Chapter IX

The Governor was a large, corpulent, untidy-looking man in an ill-fitting uniform, with coarse features and a straggling beard. He clicked his heels together and made some pretence at a military salute, as Elsa introduced her visitor. She whispered a word or two apart with him in Russian, and then continued in French, which she spoke apparently with less ease than English.

“This gentleman,” she declared, “has a great affair of business to discuss with you. He was sent here by a friend of mine whose name I may not give. He is an Englishman pretending to be an American, but that makes for little. He is entrusted with a great sum of money for a certain purpose.”

Into the Governor’s eyes flashed for a moment some reflection of the cupidity which had gleamed in the woman’s. Money was scarce in Russia; pay was small and irregular in coming. The thought of money whetted his interest.

“Let me hear what this gentleman has to say,” he invited.

“I have come with a very bold proposition,” Gerald began, “but it is one which I hope you will consider carefully. You have many prisoners in your fortress who are detained largely through misfortune. There are many there whose offences are trivial, who will probably be released shortly in any case, and who might just as well be free as remain a charge upon the Government.”

“You seem to know a great deal about my prisoners,” the Governor remarked ungraciously. “Many of them are criminals of the worst order.”

“It is not one of these whom I wish to discuss with you,” Gerald assured him. “It happens that you have a young man there who is not of the criminal class at all. He has very wealthy friends.”

“Ha!” the Governor exclaimed. “How wealthy?”

The woman broke into the conversation. She gripped her friend by the arm.

“Ivan,” she cried, “it is incredible! Do you know the sum which monsieur speaks of? It takes one’s breath away! He speaks of ten thousand pounds! It is two million roubles! What do you think of that?”

“Holy mother of God!” Krossneys muttered. “A prisoner of mine?”

“A prisoner of yours,” Gerald repeated. “I will be quite frank with you, sir. I speak, I know, to a man of honour, but I will ask you to remember that this young man is unconvicted of any crime, and that the Government by whom he was sent to you is tottering. This is not a bribe which I am offering you. It is the price of an act of justice. The money is to be paid in cash.”

Krossneys was showing now as much agitation as the woman had displayed. Mingled with his emotion, however, was a fear, signs of which were at once manifested in the anxiety which distorted his face, the eagerness of his demand.

“The number?” he cried. “Tell me the name or the number of the prisoner you desire?”

“Number twenty-nine,” Gerald replied.

The Governor struck the table with his clenched fist, so that the glasses rattled.

“A million devils curse and blast you both!” he shouted.

He kicked a footstool which was close at hand across the room. Then he flung himself into an easy-chair and sat there with his arms crossed, glowering at Elsa. The woman gazed at him as though he had suddenly gone mad.

“Are you out of your senses, Ivan?” she asked. “Twenty-nine or thirty-nine--what does it matter? Is not one prisoner like another? Who comes to visit them? Who knows which cell is empty? Bah!”

“So you thought you were rich for life, did you, Elsa?” the man in the chair muttered. “Well, you can just rid yourself of the idea. And as for you, sir,” he went on, with a malicious glance at Gerald, “you may think yourself fortunate if you leave this country as easily as you entered it.”

The woman drew a little nearer to him. There was the look of a wild animal in her face.

“Listen, Ivan!” she cried. “Are you mad? It is a fortune which this man carries in his hand! What is there amongst the scum that infests your prisons of account against that? You terrify me. The money is for us, to be divided. Cash, Ivan! Money to spend--to-morrow--the next day--every day!”

“You fool!” the Governor retorted. “Of what use is money when your feet dangle in the air and your neck is broken? That for you, and a dozen rifle bullets in my heart! You are a bold man who came to Russia on such a mission,” he added, glowering at Gerald.

She turned to her visitor.

“What does this madman mean?” she demanded. “Who is this prisoner whose freedom you seek?”

“I do not know,” Gerald replied. “I am only an emissary.”

The Governor sat up in his chair.

“I will tell you,” he declared hoarsely. “Number twenty-nine is all the fortress records say of him, but his name is Paul, Grand Duke of Volostok, Prince of Tamboff, hereditary Grand Duke and Ruler of all the provinces of the Dvina, nephew of Nicholas, the late Tsar, head of the House of Romanoff,--himself, if the people changed their fancy to-morrow, Tsar of all the Russias! There, my woman, now you know the secret of my fortress! You can guess where we might be if I traded with this lunatic!”

The woman flopped upon the sofa. She was pale through all her rouge and powder. Her yellow hair had broken loose from its band of ribbon. Her dressing gown had fallen away a little from her ample bust. She sat breathing heavily for several moments. Gerald, of the three, was the only one who kept his head.

“All that makes for nothing,” he said calmly. “You excite yourself greatly for nothing. The Romanoff dynasty is past. There will never be another Tsar in Russia. This young man has rich friends and they want him out of the country. I should think your Government would be glad to be rid of him.”

Gerald’s words were not without their effect, especially upon the woman.

“After all,” she muttered, “this man speaks sense. Who cares about Grand Dukes, nowadays? There are plenty of them who have already escaped. What does one more or less matter?”

“But this one--I have told you who he is!” the man growled.

The woman was beginning to pluck up spirit. She scoffed at him openly.

“When the people of Russia want the days of Tsardom back again,” she said, “they will find one of the brood fast enough. But that day will not come yet. This young man in your fortress is of no account. You are a fool, Ivan. You cannot see the truth. You have not thought to yourself what ten thousand pounds may mean.”

Krossneys sat back in his chair, biting his finger nails.

“Who are you?” he demanded suddenly. “And where does this money come from?”

“My name is Dombey,” Gerald replied. “I have admitted to Madame Francks that I am an Englishman. This money has been collected in London by friends and relatives of the young man. The desire for his release has not the slightest political significance.”

“And what the devil excuse can I make for letting him go?”

“I should put one of your less important prisoners into his cell and say nothing about it,” Gerald suggested.

“There is an inspector of State prisons,” Krossneys muttered. “He does not often come, but who knows when he might take it into his head to pay us a visit?”

“The last time he was here,” Elsa Francks reminded him, “you met him at the station and took him to the hotel. Afterwards, you brought him on here and he was so drunk that he had to stay for two days. He did not even go near the fortress. Your papers and books were brought down here for him to sign.”

“It is true,” Krossneys assented, “yet next time another man might come. And again, how will this number twenty-nine get safely out of Russia?”

“Think less of these difficulties and more of what one could do with ten thousand pounds,” the woman insisted. “You are not asked, Ivan, to run a risk for nothing. I say that it is worth it.”

“For you, yes,” Krossneys sneered, “because you risk nothing and you have the spending of the money. For me it is different. I have an official position. I am Governor of the fortress; I wear the uniform of the Russian Republic.”

Elsa Francks laughed loudly and scornfully. She pointed jeeringly at Krossneys.

“Uniform of the Russian Republic!” she exclaimed. “A pity they didn’t make it to fit you! Official position, indeed! What do you get out of it, I should like to know? Would you not starve if it were not for the contributions of the prisoners themselves?”

“It is true,” Krossneys assented gloomily. “It is a dog’s life.”

“And a dog’s country to live it in!” the woman proclaimed. “Listen to me, Ivan.”

She sat upon the arm of his chair and talked to him in Russian. Soon it was evident that he was yielding. She fetched him beer and then spirits of some sort from a cupboard. Once or twice she turned and winked stealthily at Gerald. At last she turned towards him in triumph.

“It is arranged,” she announced.

“Not so fast,” Krossneys intervened. “Let us hear how this money is to be paid?”

“In cash,” Gerald replied. “I have drafts upon your own banks.”

“Well, well,” Krossneys muttered, “the money is right enough, then. At ten o’clock to-morrow morning,” he went on, “present yourself at the fortress. Enquire for me. I shall give you an audience. The affair may be concluded at once. Get back to your hotel now and be careful not to speak of your real business.”

Gerald rose blithely to his feet. The idea of leaving the horrible atmosphere of that room was undiluted joy to him. He bowed to the Governor. Elsa took him to the door and, under pretext of calling the servant, passed out with him into the passage.

“You can come back later if you like to talk with me again,” she whispered. “Be careful, though, for he is very jealous.”

She shouted something to the Russian maid and stepped back into the room with a meaning smile. Gerald put money into the hand of the woman who opened the postern gate and stepped into the street with a gasp of relief. The clear air was wonderful. He drew in great gulps of it as he made his way along the uneven pavements, stared at by every passer-by. He could scarcely believe that his task was coming so easily to an end. If all went well, in twenty-four hours he might be on his way back to England.