The Red Symbol

by John Ironside

  CHAPTER XXXI

  MISHKA TURNS UP

  "You must have found Cornish history very fascinating, Maurice," Marydeclared at breakfast-time next morning. "Jim says it was nearly twelvewhen you got back. You bad boy to keep such late hours, after you'vebeen so ill, too!"

  "I'm all right again now," I protested. "And the vicar certainly is avery interesting companion."

  There were a couple of letters, one from the _Courier_ office, andanother from Harding, Lord Southbourne's private secretary, and bothimportant in their way.

  Harding wrote that Southbourne would be in town at the end of the week,_en route_ for Scotland, and wished to see me if I were fit for service."A soft job this time, a trip to the States, so you'll be able tocombine business with pleasure."

  Under any other circumstances I could have done with a run home; buteven while I read the letter I decided that Southbourne would have toentrust the matter--whatever it might be--to some one else.

  I opened the second letter, a typed note, signed by Fenning the newseditor, enclosing one of the printed slips on which chance callers haveto write their name and business. I glanced at that first, and found itfilled in with an almost indecipherable scrawl. I made out the name andaddress right enough as "M. Pavloff, Charing Cross Hotel," and puzzledover a line in German, which I at length translated as "bearing amessage from Johann." Now who on earth were Pavloff and Johann?

  "Dear Wynn," the note ran:

  "One of your Russian friends called here to-night, and wanted your address, which of course was not given. I saw him--a big surly-looking man, who speaks German fairly well, but would not state his business--so I promised to send enclosed on to you.

  "Hope you're pulling round all right!

  "Yours sincerely, "WALTER FENNING."

  A big surly-looking man. Could it be Mishka? I scarcely dared hope itwas, remembering how and where I parted from him; but that underlined"Johann" might--must mean "Ivan," otherwise the Grand Duke Loris. Togive the German rendering of the name was just like Mishka, who was thevery embodiment of caution and taciturnity.

  "Well, I've got my marching orders," I announced. "I'll have to go backto London to-day, Mary, to meet Southbourne. Where's the time-table?"

  Mary objected, of course, on the score that I was not yet strong enoughfor work, and I reassured her.

  "Nonsense, dear; I'm all right, and I've been idle too long."

  "Idle! When you've turned out that Russian series."

  "A month ago, and I haven't done a stroke since."

  "But is this anything special?" she urged. "Lord Southbourne is notsending you abroad again,--to Russia?"

  "No fear of that, little woman; and if he did they would stop me at thefrontier, so don't worry. Harding mentioned the States in his note."

  "Oh, that would be lovely!" she assented, quite reassured. I wasthankful that she and Jim were settled down in this out-of-the-way placefor the next few weeks, any way. It would be easy to keep them inignorance of my movements, and, once away, they wouldn't expect to hearmuch of me. In my private capacity I was a proverbially remisscorrespondent.

  They both came with me the seven-mile drive to the station; and evenJim, to my relief, didn't seem to have the least suspicion that myhurried departure was occasioned by any other reason than that I hadgiven.

  Anne's name had never been mentioned between him and myself since myrelease. Perhaps he imagined I was forgetting her, though Mary knewbetter.

  I sent a wire from Exeter to "M. Pavloff," and when I arrived atWaterloo, about half-past ten at night, I drove straight to the CharingCross Hotel, secured a room there, and asked for Herr Pavloff.

  I was taken up to a private sitting-room, and there, right enough, wasMishka himself. In his way he was as remarkable a man as his master; asimperturbable, and as much at home in a London hotel, as in the cafenear the Ismailskaia Prospekt in Petersburg.

  He greeted me with a warmth that I felt to be flattering from one of histemperament. In many ways he was a typical Russian, almost servile, inhis surly fashion, towards those whom he conceived to be immeasurablyhis superiors in rank; more or less truculent towards every one else;and, as a rule, suspicious of every one, high or low, with whom he camein contact, save his master, and, I really believe, myself.

  At an early stage in our acquaintanceship he had abandoned the air ofsulky deference which he had shown when we first met on the carreturning to Dunaburg after the accident, and had treated me more orless _en camarade_, though in a kind of paternal manner; and yet I doubtif he was my senior in years. He was a man of considerable education,too, though he was usually careful to conceal the fact. To this day I donot know the exact position he held in his master's service. It mayperhaps be described as that of confidential henchman,--a mediaevaldefinition, but in Russia one is continually taken back to the MiddleAges. One thing, at least, was indubitable,--his utter devotion to hismaster.

  "So, the little man kept his word, and sent for you. That is well. Andyou have come promptly; that also is well. It is what you would do," hesaid, eying me quite affectionately. "We did not expect to meetagain,--and in England, _hein_?"

  "That we didn't!" I rejoined. "Say, Mishka, how did you get clear; andhow did you know where to find me?"

  "One thing at a time. First, I have brought you a letter. Read it."

  With exasperating deliberation he fetched out a bulky pocket-book, andextracted therefrom a packet, which proved to be a thick cream envelope,carefully protected from soilure by an outer wrapping of paper.

  Within was a letter written in French, and in a curiously fine, precisecaligraphy. It was dated August 10th, from the Castle of Zostrov, andit conveyed merely an invitation to visit the writer, and the assurancethat the bearer would give me all necessary information.

  "I can offer you very little in the way of entertainment, unless youhappen to be a sportsman, which I think is probable. There is game inabundance, from bear downwards," was the last sentence.

  It was a most discreet communication, signed merely with the initial"L."

  "Read it," I said, handing it to Mishka. He glanced through it, nodded,and handed it back. He knew its contents before, doubtless; but still Igathered that he could read French as well as German.

  "Well, are you coming?" he asked.

  "Why, certainly; but what about the information his Highness mentions?"

  He put up his hand with a swift, warning gesture, and glanced towardsthe door, muttering:

  "There is no need of names or titles."

  "Or of precautions here!" I rejoined impatiently. "Remember, we arein England, man!"

  "True, I forgot; but still, caution is always best. About thisinformation. What do you wish to know?"

  "Why, everything, man; everything! How did you escape? Whatis--he--doing at this place; have you news of _her_? That first,and above all!"

  "That I cannot give, for I have it not. I think he knows somewhat,and if that is so he himself will tell you. But I have heardnothing--nothing! For the rest, I crawled further into the forest, andlay quiet there. I heard enough through the night to know somewhat atleast that was befalling, but I kept still. What could I have done toaid? And later, I made my way to a place of safety; and thence, in duetime, to Zostrov, where I joined my master. It is one of his estates,and he is banished there, for how long? Who can say? Till those aboutthe Tzar alter their minds, or till he himself sees reason to goelsewhere! They dare do nothing more to him, openly, for he is a princeof the blood, when all is said, and the Tzar loves him; so does theTzarina (God guard her), though indeed that counts for little! It is notmuch, this banishment,--to him at least. It might have been worse. Andhe is content, for the present. He finds much work ready to his hand. Weget news, too; much more news than some imagine,--the censor among them.We heard of your deliverance almost as soon as it was accomplished, and,later, of your--what do you call it?"

  "Acquittal?" I suggested.
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br />   "That would be the word; you were proved innocent."

  "Not exactly; there was not sufficient evidence of my guilt and so I wasdischarged," I answered; and as I spoke I remembered that, even now, Iwas liable to be rearrested on that same charge, since I had not beentried and acquitted by a jury.

  "We know, of course," he continued, "that you did not murder that swineSelinski."

  "How do you know that?" I demanded.

  "That I may not tell you, but this I may: if you had been condemned,well--"

  He blew a big cloud of smoke from his cigar, a cloud that obscured hisface, and out of it he spoke enigmatically:

  "Rest assured you will never be hung for the murder of VladimirSelinski, although twenty English juries might pronounce you guilty!But enough of that. The question is will you return with me, or will younot? He has need of you; or thinks he has, which is the same thing; andI can smooth the way. There will be risks."

  "I know all about that," I interrupted impatiently. "And I shall go withyou, of course!"

  "Of course," he acquiesced phlegmatically. But, as he spoke, he held outhis big blunt hand; and I gripped it hard.