British Mysteries Omnibus - The Emma Orczy Edition (65+ Titles in One Edition). Emma Orczy

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British Mysteries Omnibus - The Emma Orczy Edition (65+ Titles in One Edition) - Emma Orczy

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and quite casually mentioned that I was somewhat disappointed at having, on their account, to give up a long-expected holiday: so she very kindly offered to take the candlesticks over to Petersburg for me, which offer I gladly accepted; and you see me with a burden less on my mind."

      Volenski was vainly trying to regain his composure.

      "And did your Eminence show Madame Demidoff the secrets of the candlesticks?" he asked breathlessly.

      "I really do not remember," said his Eminence. "I dare say I did; but you seem very anxious about the matter. I don't understand the reason."

      "My anxiety is entirely in your Eminence's interest; my fear is lest the candlesticks are really safe in a lady's keeping."

      "Is that all?" said his Eminence somewhat drily, and darting a quick glance from his penetrating eyes at Volenski, who bore the scrutiny bravely. "You may set your mind at rest, then; I consider the candlesticks quite safe, my dear Volenski. So now good-night. I start early to-morrow morning.

      "You will, I am afraid, have to stay another day longer, in order to see to the correspondence; but after that your time is your own, till we meet at Petersburg on the 3rd of next month. Good night, my son."

      Volenski bowed low before the Cardinal, and, more dead than alive, he reached the quietness of his own room, where he could collect his thoughts and view the immediate future.

      That the peril was deadly, that after this at any hour, any moment, the blow might fall, he realised in one moment.

      All the papers relating to their plot–so carefully planned, so daringly executed–the draft of their manifesto to be placed by Taranïew in the Tsar's hands, documents which in most cases bore the names of the conspirators, and which would send them, one and all, if discovered, to Siberia or to death, all were contained in the secret receptacle of one of the candlesticks, that even now were in Madame Demidoff's hands. All that required no reflection; they were hard, undeniable facts.

      What did need serious thinking–as the catastrophe had by some extraordinary stroke of good luck so far been averted–was how to ward it off successfully.

      In the first place, it was quite evident that so far the papers were safe.

      The Cardinal and Madame Demidoff had seen nothing; either his Eminence forgot or forebore to show the lady the secret spring, or, having done so, he happened to have used the candlestick that did not contain the secret papers. But women are naturally curious, fond of toying with trifles, and any moment –– Volenski's thoughts refused to travel further; the consequences were too appalling. And then again, should he warn his comrades at once of the catastrophe? own to them that the trust they had placed in him he had even the first day betrayed? Would that serve any purpose? What could they do, even if they knew the worst, but calmly await events? For wherever they went, however they hid, it would be impossible to escape the far-reaching arm of the Russian police. No; far better let them remain in blissful ignorance for a time; if the blow was to fall they would know their fate soon enough.

      Hour after hour the young Pole sat, his head buried in his hands, trying to think of some plan, some means of intercepting those candlesticks, of robbing Madame Demidoff; but how?–how?

      All night he paced up and down his room; it was broad daylight before he fell into a troubled sleep, and in his dream chains were on his wrists, he and most of his comrades were tramping through a dreary desert of snow towards the distant mines of Eastern Siberia, where death awaits the exile–certain, creeping death, a lingering torture that sometimes lasts three entire years.

      Chapter VIII

       Table of Contents

      Whoever has travelled in a first-class carriage of an Austrian State railway has learnt to know the acme of comfort and luxury that can be conveyed on wheels. True, that whilst the traveller gains in the matter of softly cushioned seats he loses in that of speed; but what would you? This is Eastern Europe, and the Oriental looks upon hurry as one of the seven deadly sins; so the railways he constructs never exceed forty miles an hour, but the springs of the carriages are balanced to a nicety, and everything is done to render the passenger's prolonged stay in the coupé a pleasant and luxurious one.

      But oh! there is one great, one very great drawback to travelling in those Eastern countries! Who has not known the annoyance, the worry, the bustle attendant on the necessary custom-house examinations at the frontier? Both at Passau, at one end of the Empire, and at Oderberg on the other, the weary traveller is usually landed an hour or so before sunrise. The imperious rules of the Austrian custom-house demand that every article of luggage pass under the inspection of its officials, and that under no circumstances a passenger be allowed to remain in his or her carriage, probably lest he or she may thereby succeed in keeping concealed the very articles of contraband, most strictly taxed by the Austrian government.

      "I don't think we need get out, Rôza," said Madame Demidoff in a sleepy voice from the corner of her coupé, as the express drew up at Oderberg, the frontier station. "You saw the luggage registered through to Petersburg and loaded, did you not?"

      "Oui, madame!" replied the maid, looking out of the carriage window; "they are opening all the doors and making everybody get out, but they did tell me in Vienna that, if we have the luggage registered, it can go through without examination."

      "Anyway, I shall not get out; put my valise and dressing-bag close to me, and go and order two cups of coffee at the buffet, to be brought here."

      "I think madame will not be disturbed," said the maid as she opened the carriage; "everyone has left the platform, and I see no more officials about. I hope madame will be all right whilst I am gone; I will be back directly."

      And Rôza prepared to get out of the coupé.

      "Excuse me, mademoiselle," said a voice, as she alighted on the platform, "everyone must get out here."

      A man, in the uniform of the custom-house officials, stood by the carriage door, respectfully lifting his cap as he peered into the coupé and saw Madame Demidoff surrounded by her luggage.

      "Surely it is not necessary," said madame in a tone of annoyance; "my luggage is registered through, and they told me distinctly in Vienna that I shall not be troubled with these stupid formalities."

      "I am very sorry, madame, but our orders are very strict, and we are not allowed to let anyone remain in the carriages, nor any luggage," he added emphatically, pointing to the valise, dressing-bags, and rugs that lay on the cushioned seats.

      Madame Demidoff knew enough about officialdom to be well aware that it was absolutely useless to disobey or even to protest. The man was perfectly civil, nay, respectful, but at any sign of resistance he would call for help, and deposit madame's luggage, without hesitation, on the platform, or carry it away to the customs hall, where she would perforce have to follow it.

      Resigning herself with an impatient sigh, she prepared to step out of the carriage, leaving Rôza and the man to follow with her things. She knew she had nothing that she need mind being handled by the most prying Austrian official; her reports and papers this time were safe in the secret receptacles of the Emperor's candlesticks; these she had placed in her valise, labelling them conspicuously: "China–Fragile–the property of his Eminence Cardinal d'Orsay." The parcel might be opened, with a view to verifying the truth of the label, but no one could guess that a Russian agent's reports were hidden

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