Roger had guessed as much already from this secret visit of Natalia's to the Russian Embassy; and he smiled to himself at the thought that pure chance should disclose her intention to him before she had even had an opportunity to begin her nefarious operations. But from this comforting belief he was rudely awakened, for she went on quietly:
"I have already accomplished a coupof which I am not a little proud. Before leaving Sweden King Gustavus entrusted my husband with a letter to Mr. Pitt..."
Roger's heart missed a beat. In his mind he saw again Pitt looking at the cracked seal of the letter. If a copy of it fell into Vorontzoff's hands that would be a major calamity. If Natalia had one it was essential that he should see what happened to it, so that he could retrieve it at the earliest possible opportunity. Very gingerly he moved a few feet to the right until he was behind two of the curtains where they overlapped. Raising his hand he drew the under one gently aside until there was a chink between them through which he could see a narrow strip of the room.
Meanwhile Natalia was still speaking. "In it, the ambitious Swede gives details of the campaign he intends to wage against us this coming summer; he also makes various proposals by which the expansion of Russia might be checked. On our voyage here, one night when my husband was half-asleep, I succeeded in getting it from the pocket of his coat. I pretended a faintness from lack of air, and told him that I meant to walk for a while on deck; but I took the letter to another cabin and made a copy of it. I have it here, and to give it to your Excellency without delay was my reason for risking this visit to you so soon after my arrival. But now I must get back. I have already been away over long. To avert suspicion I had to support being driven for an hour round the parks before I dared propose to Lord Amesbury's coachman that he should drive me out here to see my country's Embassy."
As she finished speaking Roger had just managed to part the curtains. He could not see Natalia, but he was in time to see her hand stretch out and lay the packet on Vorontzoff's desk.
"You have done well, Madame," the Ambassador purred, as he picked it up. "But tell me, this husband of yours, Mr. Brook. Is he not a tall, slim young man of handsome countenance with brown hair and very deep blue eyes?"
"Why yes!" Natalia replied. "Does your Excellency then know him?"
Roger had adjusted the crack between the curtains a fraction, so that he could now see Vorontzoff. The Ambassador had slit open the cover of the packet and taken out the sheets of paper it contained. It was clear that next moment he would begin to read them. Roger had been praying that before he did so Natalia would go, as he would then be able to hold up the Russian, get the letter from him, and afterwards proceed to the original purpose of this clandestine visit. But his hopes were clearly doomed to disappointment. At all costs Vorontzoff must be prevented from reading even a part of King Gustavus's letter and, somehow, Natalia must be got out of the house before she had a chance to give any information about its contents.
"Aye," murmured the Ambassador. " 'Tis the same man without a doubt. I won three hundred guineas from him at cards, nigh on a year ago.
"Indeed you did; and I took your Excellency for a ride in a wheelbarrow," said Roger quietly, as he stepped from behind the curtains, pistol in hand.
"Rojé Christorovitch!" exclaimed Natalia, springing to her feet. "So you—you followed me here?"
"Nay, Madame," he replied coldly. "Our meeting is entirely fortuitous, but none the less fortunate."
Although he spoke to her his eyes were on Vorontzoff. Levelling his pistol at the Ambassador's heart, he said:
"Your Excellency will oblige me by laying those sheets of paper down on this side of your desk and stepping back four paces. They are an illegal copy of a secret document addressed to the British Prime Minister. It is my duty to prevent you from reading them. If you refuse I intend to shoot you and, despite your status as Ambassador, I shall be upheld by my Government in having taken the only course possible in the circumstances. I mean what I say, and I will give you only five seconds to decide."
As Roger began to count, Vorontzoff's brown face went whitish round the mouth and eyes. He had not forgotten their old quarrel and the ruthless way in which Roger had threatened him in the icehouse. He had not the faintest idea that for the next twenty-four hours Roger actually set more value on his life and well-being than on his own; and his guilty conscience caused him to believe that the young Englishman had found out about the part he had played in giving Sir Isaiah Etheredge pointers which would assist in Georgina's conviction, so meant to take this opportunity to kill him.
The Russian was no coward, but he thought he knew death when he saw it approaching. As Roger counted three he shrugged his broad shoulders, refolded the sheets of paper and, leaning forward, laid them down on the far side of his desk.
From that instant everything seemed to move with startling suddenness.
*****
Roger stepped forward to pick them up, but with a swish of her silken skirts, Natalia Andreovna ran in and snatched them from under his hand.
As he turned his pistol on her and demanded that she give them up, Vorontzoff grabbed a heavy paper-weight up from his desk and flung it at him;
The missile caught him on the ear, knocking him off his balance and half-stunning him for a moment. Before Vorontzoff could get round his desk to hurl himself on him, Roger had recovered sufficiently to jump back a pace and level the pistol at his head.
The Ambassador stopped dead in his tracks; but Natalia, the papers still clutched in her hand, was now running towards the door. Roger hesitated only an instant. He must catch her and get them back before she had a chance to secrete them somewhere about the house.
Thrusting Vorontzoff aside, he pelted after her, shouting: "Stop, damn you! Stop, or I'll shoot you." But she already had the door open and, ignoring his cries, dashed out into the hall.
The two footmen on duty were standing at its far end near the door of the vestibule. As she raced towards the stairs she screamed something at them in Russian. Instantly they sprang to life and ran at Roger.
Natalia was half-way up the semi-circular staircase when the three men met in a rush at the bottom. Roger had uncocked his pistol as he ran and, reversing it, now gripped it by the barrel like a club. His first blow with it caught one of the Russians on the side of the head and knocked him senseless. But the other grabbed him round the waist in a bear-like hug.
For a moment they swayed there, then Roger brought the metal-shod butt of his pistol down with all his force on the top of the man's white wig. With a groan he relaxed his hold and slid to the ground senseless.
Natalia was now up on the landing. Turning, Roger took the stairs three at a time in pursuit of her. Suddenly he heard Vorontzoff yelling in his rear: "Halt or I'll kill you! Stay where you are or you're a dead man!"
Roger had reached the curve of the stairs and had only to glance sideways to see the Ambassador ten feet below, now armed with a brace of pistols, both of which were pointing up at him. Ignoring the threat he leapt up another three stairs. There was a loud report and he was thrown sideways by a bullet smashing into the back of his left shoulder.
Swaying violently he mounted the last six stairs, just in time to see
Natalia dive through a doorway on the opposite side of the landing. The door slammed behind her, momentarily drowning the shouts of Vorontzoff and half a dozen servants who had come running into the hall at the sound of the pistol-shot.
Dashing across the landing, Roger flung himself against the door through which Natalia had disappeared. At the impact the wound he had received gave him a frightful twinge but the door yielded slightly, so he knew that she must be holding it shut by leaning against it. Stepping back a few paces he ran at it, bringing up his right foot so that it should strike the door flat, like a battering-ram.
The door gaped open eighteen inches and, thrown off her balance, Natalia fell to the floor on its far side with a scream. Before she could get to her feet, Roger h
ad forced his way through and grasped her by the wrist of the hand that held the papers.
Struggling up she clenched her other fist and hit him with it in the face with all her strength. The blow landed on his right eye. For a second he saw stars and whorls of red fire. As he staggered back she tore her wrist from his grip and ran across the room to the window.
With a shake of his head, Roger recovered from the blow and went after her. In the darkness he collided with the end post of a bed and half-stunned himself. The check gave Natalia time to open the window. Darting through it she ran out on to the balcony and began to shout: "Here! Here! Count Vorontzoff! I have the letter! I'll throw it to you!"
Vorontzoff was no longer in the room below, as she thought, but crossing the landing as fast as his legs would carry him, followed hot-foot by his servants. Roger sprang across to the window and out on to the balcony. At the sound of his trampling feet Natalia turned and faced him. In a last effort to prevent his snatching the letter she held it high above her head and leaned right back over the ornamental iron balcony railing.
Roger stretched out his hand to grab her, but it met empty air. To avoid his grasp she jerked violently backwards. The rusty iron railing gave way under the shock and she went hurtling head over heels down to the terrace.
For a second Roger swayed above the abyss, within an ace of pitching after her. No sooner had he regained his balance than he heard the sound of his pursuers crashing through the room behind him. Desperately he cast round for a way of escape. To his right he suddenly caught a faint glint of the first starlight on the big, shiny leaves of the magnolia tree.
To gain the few moments needed to scramble out on to it he had, somehow, to give a temporary check to the pursuit. Turning, he re-cocked his pistol and fired it blind through the open window into the darkness of the room. Then, thrusting the still-smoking weapon back into his pocket he knelt down, seized a stout branch of the magnolia and swung himself off the balcony.
The branch bent and nearly gave under his weight; but before it could snap he managed to get a hold on the thick, twisted trunk that was set firmly against the wall. Each time he had to take a part of his weight on his left shoulder it pained him so greatly that he felt as though his arm was being torn from its socket. Gritting his teeth against the pain he managed to slither down, hand over hand, to the terrace.
White-faced and trembling, he looked round for Natalia. After a second he saw her. She had fallen upon one of the stone seats and hung, face down, doubled up across its back.
Hurrying over to her, he lifted her up and supported her against the back of the seat. Every breath of wind had been driven out of her body. She could not speak but in the starlight her green eyes glared defiance and hatred at him. The copy of the letter was still clenched in her right hand. Between agonised gasps for breath she made a last feeble effort to prevent his getting it; but he tore it from her and pushed it into his pocket.
Suddenly, as he strove to keep her from slipping to the ground, she was sick and vomited all over his feet. By this time Vorontzoff and his men had come out on to the balcony, and were peering down over the broken ironwork to see what was going on in the semi-darkness below them. The Ambassador levelled his second pistol and pulled the trigger; there was a crash, a spurt of flame and the bullet whistled past Roger's head.
A moment later, above the cursing of the men up on the balcony, he caught the sound of hurried footsteps on the gravel some fifty paces to his right. He guessed at once that the shouting and the shooting had reached the ears of the outdoor servants and that they were running from the stables. In another minute his retreat would be cut off. If he was to save the letter he had not a second to lose.
As he straightened himself Natalia broke from his grasp, turned, spat in his face, and staggered away up the iron garden steps to the house. That she had survived her fall of fifteen feet on to a stone seat appeared a miracle, but as she had fallen on her stomach, it seemed that she had not sustained any permanent injury.
As she stumbled away from him, Roger swung round, jumped off the terrace and ran across the lawn. Shouts, curses and the sound of pounding feet followed him, but fear of capture lent speed to his long legs. Outpacing the stable-hands he reached the iron gate with a good lead, wrenched it open and staggered through the fringe of wood to the road. Flinging himself into the waiting carriage he shouted to Tomkins to drive like hell back to Bedford Square.
* * * * *
While the carriage bowled along Roger tried to examine his wound; but as it was at the back of his left shoulder it was almost impossible for him to do so. It was very painful and he thought that the bullet had smashed his shoulder blade. He had lost a lot of blood and felt faint and dizzy.
His physical distress was only dominated by his mental agitation. The all-important project which had inspired his clandestine visit to the Russian Embassy had, as yet, not even been broached. Natalia's unexpected appearance there had prevented him from saying a single. word to Vorontzoff about Georgina. Still worse, the ensuing fracas had now entirely shattered any prospect of a calm, straightforward conversation with the Russian, in which he might have been argued into assuming a share of the responsibility for Sir Humphrey Etheredge's death and coming to Georgina's rescue. And her only hope of escaping the rope lay in Vorontzoff being persuaded or forced into agreeing to do so before morning.
By the time the carriage had covered a mile Roger's brain had cleared a little, and he saw that the first thing he must do was to get his wound attended to; otherwise he would lose so much blood that he Would be rendered hors de combat, and incapable of making any eleventh hour effort at all on Georgina's behalf.
When, some seventeen months earlier, he had fought his duel with George Gunston in St. John's Wood, they had had their hurts attended to by a Doctor Dillon. He was an Irishman and a drunkard, but he was a clever surgeon and knew how to hold his tongue; which was important in such matters, as duelling was strictly illegal. Roger remembered that Dillon lived in a cottage just off the Edgware Road, so he told Tomkins to drive there.
He had been in the precincts of the Russian Embassy for little more than half-an-hour, so it was still only a few minutes past nine when the carriage drew up outside Dillon's cottage. To his intense annoyance the Doctor was out, but his wife said that he was only round at the local tavern, and she would go and fetch him.
Roger made himself as comfortable as he could in the parlour and waited there with such patience as he could muster for a quarter of an hour. Then Mrs. Dillon returned to say that her husband had gone off with two friends to have a night-cap in some other haunt; but she felt sure that he would be back in an hour or so, and, in the meantime, if Roger would let her, she would dress his wound herself.
She was a hard-faced looking woman, and Roger recalled having heard it said that before her marriage she had first been a nurse, then a midwife who at times resorted to certain dubious practices; but if that was so it detracted nothing from her possible competence, so he agreed to submit himself to her ministrations.
After cutting away his coat and shirt she examined the wound by the light of a candle and said that she did not think that the bone was broken, but the ball might have lodged beneath it. Then she bathed the ugly gash, dressed it, and revived him after the ordeal by giving him a cup of hot, strong tea well laced with gin.
Roger knew that if there was a bullet in the wound he ought to have it removed as soon as possible, otherwise complications might set in; so, anxious as he was to be on his way, he must stay where he was till the Doctor returned, as Dillon was the only surgeon he knew who would undertake such a job without asking awkward questions.
It was past eleven when the Irishman came in, and when he did he was three-parts drunk, but he set to work with cheerful unconcern on Roger. The probing for the bullet was excruciatingly painful, but it proved to be there, and, after Dillon had fished it out, the cauterizing of the wound was equally agonising. For over half-an-hour Roger groaned and
cursed while rivulets of sweat ran down his face, and several times he felt near to fainting. At last the gruelling business was over, his injured shoulder properly bandaged and his arm strapped firmly to his side; but, even then, the Doctor would not hear of his getting to his feet until he had had at least an hour to recover.
Having already been deprived of the opportunity of attempting anything further that evening, Roger did not feel that the loss of an extra hour round midnight would now make any material difference. While waiting for the doctor he had had ample time to review the situation, and he had come to the conclusion that it would be futile for him to try to see Vorontzoff again.
In the first place, after what had already occurred, the Ambassador would be extremely incensed against him and, in the second, he was now in no shape for further heroics. Therefore, he must get somebody else to go and talk to the Russian on the lines that he had meant to adopt himself; and the most suitable person for this delicate mission was clearly Droopy Ned.
Droopy had been at Stillwaters over the fatal weekend. He already knew most of the facts and could be told the rest, as he was entirely to be trusted. He was shrewd, diplomatic, and a person of sufficient prestige to secure an interview with Vorontzoff at any time, if he requested it on the plea of urgent business. The only possible alternative was Colonel Thursby, and Roger ruled him out as already so exhausted and overwrought by his daughter's impending fate, as temporarily to be lacking in the agility of mind and force of will necessary to bring Vorontzoff to heel.
Dr. Dillon insisted on seeing Roger home, so at one o'clock in the morning, they walked down the garden-path, got into the waiting carriage and told the patient Tomkins to drive to Arlington Street.
The moon was up, and five minutes later, as the carriage turned out of the Edgware Road into Oxford Street, they could see on the west side of the corner the three stout posts and their cross-beams that formed the gallows, standing out clearly against the night sky.
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