I've been there too long and may be spotted. Where hasHartmann gone?"
"First back to Berlin. He has been ordered to go to Poland on a specialmission."
"Then I must pick him up in Berlin," I said.
And thus it was arranged. Next morning I obtained a special _visa_ to mypassport from the Russian Ambassador, whom I chanced to know personally,and at 2.20 left Charing Cross for Calais, bound for Berlin.
I was puzzled why Hartmann, the most trusted agent of the Kaiser'ssecret police, should be so suddenly transferred to Russian territory.It was only temporarily, no doubt, but it behoved us to have knowledgeof what might be in the wind.
It was winter, and the journey to the German capital was cold andcheerless. Yet I had not been there six hours before I had discoveredthat Hartmann had left for a place called Ostrog, in Eastern Poland.
Therefore I lost no time in setting forth for that rather obscure place.
Yes, nowadays my life was a strange one, full of romance and constantchange, of excitement--and sometimes of insecurity.
For what reason had the great Hartmann been sent so far afield?
On leaving the railway, I travelled for two days in a sleigh over thoseendless snow-covered roads and dark forests, until my horses, with theirjingling bells, pulled up before a small inn on the outskirts of thedismal-looking town of Ostrog. The place, with its roofs covered withfreshly-fallen snow, lay upon the slight slope of a low hill, beneathwhich wound the Wilija Goryn, now frozen so hard that the bridge washardly ever used. It was January, and that month in Poland is always acold one.
I had crossed the frontier at the little village of Kolodno, and thencedriven along the valleys into Volynien, a long, weary, dispiritingdrive, on and on until those bells maddened me by their monotonousrhythm. Cramped and cold I was, notwithstanding the big fur coat I wore,the fur cap with flaps, fur gloves, and fur rug. The country inns inwhich I had spent the past two nights had been filthy places where thestoves had been surrounded by evil-smelling peasantry, where the foodwas uneatable and where a wooden bench had served me as a bed.
At each stage where we changed horses the post-house keeper had held uphis hands when he knew my destination was Ostrog. "The Red Rooster" wascrowing there, they said significantly.
It was true. Russia was under the Terror again, and in no place in thewhole empire were the revolutionists so determined as in the townwhither I was bound. I saw at once the reason why Hartmann was there--tosecretly stir up strife, for it is to the advantage of Germany thatRussia should be in a state of unrest. To observe the German methods wascertainly interesting.
Ostrog at last! As I stood up and descended unsteadily from my sleigh myeyes fell upon something upon the snow near the door of the inn. Therewas blood. It told its own tale.
From the white town across the frozen river I heard revolver shots,followed by a loud explosion that shook the whole place and startled thethree horses in my sleigh.
Inside the long, low, common room of the inn, with its high brick stove,against which half a dozen frightened-looking men and women werehuddled, I asked for the proprietor, whereupon an elderly man, withshaggy hair and beard, came forth, pulling his forelock.
"I want to stay here," I said.
"Yes, your excellency," was the old fellow's reply, in Polish. "Whateveraccommodation my poor inn can afford is at your service"--and he at onceshouted orders to my driver to bring in my kit, while the women, all ofthem flat-faced peasants, made room for me at the stove.
From where I stood I could hear the sound of desultory firing across thebridge, and inquired what was in progress.
But there was an ominous silence. They did not reply, for, as Iafterwards discovered, they had taken me for a high police official fromPetersburg, thus accounting for the innkeeper's courtesy.
"Tell me," I said, addressing the wrinkled-faced old Pole, "what ishappening over yonder?"
"The Cossacks," he stammered. "Krasiloff and his Cossacks are upon us.They have just entered the town and are shooting down people everywhere.Hartmann, the great patriot from Germany, has arrived, and the fight forfreedom has commenced, excellency. But it is horrible. A poor woman wasshot dead before my door half an hour ago, and her body taken away bythe soldiers."
Tired as I was, I lost no time. With a glance to see that my ownrevolver was loaded, I threw aside my overcoat, and, leaving the inn,walked across the bridge into a poor narrow street of wretched-lookinghouses, many of them built of wood. A man limped slowly past me, woundedin the leg, and leaving blood-spots behind him as he went. An old womanwas seated in a doorway, her face buried in her hands, wailing:
"My poor son!--dead!--dead!"
Before me I saw a great barricade composed of trees, householdfurniture, paving-stones, overturned carts, pieces of barbed wire--infact, everything and anything the populace could seize upon for theconstruction of hasty defence. Upon the top, silhouetted against theclear frosty sky, was the scarlet flag of the revolution--the RedRooster was crowing!
Excited men were there, armed with rifles, shouting and giving orders.Then I saw that a small space had been left open against the wall of ahouse so that persons might pass and repass.
As I approached a wild-haired man shouted to me and beckonedfrantically. I grasped his meaning. He wished me to come within. I ranforward, entered the town proper, and a few moments later the openingwas closed by a dozen slabs of stone being heaped up into it by as manywilling hands.
Thus I found myself in the very centre of the revolution, behind thebarricades, of which there were, it seemed, six or seven. From the rearthere was constant firing, and the streets in the vicinity were, I sawto my horror, already filled with dead and wounded. Women were wailingover husbands, lovers, brothers; men over their daughters and wives.Even children of tender age were lying helpless and wounded, some ofthem shattered and dead.
Ah! that sight was sickening. Never had I seen wholesale butchery suchas that in which I was now in the midst. I was looking about to find theGerman _agent provocateur_, but I failed to find him. Perhaps, havingbidden the people to rise, he had himself escaped. Most probably.
Above us bullets whistled as the Cossacks came suddenly round a sidestreet and made a desperate attack upon the barricade I had entered onlya few minutes before. A dozen of those fighting for their freedom fellback dead at my feet at the first volley. They had been on top of thebarricade, offering a mark
to the troops of the Czar. Before us andbehind us there was firing, for at the rear of us was anotherbarricade. We were, in fact, between two deadly fires.
Revolver in hand, I stood ready to defend my own life. In those excitingmoments I disregarded the danger I ran from being struck in thatveritable hail of lead. Men fell wounded all around me, and there wasblood everywhere. A thin, dark-headed young fellow under thirty--aMoscow student, I subsequently heard--seemed to be the ringleader, forabove the firing could be heard his shouts of encouragement.
"Fight! my comrades!" he cried, standing close to me and waving the redflag he carried--the emblem of the Terror--"Down with the Czar! Kill thevermin he sends to us! Long live Germany! Long live freedom! Kill them!"he shrieked. "They have killed your wives and daughters. Men ofOstrog--remember your duty to-day! Set an example to Russia. Do not letthe Moscow fiasco be repeated here. Fight! Fight on as long as you havea drop of life-blood in you, and we shall win, we shall win! Down withthe Autocrat! Down with the----"
His sentence was never finished, for at that instant he reeled backwardswith half his face shot away by a Cossack bullet.
The situation was, for me, one of greatest peril. I had had noopportunity of finding the governor of the town to present mycredentials, and thus obtain protection. The whole place was in openrevolt, and when the troops broke down the defences, as I saw they mustdo sooner or later, then we should all be caught in a trap, and noquarter would be given.
The massacre would be the same as at Moscow and many other towns inWestern Russia, wherein the populace had been shot downindiscriminately, and official telegrams had been sent to Petersburgreporting "order now reigns."
I sought shelter in a doorway, but scarcely had I done so than a bulletembedded itself in the woodwork a few inches from my head. At thebarricade the women were helping the men, loading their rifles for them,shouting and encouraging them to fight gallantly for freedom. Andsuddenly I caught sight of Hartmann's evil face. He was calmly talkingto a man who was no doubt also in the German employ. The rising wastheir work!
A yellow-haired young woman, not more than twenty, emerged from a houseclose by where I stood and ran past me to the barricade. As she passed Isaw that she carried something in her hand. It looked like a smallcylinder of metal.
Shouting to a man who was firing through a loophole near the top of thebarricade, she handed it up to him. Taking it carefully, he scrambled uphigher, waited for a few moments, and then, raising himself, he hurledit far into the air into the midst of an advancing troop of Cossacks.
There was a red flash, a terrific explosion which shook the whole town,wrecking the houses in the immediate vicinity, and blowing to atomsdozens of the Czar's soldiers.
A wild shout of victory went up from the revolutionists when they sawthe havoc caused by the awful bomb. The yellow-haired girl returnedagain and brought another, which, after some ten minutes or so, wassimilarly hurled against the troops, with equally disastrous effect.
The roadway was strewn with the bodies of those Cossacks which GeneralKinski, the governor of the town, had telegraphed for, and whomKrasiloff had ordered to give no quarter to the revolutionists. InWestern Russia the name of Krasiloff was synonymous with all that wascruel and brutal. It was he who ordered the flogging of the five youngwomen at Minsk, those poor unfortunate creatures who were knouted byCossacks who laid their backs bare to the bone. As every one in Russiaknows, two of them, both members of good families, died within a fewhours, and yet no reprimand did he receive from Petersburg. By the Czarand at the Ministry of the Interior he was known to be a hard man, andfor that reason certain towns where the revolutionary spirit wasstrongest had been given into his hands.
At Kiev he had executed without trial dozens of men and woman arrestedfor revolutionary acts. A common grave was dug in the prison yard, andthe victims, four at a time, were led forward to the edge of the pit andshot, each batch being compelled to witness the execution of the fourprisoners preceding them. With a refinement of cruelty that was onlyequalled by the Inquisition, he had wrung confessions from women, andafterwards had them shot and buried. At Petersburg they knew thesethings, but he had actually been commended and decorated for his loyaltyto the Czar!
And now that he had been hurriedly moved to Ostrog the people knew thathis order to the Cossacks was to massacre the people, and moreespecially the Jewish portion of the population, without mercy.
"Krasiloff is here!" said the man whose face was smeared with blood ashe stood by me. "He intends that we shall all die, but we will fight forit. The revolution has only just commenced. Soon the peasants will rise,and we will sweep the country clean of the vermin the Czar has placedupon us. To-day Kinski, the governor, has been fired at twice, butunsuccessfully. He wants a bomb, and he shall have it," he addedmeaningly. "Olga--the girl yonder with the yellow hair--has one forhim!"--and he laughed grimly.
I recognised my own deadly peril. I stood revolver in hand, though I hadnot fired a shot, for I was no revolutionist. I was only awaiting theinevitable breaking down of the barricade--and the awful catastrophethat must befall the town when those Cossacks, drunk with the lust forblood, swept into the streets.
Around me men and women were shouting themselves hoarse, while the redemblem of Terror still waved lazily from the top of the barricade. Themen manning the improvised defence kept up a withering fire upon thetroops, who in the open road were afforded no cover. Time after time theplace shook as those terrible bombs exploded with awful result, for theyellow-haired girl seemed to keep up a continuous supply of them. Theywere only seven or eight inches long, but hurled into a company ofsoldiers their effect was deadly.
For half an hour longer it seemed as though the defence of the townwould be effectual, yet, of a sudden, the redoubled shouts of thoseabout me told me the truth.
The Cossacks had been reinforced, and were about to rush the barricade.
I managed to peer forth, and there, surely enough, the whole roadway wasfilled with soldiers.
Yells, curses, heavy firing, men falling back from the barricade to diearound me, and the disappearance of the red flag showed that theCossacks were at last scaling the great pile of miscellaneous objectsthat blocked the street. A dozen of the Czar's soldiers appearedsilhouetted against the sky as they scrambled across the top of thebarricade, but the next second a dozen corpses fell to earth, riddled bythe bullets of the men standing below in readiness.
In a moment, however, others appeared in their places, and still moreand more. Women threw up their hands in despair and fled for theirlives, while men--calmly prepared to die in the cause--shouted againand again, "Down with Krasiloff and the Czar! Long live the revolution!Long live Germany! Give us the Kaiser! Victory for the people's will!"
I stood undecided. I was facing death. Those Cossacks with orders tomassacre would give no quarter, and would not discriminate. Krasiloffwas waiting for his dastardly order to be carried out. The Czar hadgiven him instructions to crush the revolution by whatever means hethought proper.
Those moments of suspense seemed hours. Suddenly there was anotherflash, a stunning report, the air was filled with debris, and a greatbreach opened in the barricade. The Cossacks had used explosives toclear away the obstruction. Next instant they were upon us.
I flew--flew for my life. Whither my legs carried me I know not. Women'sdespairing shrieks rent the air on every hand. The massacre hadcommenced. I remember I dashed into a long, narrow street that seemedhalf deserted, then turned corner after corner, but behind me, everincreasing, rose the cries of the doomed populace. The Cossacks werefollowing the people into their houses and killing men, women, and evenchildren.
Suddenly, as I turned into a side street, I saw that it led into a largeopen thoroughfare, the main road through the town, I expect. And there,straight before me, I saw that an awful scene was being enacted.
I turned to run back, but at that instant a woman's long, despairing cryreached me, causing me to glance within a doorway, where stood a big,brutal Cos
sack, who had pursued and captured a pretty, dark-haired,well-dressed girl.
"Save me!" she shrieked as I passed. "Oh, save me, sir!" she gasped,white, terrified, and breathless with struggling. "He will kill me!"
The burly soldier had his bearded face close down to hers, his armsclasped around her, and had evidently forced her from the street intothe entry.
For a second I hesitated.
"Oh, sir, save me! Save me, and God will reward you!" she implored, herbig, dark eyes turned to mine in final appeal.
The fellow at that moment raised his fist and struck her a brutal blowupon the mouth that caused the blood to flow, saying with a savagegrowl:
"Be quiet, will you?"
"Let that woman go!" I commanded in the best Russian I could.
In an instant, with a glare in his fiery eyes, for the blood-lust waswithin him, he turned upon me and sneeringly asked who I was to give himorders, while the poor girl reeled, half stunned by his blow.
"Let her go I say!" I shouted, advancing quickly towards him.
But in a moment he had drawn his big army revolver, and, ere I becameaware of his dastardly intention, he raised it to a few inches from herface.
Quick as thought I raised my own weapon, which I had held behind me,and, being accredited a fairly good shot, I fired in an endeavour tosave the poor girl.
Fortunately my bullet struck, for he stepped back, his revolver droppedfrom his fingers upon the stones, and, stumbling forward, he fell deadat her feet without a word. My shot had, I saw, hit him in the temple,and death had probably been instantaneous.
With a cry of joy at her sudden release, the girl rushed across to me,and raising my left hand to her lips, kissed it, at the same timethanking me.
Then, for the first time, I recognised how uncommonly pretty she was.Not more than eighteen, she was slim and petite, with a narrow waist andgraceful figure--quite unlike in refinement and in dress the otherwomen I had seen in Ostrog. Her dark hair had come unbound in herdesperate struggle with the Cossack and hung about her shoulders, herbodice was torn and revealed a bare white neck, and her chest heaved andfell as in breathless, disjointed sentences she thanked me again andagain.
There was not a second to lose, however. She was, I recognised, aJewess, and Krasiloff's orders were not to spare them.
From the main street beyond rose the shouts and screams, the firing andwild triumphant yells as the terrible massacre progressed.
"Come with me!" she cried breathlessly. "Along here. I know of a placeof safety!"
And she led the way, running swiftly for about two hundred yards, andthen, turning into a narrow, dirty courtyard, passed through an evil,forbidding-looking house, where all was silent as the grave.
With a key she quickly opened the door of a poor, ill-furnished room,which she closed behind her, but did not lock. Then, opening a door onthe opposite side, which had been papered over so as to escapeobservation, I saw there was a flight of damp stone stairs leading downto a cellar or some subterranean regions beneath the house.
"Down here!" she said, taking a candle, lighting it, and handing it tome. "Go--I will follow."
I descended cautiously into the cold, dank place, discovering it to be akind of unlighted cellar hewn out of the rock. A table, a chair, a lamp,and some provisions showed that preparation had been made forconcealment there, but ere I had entirely explored the place my prettyfellow-fugitive rejoined me.
"This, I hope, is a place of safety," she said. "They will not find ushere. This is where Gustave lived before his flight."
"Gustave?" I repeated, looking her straight in the face.
She dropped her eyes and blushed. Her silence told its own tale. Theprevious occupant of that rock chamber was her lover.
Her name was Luba--Luba Lazareff, she told me. But of herself she wouldtell me nothing further. Her reticence was curious, yet before long Irecognised the reason of her refusal.
In reply to further questions she said: "The Germans are our friends.Two men from Berlin have been in Ostrog nearly a month holding secretmeetings and urging us to rise."
"Do you know Hermann Hartmann?" I inquired.
"Ah! yes. He is the great patriot. He arrived here the day beforeyesterday to address us before the struggle," she repliedenthusiastically.
Candle in hand, I was examining the deepest recesses of the dark,cavernous place, while she lit the lamp, when, to my surprise, Idiscovered at the further end a workman's bench, upon which were variouspieces of turned metal, pieces of tube of various sizes, and littlephials of glass like those used for the tiny tabloids for subcutaneousinjections.
I took one up to examine it, but at that instant she noticed me andscreamed in terror.
"Ah, sir! For heaven's sake, put that down--very carefully. Touchnothing there, or we may both be blown to pieces! See!" she added in alow, intense voice of confession, as she, dashed forward, "there arefinished bombs there! Gustave could not carry them all away, so he leftthose with me."
"Then Gustave made these, eh?"
"Yes. And, see, he gave me this"--and she drew from her breast a small,shining cylinder of brass, a beautifully finished little object aboutfour inches long similar to those used at the barricade. "He gave thisto me to use--if necessary!" the girl added, a meaning flash in her darkeyes.
For a moment I was silent.
"Then you would have used it upon that Cossack?" I said slowly.
"That was my intention."
"And kill yourself, as well as your assailant?"
"I have promised him," was her simple answer.
"And this Gustave? You love him? Tell me all about him. Remember I amyour friend, and will help you if I can."
She hesitated, and I was compelled to urge her again and again ere shewould speak.
"Well, he is German--from Berlin," she said at last, as we still stoodbefore the bomb-maker's bench. "He is a chemist, and, being ananarchist, came to us, and joined us in the Revolution. The petardsthrown over the barricades to-day were of his make, but he had to fly.He left yesterday."
"For Berlin?"
"Ah! How can I tell? The Cossacks may have caught and killed him. He maybe dead," she added hoarsely.
"What direction has he taken?"
"He was compelled to leave hurriedly at midnight. He came, kissed me,and gave me this," she said, still holding the shining little bomb inher small white hand. "He said he intended, if possible, to get over thehills to the frontier at Satanow."
I saw that she was deeply in love with the fugitive, whoever he mightbe.
Outside the awful massacre was in progress, we knew; but no sound of itreached us down in that rock-hewn tomb.
The yellow candle-light fell upon her sweet dimpled face, but when sheturned her splendid eyes to mine I saw that in them was a look ofanxiety and terror inexpressible.
I inquired of her father and mother, for she was of a superior class, asI had from the first moment detected. She spoke French extremely well,and we had dropped into that language as being easier for me thanRussian.
"What can it matter to you, sir, a stranger?" she sighed.
"But I am interested in you, mademoiselle," I answered. "Had I not beenI should not have fired that shot."
"Ah, yes!" she cried quickly. "I am an ingrate! You saved my life,"--andagain she seized both my hands and kissed them.
"Hark!" I cried, startled. "What's that?" for I distinctly heard a soundof crackling wood.
The next moment men's gruff voices reached us from above.
"The Cossacks!" she screamed. "They have found us--they have found us!"And the light died out of her beautiful countenance.
In her trembling hand she held the terrible little engine ofdestruction.
With a quick movement I gripped her wrist, urging her to refrain untilall hope was abandoned, and together we stood facing the soldiers asthey descended the stairs to where we were. They were, it seems,searching every house.
"Ah!" they cried, "a good hiding-place this! But the wal
l was hollow,and revealed the door!" and next moment we saw the figures of men.
"Well, my pretty!" exclaimed a big, leering Cossack, chucking thetrembling girl beneath the chin.
"Hold!" I commanded the half-dozen men who now stood before us, theirswords red with the life-blood of the Revolution. But before I couldutter further word the poor girl was wrenched from my grasp, and theCossack was smothering her face with his hot nauseous kisses.
"Hold, I tell you!" I shouted. "Release her, or it is at your ownperil!"
"Hulloa!" they laughed. "Who are you?"--and one of the men raised hissword to strike me, whilst another held him back, exclaiming, "Let ushear what he has to say!"
"Then listen!" I said, drawing from my pocket book a folded paper. "Readthis, and look well at the signature. I am a British subject, and thisgirl is under my protection!"--and I handed to the man who held littleLuba in his arms my permit to travel hither and thither in Russia, whichthe Ambassador in London had signed for me.
The men, astounded at my announcement, read the document beneath thelamp-light and took counsel among themselves.
"And who, pray, is this Jewess?" inquired one.
"My affianced wife," was my quick reply. "And I command you at once totake us under safe conduct to General Krasiloff--quickly, without delay.We took refuge in this place from the Revolution, in which we have takenno part."
I saw, however, with sinking heart, that one of the men was examiningthe bomb-maker's bench, and had recognised the character of whatremained there.
He looked at us, smiled grimly, and whispered something to one of hiscompanions.
Again in an authoritative tone I demanded to be taken to Krasiloff, andpresently, after being marched as prisoners across the town, past scenesso horrible that they are still vividly before my eyes, we were takeninto the chief police-office, where the hated official, a fat red-facedman in a general's uniform--the man without pity or remorse, themurderer of women and children--was sitting at a table. He greeted mewith a grunt.
"General," I said, addressing him, "I have to present to you this orderof your Ambassador, and to demand safe conduct. Your soldiers found meand my----"
I hesitated.
"Your pretty Jewess--eh?"--and a smile of sarcasm spread over his fatface. "Well, go on"--and he took the paper I handed him, knitting hisbrows again as his eyes fell upon the British royal arms and the visa.
"We were found in a cellar where we had hidden from the revolt," I said.
"The place has been used for the manufacture of bombs," declared one ofthe Cossacks.
The General looked my pretty companion straight in the face.
"What is your name, girl?" he demanded roughly.
"Luba Lazareff."
"Native of where?"
"Of Petersburg."
"What are you doing in Ostrog?"
"She is with me," I interposed. "I demand protection for her."
"I am addressing the prisoner, sir," was his cold remark.
"You refuse to obey the order of the Emperor's representative in London!Good! Then I shall report you to the Minister," I exclaimed, piqued athis insolence.
"Speak, girl!" he roared, his black eyes fixed fiercely upon her. "Whyare you in Ostrog? You are no provincial, you know."
"She is my affianced wife," I said, "and in face of my statement and mypassport she need make no reply to any of your questions."
A short, stout little man, shabbily dressed, pushed his way forward tothe table, saying:
"Luba Lazareff is a well-known revolutionist, your Excellency. TheGerman maker of bombs, Gustave Englebach, is her lover--not thisgentleman. Gustave only left Ostrog yesterday."
The speaker was, I afterwards discovered, one of Hartmann's agents.
"And where is Englebach now? I gave orders for his arrest some daysago."
"He was found this morning by the patrol on the road to Schumsk,recognised, and shot, your Excellency."
At this poor little Luba gave vent to a piercing scream and burst into atorrent of bitter tears.
"You fiends!" she cried. "You have shot my Gustave! He is dead--_dead!_"
"There was no doubt, I suppose, as to his identity?" asked the General.
"None, your Excellency. Some papers found upon the body have beenforwarded to us with the report."
"Then let the girl be shot also. She aided him in the manufacture of thebombs."
"Shot!" I gasped, utterly staggered. "What do you mean, General? Youwill shoot a poor defenceless girl, and in face of my demand for herprotection. I have promised her marriage," I cried in desperation, "andyou condemn her to execution!"
"My Emperor has given me orders to quell the rebellion, and all who makebombs for use against the Government must die. His Majesty gave meorders to execute all such," said the official sternly. "You, sir, willhave safe conduct to whatever place you wish to visit. Take the girlaway."
"But, General, reflect a moment whether this is not----"
"I never reflect, sir," he cried angrily, and rising from his chair withoutstretched hand, he snapped:
"How much of my time are you going to lose over the wench? Take heraway, and let it be done at once."
The poor condemned girl, blanched to the lips and trembling from head tofoot, turned quickly to me, and in a few words in French thanked me, andagain kissed my hand, with the brief words, "Farewell; you have doneyour best. God will reward you!"
Then, with one accord, we all turned, and together went mournfully forthinto the street.
A lump arose in my throat, for I saw, as the General pointed out, thatmy passport did not extend beyond my own person. Luba was a Russiansubject, and therefore under the Russian martial law.
Of a sudden, however, just as we emerged into the roadway, theunfortunate girl, at whose side I still remained, turned and, raisingher tearful face to mine, kissed me.
Then, before any of us were aware of her intention, she again turned,wrenched herself free, and rushed back into the room where the Generalwas still sitting.
The Cossacks dashed after her, but ere they reached the chamber therewas a terrific explosion, the air was filled with debris, the back ofthe building was torn completely out, and when a few minutes later Isummoned courage to enter and peep within the wrecked room, I saw ascene that I dare not describe here in cold print.
Suffice it to say that the bodies of Luba and General Stepan Krasiloffwere unrecognisable, save for the shreds of clothing that stillremained.
Luba had used her bomb in revenge for Gustave's death, and she had freedRussia of the heartless tyrant who had condemned her to die.
But the man Hartmann--the German "patriot," whose underlings had stirredup the revolt--was already on his way back to Berlin.
As in France and Russia, so also in England, German Secret agents are,we have discovered, at work stirring strife in many directions.
One is a dastardly scheme, by which, immediately before a dash is madeupon our shores, a great railway strike is to be organised, ostensiblyby the socialists, in order to further paralyse our trade and render usin various ways unable to resist the triumphant entry of the foe.
When "the Day" comes, this plot of our friends across the North Sea willassuredly be revealed, just as the truth was revealed to me at Ostrog.