Whoso Findeth a Wife

“Speak!” I cried wildly, shaking him in my anger. “You shall tell us the true nature of the secret between you and my wife, and prove your statement to our satisfaction, or, by heaven, I’ll thrash you as a cunning, cowardly cur!”

Chapter Thirty One

Due East

“Bah!” retorted the Earl’s visitor, contemptuously, shaking himself free with a sudden twist, and standing before me in defiance. “I understand,” he cried, glancing towards the elder man before the door. “You believe, gentlemen, that from me you can ascertain a key to certain curious occurrences that have puzzled you. But I may as well undeceive you at once. I can tell you absolutely nothing.”

“But you shall tell us!” I cried, angrily. “I found you walking with my wife in Kensington Gardens, and followed you. It was apparent from her demeanour that she feared you.”

He smiled sarcastically, and answered with a flippant air:

“Perhaps she did. If so, she certainly had cause.”

“Why? What power do you hold over her, pray?” I demanded.

In his eyes was a mysterious glance. He was scarcely the brainless young dandy that I had imagined.

“It is hardly likely that I shall divulge to you a secret. Remember that your wife comes of one of the highest families in Europe, and the slightest breath of scandal must reflect upon them.”

“At what scandal do you hint?” I asked, in fierce, breathless eagerness.

“At what is best kept quiet,” he answered, gravely.

His enigmatical words maddened me. I felt that I could spring upon him and strangle him, for I knew instinctively that he was my wife’s enemy – the man of whom she lived in deadly fear. If only I could silence him, she might then relate to me those long-promised facts.

“Then if you decline to prove that there is a concealed scandal, utter no more of your lying allegations,” I blurted forth.

He bowed deeply with mock politeness, and smiled grimly.

“Come,” exclaimed the Earl at last, in a conciliatory tone, advancing towards him and laying his hand upon his shoulder. “Let us get at once to the point. It is useless to quarrel. You decline to reveal to us the nature of your curious friendship with the Grand Duchess – eh?”

“I do,” he answered, firmly.

“Well,” said the tactful old Minister. “First carefully review the situation, and you will, I think, admit that I have been your friend. And how have you shown your gratitude?”

“By concealing from you a truth both hideous and terrible,” he replied, with apparent unconcern.

“But you can, if you will, give us some clue to this remarkable chain of circumstances. I appeal to you on behalf of Deedes, her husband,” the old man said.

“I am well aware of the reason you yourself desire to know the absolute truth, Lord Warnham,” he answered, after a brief pause, “but, unfortunately, I am unable to tell you, because of certain promises having been extracted from me.”

“At least you can tell us from whom I may ascertain the true facts,” I cried.

He looked at me for an instant gravely, then answered in all seriousness:

“The only person who knows the truth is Sonia Korolénko, the refugee.”

“Sonia!” gasped the Earl. “That woman is not in England, surely?”

“I think not,” Bingham replied. “But if you would ascertain the key to the enigma, seek her, and she may explain everything. That is as far as I can assist you. Remember, I myself have revealed nothing.”

“She has returned to Russia,” I observed. “Have you any knowledge where she is?”

“No, there are reasons why her whereabouts should remain unknown,” he answered, hesitatingly. “She is in fear of the police.”

“Do her friends know of her hiding-place?”

“No. A short time ago I desired to communicate with her, but was unable. The last I heard of her was that she was living at Skerstymone, a little town somewhere in Poland.”

“If she can successfully elude the vigilance of the Russian police, I can have but little hope of finding her,” I said, doubtfully.

“Make the attempt, Deedes,” the Earl suggested. “I will give you leave of absence.”

“I intend to do so,” I replied; and remembering my wife, lonely amid all her splendour, I added, “The elucidation of the mystery is, as it has long since been, the main object of my life.”

In consultation we sat a long time. This caddish young man of whom I had been so madly jealous had now grown quite calm and communicative, apparently ready to render me all assistance; yet to my questions regarding my wife he was as dumb as others had been. Now, more than ever, the Earl seemed anxious to solve the strange problem. With that object he obtained from the library a section of the large ordnance map of the Russian Empire, and with it spread before us we discovered that Skerstymone was a little place remotely situated on the bank of the Niemen river, within a short distance of the German frontier. I had long ago learned from Paul Verblioudovitch that my friend, the well-known adventuress, had crossed the frontier at Wirballen, or Verjbolovo, as it is called in Russian; but after that I knew nothing of her movements. Bingham seemed anxious to lead me indirectly towards the truth, and after assuring me with a firm hand-grasp that the secret that existed between himself and my wife was of a purely platonic nature, and that he had throughout acted on her behalf, I ate a hasty luncheon and again left the Hall on the first stage of my long, tedious journey across Europe. As I entered the carriage the old Earl and his guest stood out upon the gravelled drive and heartily wished me “Bon voyage,” and, waving them farewell, I was whirled away through the great park that lay silent and breathless beneath the scorching sun.

At the bookstall at Horsham station I bought an early edition of the Globe, and on opening it in the train my eyes fell upon the following announcement in its “Court and Personal” column, —

“A marriage is arranged, and will shortly take place between Mr Andrew Beck, the Member for West Rutlandshire, who is well-known in connection with African mines, and Miss Gertrude Millard, only daughter of Sir Maynard Millard, Bart, of Spennythorpe Park, Montgomeryshire.”

This was not exactly unexpected, for I had already heard vague rumours that news of Beck’s engagement would shortly be made public, therefore I tore out the paragraph and placed it in my pocket-book, with the reflection that my friend’s marriage might be more happy than mine.

That evening about six o’clock I called at Chesham House, the Russian Embassy, and obtained the signature of the Ambassador, Monsieur Grodekoff, to my passport. I did not, however, see Verblioudovitch, he being absent at Brighton, therefore I left the same evening for Flushing, and after a long and wearisome ride across Germany duly arrived at Verjbolovo, one of the principal gates of the great Russian Empire. The formalities troubled me but little, for I had passed the frontier on several occasions when stationed in St Petersburg. After getting my passport stamped I strolled up and down the platform gazing about over the flat, uninteresting country, contemplatively smoking a cigarette, and watching the crowd of tired, worried travellers experiencing the ways of Russian officialdom for the first time. Among them was an elderly Russian lady who, travelling with her three daughters, good-looking girls, ranging from eighteen to twenty-three, had omitted to have her passport viséd by a Russian Consul outside the Empire. So stringent were the regulations that, although they were subjects of the Tzar returning to their own country, the officer would not allow them to proceed, and all four were detained while the passport was sent back to the nearest Russian consul in Germany to be “treated.”

At first it had occurred to me to travel on to St Petersburg, and there endeavour to learn from a police official of my acquaintance whether Sonia Korolénko had been heard of lately, but on reflection I saw that every precaution would no doubt be taken by her in order that the police should not be made aware of her presence in Russian territory. A strange vagary of Fate it seemed that through my own action in obtaining for her a false passport she had been enabled to escape, and that my own endeavours had actually thwarted my own ends. As I paced the railway platform, with the brilliant afterglow shedding a welcome light across that dead level country so zealously-guarded by the green-coated sentries in their black and white striped boxes, and Cossack pickets, each with his “nagaika” stuck in his boot, I remembered with failing heart how this woman, whose fame was notorious throughout Europe, had told me that once past this portal of the Tzar’s huge domain all traces of her would be obliterated completely. This fact in itself convinced me that she had never intended to travel direct to St Petersburg, and it became impressed upon me that in order to trace her it would be necessary to first visit the little out-of-the-world town of Skerstymone, that was situated a long way to the north along the frontier. With that object I allowed the St Petersburg express to proceed, and after an hour’s wait entered a local train, alighting at a small town euphoniously termed Pilwiszki, where I spent the night in an exceedingly uncomfortable inn.

Next day I learnt with satisfaction that this town was situated on the main post-road between Maryampol and Rossieny, and that about thirty miles due north along this road was Skerstymone. The innkeeper, at an exorbitant figure, provided me with a rickety old cart and a pair of shaggy horses, driven by an uncouth-looking lad, wearing an old peaked cap so large that his brow and eyes were hidden. An hour before noon I set out upon my expedition. Our way lay across the boundless Nawa steppe, a plain which stretched away as far as the eye could reach without a single tree to break its monotony, until at a wretched little village called Katyle we forded a shallow stream, the Penta, and presently passed through the town of Szaki. Soon afterwards the road became full of deep ruts that jolted us terribly, and for many miles we travelled through a pine forest until at last we found ourselves at the ferry before Skerstymone.

In the mystic light of evening the place, standing on the opposite bank of the Niemen, presented a novel and rather picturesque aspect, with its wooden houses, their green and brown roofs of painted sheet-iron, but when landing from the ferry I was soon undeceived. It was one of those towns best seen from a distance. The dirt and squalor were horrible. For a fortnight I remained at the wretched little inn making inquiries in all quarters, but could hear nothing of the pretty dark-eyed girl who had earned such unenviable notoriety, and who in Vienna spent such an enormous sum in a single year that her extravagance had become proverbial, even in that most reckless of cities. That she had been here was certain from what Bingham had told us, and somehow I had an instinctive feeling that here the dainty-handed refugee had assumed a fresh identity, it being dangerous for her to proceed further into Russia, so well-known was she. Therefore, with fixed determination, I still prosecuted my inquiries everywhere, until I found the police regarding me with considerable mistrust, for the officers of public order are everywhere ubiquitous in the giant empire of the Tzar.

The hot July sun shone on the dusty streets; through the open windows of the white-washed barrack-like Government office the scratching of pens could be heard; the “factors,” agents who offer their services to strangers, lolled in the shade, keeping a watchful eye upon any stranger who might happen to pass by, and looking out eagerly for a “geschäft,” or stroke of business. The townspeople eyed me distrustfully as I wandered aimlessly about the streets, where tumble-down hovels alternated with endless expanses of grey moss-grown wood fences and plots of waste ground heaped with rubbish and offal. The place was full of horrible smells, filth, rags, and dirty children, who enjoyed themselves by rolling in the soft white dust. At either end of the noisy, evil-smelling place, a post-road led out along the bank of the sluggish yellow stream, and at the entrance to the town on the German side was a “schlagbaum,” a pole painted with the national colours that served as toll-bar, in charge of a sleepy invalided soldier in a dingy old uniform with a tarnished eagle on his cap, who looked the very incarnation of undisturbed slumber.

Life in Kovno was by no means diverting. Truly Skerstymone was a wretched, half-starved, miserable little place of terribly depressing aspect, notwithstanding the brilliant sunshine and blue sky.

The long, gloomy days dragged by, but no tidings could I glean of Sonia Korolénko. It was evident that if she had ever been there she had passed under some other name, and that her identity had been lost before arrival there.

One warm morning, while seated outside a “kabák” moodily watching the old women in the market selling their twisted rolls of bread called “kalách,” an ill-dressed man approached me, and, touching his shabby cap respectfully, pronounced my name with strong Russian accent, at the same time slowly sinking upon the wooden bench beside me. He was tall and square-built, with coarse but expressive features. His long grey hair was matted and unkempt; his low brow, protruding jaws, and the constant twitching of his facial muscles reminded me of a monkey, but the stern eyes shining from beneath a pair of bushy, overhanging brows, spoke of indomitable energy, cleverness, and cunning. They never changed; and while the rest of his face was a perfect kaleidoscope whenever he spoke, the expression of his eyes remained ever the same.

His confidence surprised me, and I immediately asked him how he had ascertained my patronymic, to which he replied, not without hesitation, —

“I am fully aware of your high nobility’s object in visiting Skerstymone. You are seeking Sonia Korolénko.”

“Yes,” I replied, in the best Russian I could remember. “Do you know her whereabouts? If you take me to her you shall have a handsome reward.”

He smiled mysteriously, and glanced so wistfully at my vodka that I at once ordered for him a second glass of the spirit so beloved of the Muscovite palate.

“Is your high nobility well acquainted with Sonia!”

I replied in the affirmative, offering him a cigarette from my case. At last I had found one who had met the dark-eyed girl of whom I was in search.

“You know her,” I said. “Where is she?”

“In hiding.”

“Far from here?”

“Well, not very,” he answered. “I could take you to her this very night – if you made it worth my while.”

“Why not in daylight?” I inquired.

“Because the frontier-guards are here in swarms.”

Then, in reply to my questions, he admitted that he was one of those who obtained his living by smuggling contraband goods and persons without passports across the frontier into and out of Germany. Along the whole of the Russo-German frontier there are bands of peasantry who live by smuggling emigrants, Jews, malefactors, and others who have no permit to leave the country, across into Germany by certain by-paths that remain unguarded, notwithstanding the constant vigilance of the military.

“And what is Sonia doing at present?” I inquired, after he had frankly related to me his position in a low tone so that we might not be overheard by any eavesdropper or police spy.

“She has always been a leader,” he answered, laughing gaily. “She is so still.”

“A leader of smugglers!” I exclaimed, surprised that the pretty girl who had been admired in every capital in Europe should adopt such a hazardous, reckless life.

“Well, yes, if you choose to call it so,” he said, rather resentfully, I thought. “We merely assist our countrymen to escape the police, and they pay toll for our aid,” he added. “She heard you were inquiring for her, here in Skerstymone, and has sent me as messenger to take you to her. She fears to come herself.”

I looked steadily at the man, and saw for the first time that, although a moujik, he was nevertheless a sturdy adventurer, whose brow was deeply furrowed by hardship.

“And you wish me to pay toll like the others?” I exclaimed with a smile.

“If we act as guide we are surely entitled to something. There are many risks,” he answered, puffing at his cigarette, afterwards examining it with the air of a connoisseur.

“How much?”

“The high nobility is rich,” he replied. “He was once at the English Embassy in St Petersburg. Let us say two hundred roubles.”

“Two hundred, to be paid only in Sonia’s presence,” I acquiesced eagerly. Truth to tell, I would have paid five hundred, or even a thousand for safe conduct to her.

“It’s a bargain,” he answered, draining his glass. “Meet me to-night at ten o’clock at this place. I hope you are a good walker, for we must travel by the secret paths. The post-road would mean arrest for me; it might also go rather hard with you to be found in my company.”

“I can walk well,” I answered. “To-night at ten.”

Then I ordered more vodka, and after drinking success to our midnight journey, he rose and left me, bending a good deal as he shuffled along the street in his old frieze overcoat many sizes too large for him.

In any other circumstances I should have looked upon this devil-may-care, shock-headed adventurer with gravest suspicion, for his face was of distinctly criminal physiognomy, and his speech was that of one utterly unscrupulous. Yet when I remembered the allegations that Sonia, the woman who lured the young Prince Alexis Gazarin to his death, was an associate of the most desperate thieves in Europe, the fact that she had sent him as messenger seemed by no means remarkable. From what he had told me it was apparent that this girl, whose beauty had brought her renown and held her victims fascinated, had returned to her own country and become leader of a desperate band of nomads who drove a thriving trade by guiding fugitives from justice out of the Tzar’s dominions, and importing from Germany dutiable articles of every description.

Sonia’s offences against the law did not, however, trouble me much. I only desired to ascertain from her the truth regarding my wife, the Grand Duchess, and in order to meet her was prepared for any risk.

Thus I placed myself in the hands of this villainous-looking rascal whose name I did not know, and who had come to me entirely without credentials. My natural caution warned me that from every point of view my midnight expedition was fraught with considerable danger, yet thoughts of my sad-eyed wife whom I so dearly loved aroused within me a determination to ascertain some key to the enigma, and I was therefore resolved to accompany the unkempt stranger in face of any peril.

Chapter Thirty Two

On the Frontier

The first hour of our walk in the bright balmy night proved fresh and pleasant after the stifling malodorous town. My unknown guide was, I soon discovered, a typical gaol-bird, the fact being made plain by the scanty growth of hair on one side of his head revealed when he inadvertently removed his cap to wipe his brow with his dirty hand. His strong knee-boots were well-patched, but he was out at elbow, and his moustache and matted beard sadly wanted trimming. He kept his appointment to the moment, and declining my invitation to drink, we set off together, ascending the low hill behind the town, and taking a circuitous route back to the river bank. By no means devoid of a sense of humour, he strode along jauntily, laughing, joking, and making light of any risk of capture, until I began to regard him with less suspicion. That he was no ordinary moujik was certain, for he spoke of life and people in Moscow, in Nijni, and even in Petersburg, his conversation showing a more intimate acquaintance than could be acquired by mere hearsay. Our way at first was through narrow lanes of dirty wooden houses, where the foetid odours of decaying refuse greeted our nostrils; then, leaving the town, we ascended through some cornfields until, suddenly descending again, we came to where the Niemen flowed onward between its sedgy banks, its placid bosom a sheet of silver beneath the light of the full moon.

Fully three miles we trudged along the post-road beside the river, passing a solitary little hamlet. Not a soul stirred, not a dog barked. The place seemed uninhabited. Now and then we passed a country cart driven by some sleepy peasant who had imbibed too freely of vodka, until we came to where a striped verst-post stood at the junction of another narrower highway.

“That’s the road to Jurburg, and to the frontier at Poswentg,” my companion remarked, in reply to my enquiry. “It’s too dangerous for us.”

“Why?”

“It swarms with frontier-guards,” he answered, with a low laugh. “We have no desire to encounter any of these gentlemen this evening, therefore we must presently take to the paths. See!” and he nodded upward to the sky, “The tail of the Great Bear points downwards. We shall have luck to-night.”

“Is this the route you take with the fugitives?” I asked, pausing to take breath, and gazing around upon the lovely scene, for here the moonlit river flowed among its osiers and rushes, across the great grass-covered steppe.

“Yes,” he answered. “This is the only portion of our journey where there are serious risks of detection, so let us hurry. On a bright night like this, a man can be seen a long way off. The guards are too fond of hiding along the banks, fearing that any German boats from Endruszen may creep up the river.”

I started forward again, and we both quickened our pace. I now saw from his demeanour that he feared an encounter, for at each unusual sound he paused, his hand uplifted in silence. At last, at a point where the stream made a sudden bend, we left the river road and plunged into a great marsh, where the reeds grew almost as high as ourselves, and where our feet ever and anon sank deep into chill, slimy mud. As soon as we had left the river, my strange guide became as jovial as before, and spoke entirely without restraint. Fear of detection no longer troubled him, for as we held on our way over the soft clay, the silence of the calm night was now and then broken by his coarse laughter. On that flat, marshy land, each step became hampered by huge cakes of yellow mud that clung to our boots, while often I sank with a splash ankle-deep in water, much to my companion’s amusement. Whistling softly to himself, he laughed at all misfortunes, assuring me that we should very soon find drier ground, and that before dawn I should meet Sonia Korolénko, who was awaiting me.

“She is your leader – eh?” I asked.

“Well, of course,” he answered, with a grim smile. In the moonlight he looked a shaggy, evil-faced ruffian, and more than once, when I remembered that I had upon me a good round sum in notes and gold, I regretted that I had trusted myself with him unarmed. “The police drove her from Vienna, from Paris, from London; so she has come to us.”

“And is yours a paying profession?” I asked interested.

“Generally,” he answered, with that frankness that characterised all his conversation. “You’d be surprised how many people seek our assistance. Some of our party are in St Petersburg, Moscow, and Warsaw, and make the contracts with the fugitives; then they hand them over to us, and we do the rest.”

“You guarantee to put them on German soil, or bring foreigners into Russia for a fixed sum?”

“Yes. You would open your eyes if you knew some of the people I’ve guided over this very path. Sometimes it is a Jew peasant who has no permit, and desires to emigrate to London, or to America; at others, an escaped prisoner, a murderer, or a revolutionist, who is being tracked down by the Security Section. We always know why they are leaving Russia, and make them pay accordingly. Not long ago I brought a young titled lady across here; accompanied her into Germany, and put her into the train for Berlin. We had a narrow shave of being captured, but she gave me a thousand roubles when we parted.”

“Why did she want to leave secretly?” I asked.

“She had poisoned her husband somewhere down in Minsk, and the police were in search of her,” he laughed. “Never a night passes, but one or other of us cross the frontier.”

“And you find it an adventurous game – eh?”

“Well, it is pleasant after ten years of Siberia,” he answered grimly. “I let loose the red rooster and burned down the barin’s house in a village in Tver. He well deserved it. I and two friends got away with his money and jewels to Moscow, but one night, a week later, I had an appointment to meet my companions opposite the fountain in the Lubyansky Square, and was arrested.”