On the 15th of June, intelligence came in that King Gustavus was expected back in his capital on the 18th, and Count Razumof sky announced his intention of calling him to account. The Ambassador was still fully persuaded that the King positively dared not go to war with Russia, and was convinced that his military preparations were designed, not with a view to active operations, but as a threat intended to force Russia to withdraw troops from the Crimea in order to reinforce her northern frontier.
As that frontier had been almost entirely denuded of its garrisons for the war against the Turks, it was of the first importance that Russia should know if Gustavus was about to launch a colossal bluff or a real attack, and Razumof sky meant to force him to declare himself.
On learning that matters had reached such a critical stage Roger thought that the time had come to make his first report to Mr. Pitt. Much of the knowledge he had gained while in the Scandinavian capitals could be of no interest to the Prime Minister, since the personal intrigues of the royal families of Denmark and Sweden must be known in Whitehall already; but if he could get to England an account of the present crisis and, above all, the result of Count Razumofsky's coming interview with King Gustavus, before it reached there through any other source, he felt that he would have earned his keep.
Since the post of British Minister in Stockholm was vacant there seemed an excellent chance of being first with the news, and his only problem was how to send it. Inquiries at the port disclosed that there was no ship sailing for England until the 26th, but there was a British ship outward bound for Copenhagen on the 20th, so he decided to send his letter by it to Hugh Elliot, who would ensure it being forwarded to London by the quickest available means.
In consequence he devoted a good part of that evening to writing at considerable length to Elliot, regarding Gustavus's military preparations, the machinations of the Finnish nobility, and Count Razumofsky's view that the King did not really mean to fight. He then hid the letter in a jack boot at the bottom of his trunk, intending to add a postscript at the last moment immediately he had learned the outcome of Razumofsky's demarche on the 18th.
He had scarcely relocked his trunk when a note was brought up to him which proved to be from the Marquise de Pons. In it she said that Sunday the 17th was her birthday, and that Monsieur le Marquis had to be present as the guest of honour at the annual dinner of the French Literary Society in Gothenborg, so she was inviting a few young people to a small, intimate party starting at eight o'clock. She hoped that she might count on Roger to make one of their number.
As he had kept on excellent terms with Angelique de Pons he at once accepted the invitation, and thought no more of it; but he had not been at the French Embassy on the Sunday evening for long before he realised that the party might have unforeseen and unfortunate repercussions.
It consisted only of the Marquise, three other young married women, himself and three other young men. All Angelique's friends were French, and the idea seemed to be that for her birthday celebration they should forget that they were exiles in a land where early hours were the rule and consider themselves as back in France with youth at the-prow and pleasure at the helm.
Roger knew at once that meant supper at midnight and carriages at three in the morning, and he was considerably perturbed at the idea that he would not be able to keep his usual rendezvous with Natalia Andreovna. In such a carefully chosen little company it would be out of the question for him to excuse himself at eleven-thirty, short of feigning illness and that, as it would spoil Angelique's party, he felt most disinclined to do. However, as his welcoming dim light had been in evidence on both the last two nights he thought that the odds were all against it being there a third night in succession; so he decided to take a chance on that, and gave himself up to enjoyment.
They played King Louis XVI's favourite game of blindman's-buff, dumb-crambo, forfeits, and at all sorts of other simple, laughter-raising pastimes which had become the mode at the Court of France when Marie Antoinette had arrived there as a very young Princess, and had remained fashionable ever since. The chef surpassed himself in the collation served for his mistress's birthday-supper, the wines were from the finest vineyards of Vouvray, Champagne, Burgundy and Sauterne, and the kisses, taken as forfeits behind a screen after midnight, had enough spice in them for all the women to feel that they had been deliciously wicked, but not enough so to cause later regrets. Roger got to bed at four in the morning having enjoyed every moment of it, and without giving another thought to Natalia.
Six hours later he called at the Russian Embassy to take her out riding. She was in excellent spirits and made no mention at all of the previous night, so he was much relieved to think that his assumption that she would go to bed early had been right, and that she had no suspicion of his having failed to keep his rendezvous. As he always entertained her with an account of his doings he told her that he had been out to the French Embassy to Madame de Pons' birthday party, but he said nothing of its intimate nature, of the Marquis's absence or of his own belated return to his inn.
Her only comment was that she supposed that Madame de Pons had given herself out to be twenty-five, but she must be twenty-eight if she was a day; which made Roger laugh inwardly, as he knew Angelique to be thirty-one; but he would not have dreamed of giving his friend away and simply replied that her age had not been mentioned.
At midnight he was at his usual post outside the postern door. The dim light of welcome was showing, so in he went, and up the iron-trellis work to his twelfth clandestine meeting with Natalia. It was three weeks exactly since he had first tiptoed into her room yet neither had reason to complain of any falling off in the other's ardour. But it was nearing the longest day of the year, and the dawn came very early now, so at half-past three he kissed her farewell and climbed over her balcony down into the garden.
The place was as utterly still as usual and for a moment he stood" there drawing the cool night air deep into his lungs, while admiring a clear half-moon that was now low on the horizon; then he opened the postern door, stepped out into the street and put his hand in his pocket for the key to lock it.
Suddenly a group of figures detached themselves from the deep shadow cast by the wall and ran at him. In a second he saw that he was opposed to four ragged ruffians armed with cudgels and a tall, masked man who wore a sword. Blessing the habit he had fallen into of carrying his cutlass on these midnight expeditions he sprang back and drew it.
The tall man was urging the others on. His figure and voice gave away the fact that he was Count Erik Yagerhorn. Roger knew then that this was no chance hold-up by a gang of robbers who would let him go if he gave up his purse. He had been ambushed by an enemy who meant him grievous injury; and five to one were too heavy odds for him to have much prospect of fighting his way out of the ring that had so swiftly formed about him. His only chance of escape lay in using all his wits without an instant's delay.
As he side-stepped his nearest attacker the thought came to him that if he could get back through the postern Natalia would rouse the Embassy servants to come to his assistance. He could say that he had been attacked in the street, and finding the door open, had taken refuge there. She would know that he was clever enough to think of some such excuse to save her from being compromised. But on his dodging the first rush one of the rogues had slipped behind him, and now stood between him and the door. Ducking one blow he parried another; then ran at the man who barred his path to the postern and the safety that he hoped lay behind it.
On running forward his glance was caught for a second by something white ten feet above the wall. It was the moonlight glinting on a pale face. Up on the balcony, wrapped in a dark cloak and leaning forward in an intent attitude, silently watching the fracas below, stood Natalia Andreovna.
Instantly it flashed into Roger's mind that she must, after all, have known that he had failed to keep his rendezvous the previous night, and had assumed that his failure to do so meant that he had been unfaithful
to her. In the same second he realised that Count Yagerhorn would never have dared to ambush him beneath her window without her consent. She must have deliberately invited the Finn to take his revenge.
Roger's cutlass bit into the shoulder of the man in front of the door. He let out a yell of pain. Like a distorted echo there came from the balcony above a low laugh.
Filled with rage and revulsion Roger realised that the beautiful green-eyed Russian was thinking of herself as a Roman Empress who, believing that her lover had deceived her, had had him thrown to the lions and was now deriving a vicious excitement from the prospect of seeing him torn to pieces.
Three of the men closed in on him. Grimly he realised now, that there was no escape. Striking out right and left he began to fight for his life.
CHAPTER XI
THE INEXPERIENCED SPY
ROGER had never before used a cutlass in earnest, and at the many fencing-schools he had attended he had always disdained the sabre; but he found that in his present emergency the short, thick-bladed weapon was likely to serve him better than a sword. Had it been a case of steel to steel he would have chosen a rapier every time, but a blow from a heavy cudgel might easily snap a thin blade; moreover, if driven home by a thrust of any force into the muscle of an antagonist it was liable to become gripped there and prove difficult to pull out.
As he recovered from the stroke with which he had wounded the man in front of the door, a big fellow in a leather jerkin made a swing at his head. He ducked, and struck sideways at the man's body. The blow was a glancing one, and the leather turned it, but the man backed away with a grunt.
Swivelling round, Roger was only just in time to parry a swipe from a thick-set ruffian, and using the agility which was one of his principal assets in a fight, landed him a sharp lack on the knee. But he was too late to avoid the fourth man's cudgel. It descended with a dull thud on the back of his left shoulder-blade, knocking him forward, so that he stumbled and nearly fell.
His sudden lurch saved him from the big fellow's second stroke. It missed his head by a bare inch, cleaving the empty air behind him. Regaining his balance he struck upward at the tall man's chin. The blade cut into it, crunching on the jaw bone. With a moan the man dropped his cudgel and staggered back, his hands pressed to his bleeding face.
For a moment Roger thought that his prospects looked a little brighter. He had put two of his five attackers out of the game, temporarily at least. If only he could deal equally effectively with their leader the others might lose heart and take to their heels. But Count Yagerhorn was behaving warily, and stood well out of reach behind his men.
It seemed, too, that the Count was still quite confident of the outcome of the affair. He had not even bothered to draw his sword, and was standing there smacking his boot impatiently with a riding-crop from the end of which snaked a long lash.
As Roger glimpsed it his gorge almost choked him with rage. Evidently Natalia Andreovna had ordered him a whipping. The gutter-carls had been hired to disarm and overcome him, then the Finn meant to give him a thrashing in front of her; Rage, disgust and hatred seethed in Roger's brain, but the desire to be revenged only flickered in and out of it; he was far too hard-pressed to give more than an instant's thought to anything other than avoiding and dealing blows.
The man who had struck him on the back and the thickset ruffian rushed at him simultaneously. The first, a thin, lanky fellow, was coming in on his right. Roger sliced at his long arm as it came down, hoping to sever it at the wrist; but the other man got in first. His cudgel took Roger on the upper part of the left arm. The pain was so intense that for a moment he thought it had been broken. The blow swung him half round and his cutlass, instead of meeting flesh, buried itself in the lanky man's cudgel.
For a moment the two of them swayed violently back and forth in a nightmare tug-of-war, as each tried to wrench free his weapon. The thickset man brought down his cudgel again, but Roger dodged the blow and kicked him in the stomach. With a gasp of agony he fell backwards, doubled up and rolled in the gutter. But, as Roger delivered the kick, his other antagonist jerked him sideways. In his endeavour to keep a hold on his cutlass he lost his balance and pitched forward on to his knees. Cutlass and cudgel were still locked together. The lanky rough pulled with all his weight on the latter, dragging Roger a few yards along the roadway.
Suddenly Count Yagerhorn came into action. His whip hissed through the air, striking Roger full across the shoulders and curling round his body. With a cry of pain he let go the hilt of his cutlass. Throwing up his arms to protect his head he attempted to stagger to his feet. But the man in the doorway, who had been crouching there staunching the blood from the wound in his shoulder, now ran forward and kicked him in the ribs. The kick sent him sprawling on his hands and knees. The Count's lash bit deep into his flesh a second time.
Except for the swift shuffling of feet and an occasional curse or cry of pain, the fight was being waged with silent ferocity. Beyond the little circle of swaying, lunging figures the stillness of the pre-dawn hour had, up to that moment, remained unbroken, but now the ring of horses' hoofs came with sudden clearness on the crisp, cool air.
Instantly Roger began to shout for help. During the past two months the use of French had become so habitual to him that he instinctively used that language, calling out at the top of his voice: "A' moi! A' moi!"
The hoof-beats grew rapidly louder, and by the direction from which they came he knew that a coach must be driving along the main road, past the front of the Russian Embassy, only fifty yards away.
Lurching to his feet he began to run towards it, .redoubling his cries as he went. Count Yagerhorn lashed him again; the lanky man kicked him on the thigh; but he staggered on yelling with all the power of his lungs.
In the moonlight he could now see the leaders of the team that drew the coach. To his infinite relief they swerved round the corner into the bylane, drawing the vehicle swiftly towards him. But the Count and his bullies were determined that their prey should not escape. The Finn was only two yards behind him and striking at him again and again as he ran. Heavy footfalls told that at least two of the others had recovered sufficiently from their .hurts to assist in the pursuit.
The champing horses of the coach team were reined in to a halt. It had hardly stopped before a thin man of medium height jumped from it into the roadway.
At that second the thick-set man threw his cudgel. It struck Roger a violent blow on the back of the head. Pitching forward he fell at the feet of the newcomer. Aching in every limb, dazed and exhausted he was conscious for a moment that, in a high-pitched voice, the man from the coach was shouting short, imperative phrases in Swedish, and that Yagerhorn and his roughs had halted, turned, and were fleeing; then he fainted.
When he came to, he found himself being lifted from the coach. Supported by two men he was half-pulled, half-carried through the doorway of a house and up several flights of steep stairs. The effort to help rather than hinder his progress proved too much for him, and, as they reached an attic-room at the top of the house, he lost consciousness again.
On his regaining his senses for the second time, he saw that he was now in bed in the attic-room and that a middle-aged man with thick fair hair cut en brosse, who wore a severe dark cloth suit but did not look like a servant, was bending over him. His hurts had had salves put on them and been bandaged while he was unconscious. They smarted considerably less than they had when he had been helped upstairs, but his head was aching vilely.
On seeing his eyes open the soberly-clad man asked in French: "How feel you now?"
"Better, I thank you; but for my head," Roger replied with an effort. "Pardon me if I fail to recognise you; but surely 'twas not you who rescued me from that crew of villains?"
"Nay, it was my master," came the quick answer, "and he has charged me to care for you. But, tell me, Monsieur; what is your name and where is your abode? I ask that I may send to let your friends know that you are here, lest they
be anxious for you."
Roger smiled gratefully up into the aesthetic face of his questioner. "I am fortunate in having quite a number of friends in Stockholm; but none who would be concerned for me at the moment. I am the Chevalier de Breuc, a visitor to Sweden, and for the past five weeks have been lying at the Vasa Inn."
The man's eyes narrowed slightly, then he nodded. "In that case no such measures as I had envisaged are required. But 'tis dawn already, and you had best sleep for a few hours."
Not only had Roger been up all night, but his beating had taken a good deal out of him; so, within a few minutes of the man having left him, he fell into a deep sleep from which he did not wake until well on in the afternoon.
His left arm and shoulder-blade pained him sharply as he moved and his head was still aching dully. Cautiously, he lifted his arm and felt it all over; to his relief no bones seemed to be broken. He noticed that his clothes had been brushed and lay neatly folded on a nearby chair, but he felt no inclination to get up and was quite content to lie there dozing for another hour or so; until the door opened softly and his dark-clad host came in carrying a tray of food for him.
Roger expressed his thanks, then added: "I have no wish to trespass on your kindness unduly, Monsieur, and I find myself now sufficiently recovered to get up; so when I have eaten I will dress and return to my inn."
The other shook his fair, close-cropped head. "It is better that you should bide here for the night. I am sure, too, that my master will wish to see you before you leave, and 'tis unlikely that he will come in until midnight. If you feel well enough to dress then, so much the better, as he would be able to talk to you in greater comfort downstairs."
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