Orczy The Emperor's Candlesticks

Spy Thriller
1. Auflage 2018
ISBN: 978-80-268-8850-5
Verlag: e-artnow
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 148 Seiten

When a group of Russian anarchists kidnap a Russian prince in Vienna there are repercussions. On learning that the Cardinal d'Orsay has agreed to convey some hollow candlesticks from the Emperor to the Princess Marionoff in St Petersburg, two spies both see the possibility of using them to convey messages safely into Russia. One is an eager young idealist involved in the plot against the Prince, the other is Madame Demidoff, a beautiful agent of the Tsar. When the candlesticks go missing at the border, the two engage in a race to get them back, both realizing that their very lives could depend on the retrieval.

Baroness Emmuska Orczy (1865-1947) was a Hungarian-born British novelist and playwright. She is best known for her series of novels featuring the Scarlet Pimpernel, the alter ego of Sir Percy Blakeney, a wealthy English fop who transforms into a formidable swordsman and a quick-thinking escape artist, establishing the 'hero with a secret identity' into popular culture.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Orczy, Emma

Leseproben

Chapter III

Table of Contents

As soon as Iván Volenski lost sight completely of Madame Demidoff's carriage, he, with a sigh of relief, retraced his steps up the wide stairs of the opera house, and joined a couple of dominoes, who, dressed like himself in uniform grey, stood isolated among the groups of masks that encumbered the entrance to the foyer. Together all three began sauntering in the direction of the Kolowátring.

They walked on in silence for some time, smoking cigarettes and pushing their way through the crowd as best they could.

On the Ringstrasse the scene was as gay as ever; laughing groups of masks in bands of a score or so occupying the whole width of the street made progress somewhat difficult. But the three grey dominoes seemed in no great hurry; they exchanged jests where repartee was expected of them, and mixed with the crowd where it was impossible to avoid it.

The sumptuous houses and gorgeously decorated shops on either side were illuminated with many coloured lights, changing this midnight hour into light as broad as day. On the balconies, gaily festooned with flowers, groups of onlookers gazed on the animated scene below, whilst every now and then, from some opened windows, dreamy waltzes and weird csárdás mingled with the noisy street cries and laughter, telling of aristocratic balls and parties, where the King Carnival was courted with equal mirth if somewhat less exuberance and noise. Sometimes the groups of mummers would stop beneath some of these windows and watch the bejewelled figures flitting to-and-fro, and listen to the soft cadences of the gipsy music–the one thing Hungarian, the Viennese cannot bring themselves to despise.

But the three dominoes did not pause long, amidst this gay and bustling scene, nor did the brilliant lighted Ring appear to have any attraction for them, for presently they turned into a side street, uninviting and dark though it seemed; and being free to walk more rapidly, soon left the sounds of merry laughter and revelry far behind them.

Still they walked on in silence, not heeding now the few muffled masks that passed them with a laugh and jest, on their way towards the gayer part of the city.

With these few exceptions the streets they now crossed were completely deserted; no illuminations from the windows proclaimed the reign of King Carnival, no sound of dreamy waltz music lent a touch of merriment to the dismal, stone-paved courtyards that yawned drearily on either side.

Into one of these the three dominoes presently turned, and, with out waiting to reply to the concierge's challenge as to whom they were seeking at so late an hour, they found their way to the back stone staircase, which was but dimly lighted by a hanging lamp, that flickered in the draught, and threw weird shadows on the steps. Having reached the second flight, one of the dominoes gave a peculiar rhythmic knock on one of the doors facing him, which after a few moments was thrown open, while an anxious voice asked:

"Is that you, Baloukine?"

"Yes," replied the domino, "with Iván and Serge; let us in."

The room which they had now entered, furnished with an attempt at comfort, half as an office, and half as a smoking lounge, was filled with some twelve or fourteen men, of all ages, and apparently, judging from their clothes, of very mixed social positions; while four or five of them, collarless, and probably shirtless, wore working jackets and clumsy boots, some wore beautifully cut dress-clothes and spotless linen, with a flower in the button-hole, and one elderly man, with a pointed grey beard, and handsome, aristocratic features, wore two or three decorations fastened to his coat.

All, however, whether peer or peasant, seemed on the best of terms together, and smoking pipes and cigarettes of peace and fraternity.

"What news?" asked half a dozen voices, as the new arrivals divested themselves of their grey dominoes, and shook hands with those sitting around.

"The best."

"Where is he?" asked a voice.

"In Mirkovitch's fiaker with Maria Stefanowna."

"And presently?"

"Mirkovitch's guest at No 21, Heumarkt."

The questions and answers followed each other in rapid succession; the tension of suspense had evidently been great, the relief at the news most obviously welcome, for a sigh of satisfaction seemed to rise in unison from a dozen heaving, oppressed chests.

"And Mirkovitch?" asked one of the older men.

"He will be here anon."

"As soon as he is safe under lock and key."

"Then he is in our power?"

"Absolutely."

"Did Lavrovski attempt to follow him?

"Not till it was too late, and the fiaker out of sight. He fell into the trap, without a shadow of suspicion."

There was a pause now; evidently much had to be thought of and serious points considered, for during the next ten minutes not a sound disturbed the stillness of the room, save the crackling of burning logs in the wide chimney, and one or two whispered questions and rapidly given answers.

Then a heavy tread was heard in the passage outside, the same rhythmical knock on the door, while a gruff voice said:

"Mirkovitch."

A Herculean man, some six foot three in height, with long grey hair thrown back from a massive forehead, and piecing grey eyes, half-hidden under a pair of bushy eyebrows, now joined the group of smokers, greeting them all but with two words:

"All safe."

"Prisoner?"

"Safely in my house; no windows, only a skylight. No chance of discovery, and less of escape."

"And Maria Stefenowna?"

"Did her part splendidly; he suspected nothing till he heard the door locked behind him."

"Did he speak?"

"Only to call himself a fool, which remark was obvious."

"He asked no questions?"

"None."

"The deaf-mute valet was there to receive him?"

"Yes, and waited on him, while he took some of the supper we has prepared for him."

"What about Lavrovski?" asked a voice from the further end of the room.

"He went back to his box, and is waiting there now, I should imagine."

"In the meanwhile, Mirkovitch, you have promised us the best treatment for our prisoner."

"Yes," said Mirkovitch grimly. "I hate him, but I will treat him well. The deaf-mute is a skilled valet, the rooms are comfortable, the bad is luxurious, the food will be choice and plentiful. Very different," he added sullenly, "from what Denajewski and the others are enduring at this moment."

"They are practically free now," said a young voice enthusiastically; "we can demand their liberty; let them refuse it, if they dare."

"Yes," added Mirkovitch with a smile, "it would go hard with Nicholas Alexandrovitch now if they refused to let our comrades go."

"To business, friends, there is no time for talk," said the authoritative voice of the elderly man who wore decoration.

The cigarettes and pipes were with one accord put aside, and all chairs turned towards to the table placed in the centre of the room, on which stood a tempered with a green shade, and scattered all about, loose bundles of paper, covered with writings and signatures.

"There are many points to decide," resumed he, who appeared to be a leader amongst them; "the deed, accomplished to-night, thanks to those heads who planned, and those arms who executed it, great as it is, has still a greater object in view. This, we over here cannot attain; the turn of Taranïew and the brothers in Petersburg has now come, to do their share of the work."

The chairman paused, all heads nodded in acquiescence, then he resumed:

"We have been obliged to act very hurriedly and on our own initiative. Taranïew and the others, so far, know absolutely nothing."

"They must hear of it at once," said one voice.

"And cease any plotting of their own," assented another.

"It could only now lead to certain disaster," agreed the chairman, "if they were in any sort of way to draw the attention of the Third Section on themselves."

"Or us!" grimly added Mirkovitch.

"Obviously, therefore, our messenger's duty to them will be twofold," said the president. "The bringing of great news, as it now stands, and our instructions as to the next course they must follow to attain the noble object we all have in view."

"Yes, the letter to Alexander III," said a young voice eagerly.

This was the important point; more eagerness in the listeners, more enthusiasm among the younger men was, if possible, discernible.

"I have here," said the president, taking a document from the table, "with the help of the committee, embodied our idea as to how that letter should be framed."

"It will be an appetising breakfast relish for the autocrat of all the Russians when he finds it, as he does all our written warnings, underneath his cup of morning coffee," sneered Mirkovitch, who had been sitting all this while smoking grimly, and muttering at intervals short sentences between his teeth, which boded no good to the prisoner he had under his charge.

"Our letter," said the president, "this time will contain the information that the Tsarevitch is, at the present moment, in the hands of some persons unknown, and that those persons will continue to hold him a hostage till certain conditions are complied with."

"Those conditions being?" queried one of the bystanders.

"Complete pardon for Dunajewski, and all those who are in prison with him in connection with that lat...