Chapter XVII: The Death of an Emperor

One thing, however, Barnwell did not tell Mr. Clark or his daughter; and that was how he was making use of the vast amount of money that had been given him by Batavsky. That was always to remain a secret within his own breast.

He felt that he was simply fulfilling a sacred trust, and gaining revenge for his own terrible suffering.

He loved his beautiful countrywoman, and as soon as he had finished his work he would make her his wife, and resume the travels he had set out upon years before.

Naturally he was much in her company after their reunion, and this again threw the detectives from the scent, for before long it became known to them that they were to be married, and start for France and other countries of Europe.

And yet the Nihilists in Russia and in Poland continued to be more active and aggressive, and the police authorities made but little, if any, headway in arresting them.

At length the aristocracy of St. Petersburg, Warsaw, Moscow, and other large centers became almost panic stricken--not even daring to trust their oldest servants.

This feeling was increased when the Czar found a note on his dressing-bureau, which read as follows:

"Alexander.--My life was as good as that of your tyrant father, Nicholas. He murdered me. My spirit will murder you.--Batavsky."

That the note was placed there by some bold Nihilist, a member of the emperor's household, there could be no doubt, and although his personal staff and ministers advised him to take no notice of it, it struck terror to his heart.

Every member of his household was taken in hand by the police and questioned, and each one made to give a sample of his handwriting, but nothing could be found out.

Extra precautions were taken, however, and the Czar never ventured forth without a double guard, and even the streets were guarded by the police to insure his safety.

But another warning came, as if to show him that even those who guarded him needed guards for themselves, when one day the prefect of police was killed on the steps of his official residence, and no clew of the assassin could be found, although lying near his body was found a paper with the simple name of Batavsky written upon it in Russian.

Then the Czar began to question who this Batavsky was, and it was finally ascertained that an influential man by that name had been transported to Siberia by the Emperor Nicholas for engaging in a revolution--in fact, that he was one of the first Nihilists of Russia, and was supposed to be enormously rich.

But those riches were never found, and the old revolutionist had died in Siberia, and so nothing came of the inquiry save a deeper mystery.

Two or three attempts upon the Czar's life were made and failed. Those who were caught or suspected were put to death, but so soon as one was taken from the work two more were ready to fill his place.

And while in this terror, the Czar and his official household instead of doing anything towards relieving the burdens under which the people groaned, and which drove them to these bitter acts of revenge and reprisal, took all means possible to bind their chains closer yet, and to stamp out Nihilism with an iron heel.

"Laura, you know I told you of poor old Batavsky in Siberia?" he asked of Miss Clark one day.

"Yes, Will, I remember," she replied.

"Well, I dreamed of him last night, and have a presentiment that his presence will soon be felt on earth."

"Oh, Will, you are such a dreamer, you are. Let us talk of something else:."

"As you please. I merely mentioned it; so let's wait and see have arranged everything."

"Oh, that will be so nice! You are so good!"

"As I should be, to one who has waited for me so faithfully and so long. But the dark clouds are rolling by, Laura, and after a little I shall be my own master again."

"And are you not so now?" she asked.

"Not wholly. I have had a sacred duty to perform, and it will soon be finished."

Of course both were busy with their preparations for departure, and she paid but little attention to what he said, as it was upon a subject she knew nothing of, and yet her woman's wit and insight told her that her lover was engaged in something of a mysterious nature, and she hailed with delight the prospect of getting out of Germany and back to America.

The following day the whole world was startled and monarchs trembled at a dynamite explosion in St. Petersburg.

The Czar Alexander was riding along in a carriage, closely guarded by soldiers and mounted police, when, without an instant's warning, a cartridge exploded directly under his carriage, killing everybody and everything within a radius of fifty yards, producing the greatest havoc and devastation.

"Quick--the czar!" cried those who had escaped the terrible explosion.

And a rush was made to the scene of the wreck, where lay mangled horses and human beings, and out of that chaos of desolation they dragged the mangled body of the Czar of all the Russias!

Panic and consternation seized St. Petersburg, seized all Russia--the whole world, in fact.

Instant search was made for those who perpetrated the terrible deed.

One or two suspected individuals were put to the sword without judge or jury, yet they were innocent of the deed.

Detectives and secret service officers took possession of the spot and examined everything--every shovelful of snow even.

Out of the ruin wrought by the terrific explosion one of the officers pulled a small metal plate, crooked and bent by the concussion.

The dead emperor had been borne tenderly to the palace, and all Russia was in tears, either of joy or sorrow.

The officers read an inscription on the plate they had found.

It was graven deep and clear in pure Russian. It read:

"The spirit of Peter Batavsky, raging for revenge, calls for the Czar, the son of his murderer! Long live the Russian people!"

That was all, but it amazed those who read it, for it bore the same name that had so terrified the Czar on another occasion.

Never before had such a shock been given to the world, not even the assassination of Julius Caesar was a comparison to it.

But while the excitement was at its burning height, William Barnwell and his affianced left Berlin for London.

"Batavsky, you are terribly avenged!" said he, as they sped from German soil.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

This story naturally ends here.

But a few words more need be said.

Marriage, happiness, wealth became the portion of the Boy Nihilist, and here falls the curtain on this strange and romantic drama.

THE END.

Read "LUCKY DICK GOLDEN; or, THE BOY MINERS OF PLACER CREEK," by An Old Scout, which will be the next number (577) of "Pluck and Luck."

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