The Red Symbol

by John Ironside

  CHAPTER XXII

  THE PRISON HOUSE

  "There was a woman," I confessed. "And that's how I came to be chippedabout. They were going to murder her."

  "To murder her!" he exclaimed. "Why, she's one of them; the cleverestand most dangerous of the lot! Said to be a wonderfully pretty girl,too. Did you see her?"

  "Only for a moment; there wasn't much light. From what I could make outthey accused her of treachery, and led her in; she stood with her backagainst the wall,--she looked quite a girl, with reddish hair. Then therow began. There were only two or three took her part, and I joined in;one can't stand by and see a helpless girl shot or stabbed by a lot ofcowardly brutes."

  I had found an air of apparent candor serve me before, and guessed itmight do so again.

  "Well, what then?"

  "That's all I remember clearly; we had a lively time for a few minutes,and then some one shouted that the soldiers were coming; and the next Iknew I was sitting on the floor, wondering what had happened. I'd beenthere quite a while when you found me."

  "It is marvellous how she always escapes," he said, more to himself thanto me. "Still, we've got a good haul this time. Now, how did you gethere? Some one must have told you, guided you?"

  "That I can't tell you."

  "You mean you won't?"

  "Well, put it that way if you like."

  "Don't be a fool, Wynn; I am asking you for your own sake. If you don'ttell me, you'll be made to tell later. You haven't the least idea whatyou've let yourself in for, man! Come, did not Count Solovieff--you knowwell who I mean--bring you here?"

  "No. I came alone."

  "At least he knew you were coming?"

  "He may have done. I can't say."

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  "Have it your own way. You will regret your obstinacy later; remember, Ihave warned you."

  "Thanks,--it's good of you, Mirakoff; but I've told you all I mean totell any one."

  He paused, biting his mustache, and frowning down at me.

  "Fetch more water," he said abruptly to the soldier, who had heard allthat passed, and might or might not understand; the Russians are apolyglot people.

  "I have done what I could," Mirakoff continued hurriedly in the briefinterval while we were alone. "You had two passports. I took the falseone,--it is yonder; they will think it belongs to one of the dead men.Your own is still in your pocket; the police will take it when you getto prison; at least it will show your identity, and may make thingseasier."

  "Thanks, again," I said earnestly. "And if you could contrive to sendword to the American or English Embassy, or both."

  "I'll see what I can do. Give him the water," he added, as the soldieragain returned.

  He watched as I drank, then turned on his heel and left me, withoutanother word. He had, as I knew, already compromised his dignitysufficiently by conversing with me at all.

  But he had cheered me immensely. I was sure now that those three--Anne,her father, and Loris--had got clear away, doubtless to the house Mishkahad mentioned, where horses would be waiting for them; and by this timethey might be far from the danger zone. Therefore I felt able to facewhat lay in store for myself, however bad it might be. It was badenough, even at the beginning; though, as Mirakoff had said, it wouldhave been worse but for his intervention. A few minutes after he leftme, I was hoisted into a kind of improvised carrying chair, borne by acouple of big soldiers, who went along the narrow track at a jog-trot,and amused themselves by bumping me against every tree trunk that wasconveniently near. They had been ordered to carry me, and they did so;but I think I'd have suffered less if I had marched with the others,even counting in the bayonet prods!

  We reached the road at last, where horses were waiting, and a wagon,containing several wounded prisoners. I was thrown in on top of them,and we started off at a lumbering gallop, the guard of soldiersincreasing in numbers as those who had followed on foot through the woodmounted and overtook us. I saw Mirakoff pass and ride on ahead; he didnot even glance in my direction. More than once we had to stop to pickup a dead or dying man, one of the batch of prisoners who had beenforced to "run by the stirrup," with their hands tied behind them, and astrap passed round their waist, attaching them to the stirrup of thehorse, which its rider urges to full speed,--that is part of the fun. Itis a very active man who can maintain the pace, though it is marvellouswhat some can accomplish under the sharp incentives of fear and pain. Hewho stumbles is jerked loose and left by the wayside where he fell; aswere those whom we found, and who were tossed into the wagon with asmuch unconcern as scavengers toss refuse into their carts.

  It was during one of these brief halts I saw something that discountedthe tidings I had heard from Mirakoff.

  I was the least hurt of any of the wretched occupants of the wagon, andI had managed to drag myself to the far end and to sit there, in theoff-side corner, my knees hunched up to my chin. My arms were helpless,so I could do nothing to assist my unfortunate companions, and couldonly crouch there, with my teeth set, enduring the pain that racked me,with as much fortitude as I could muster.

  There was a clatter and jingle on the road behind us, and an instantlater a droshky passed, at a comparatively slow pace,--the one horseseemed almost spent,--preceded and followed by a small escort ofcavalry.

  For the moment I forgot the torture I was enduring, as I recognized,with dismay, the Grand Duke Loris as one of the two occupants of thelittle carriage,--a bizarre, disreputable-looking figure, for he stillwore the filthy clothes and the dirty face of "Ivan," the droshky man,though the false beard and wig were gone. Yet, in spite of his attireand the remains of his disguise, he looked every inch a prince. His blueeyes were wide and serene, and he held a cigarette between two begrimedfingers. Beside him was a spick and span officer, sitting well back inhis corner and looking distinctly uncomfortable; while the easy grace ofthe Duke's attitude would have suited a state-carriage rather than thisshabby little vehicle; though it suited that, too.

  He glanced at the cart, and our eyes met. I saw a flash of recognitionin his, but next instant the droshky, with its escort, had passed, andwe were lumbering on again.

  He also was a prisoner, then! But what of Anne and her father? Had theyescaped? Surely, if they had been taken, he would not have sat theresmoking so unconcernedly! But who could tell? I, at least, knew him fora consummate actor.

  Well, conjecture was futile; and I was soon in a state of fever,consequent on pain and loss of blood, that rendered conjecture, orcoherent thought of any kind impossible.

  I don't even recollect arriving at the prison,--that same grim fortressof Peter and Paul which I had mused on as I looked at it across theriver such a short time back, reckoned by hours, an eternity reckoned bysensations! What followed was like a ghastly nightmare; worse, for itwas one from which there was no awaking, no escape. Often even now Istart awake, in a sweat of fear, having dreamed that I was back again inthat inferno, racked with agony, faint with hunger, parched with thirst.For the Russian Government allows its political prisoners twelve ouncesof black bread a day, and there's never enough water to slake theburning thirst of the victims, or there wasn't in those awful summerdays, which, I have been told, are yet a degree more endurable than theiron cold of winter.

  Small wonder that of the hundreds of thousands of prisoners who areflung into Russian jails only a small percentage are ever brought totrial, and executed or deported to Siberia. The great majority are neverheard of again; they are dead to the outside world when the great gatesclang behind them, and soon they perish from pain and hunger andprivation. It is well for them if they are delicate folk, whose miseryis quickly ended; it is the strong who suffer most in the instinctivestruggle for life.

  Whether I was ever interrogated I don't know to this day, nor exactlyhow long I was in the horrible place; I guess it was about a fortnight,but it was a considerable time, even after I left it, before I was ableeven to attempt to piece things out in my mind.

  I was lying on my b
unk,--barely conscious, though no longerdelirious,--when one of the armed warders came and shook me by theshoulder, roughly bidding me get up and follow him. I tried to obey, butI was as weak as a rat, and he just put his arm round me and hauled mealong, easily enough, for he was a muscular giant, and I was somethinglike a skeleton.

  I didn't feel the faintest interest in his proceedings, for I was almostpast taking interest in anything; but I remembered later that we wentalong some flagged passages, and up stone stairs, passing more than onelot of sentries. He hustled me into a room and planked me down on abench with my back to the wall, where I sat, blinking stupidly for aminute. Then, with an effort, I pulled myself together a bit, and wasable to see that there were several men in the room, two of them inplain clothes, and the face of one of them seemed vaguely familiar.

  "Is this your man, Monsieur?" I heard one of the Russians say; and theman at whom I was staring answered gravely: "I don't know; if he is, youhave managed to alter him almost out of knowledge."

  I knew by his accent that he was an Englishman, and a moment later Iknew who he was, as he came close up to me and said sharply: "MauriceWynn?"

  "Yes, I'm Wynn," I managed to say. "How are you, Inspector Freeman?"

  Somehow at the moment it did not seem in the least wonderful that heshould be here in Petersburg, and in search of me. I didn't even feelastonished at his next words.

  "Maurice Wynn, I have a warrant for your arrest on the charge ofmurdering Vladimir Selinski,--alias Cassavetti."