Rescuing the Czar | Page 4

of Bourbon. It is that mystic code which
binds Royalty together and is given only to those whom Royalty may
trust. That ancient code meant freedom if it reached the prisoners in
time! It rested with these silent men to pass the scrutiny of a million
eyes to liberate the victims from the fury of the mob.
Such a rescue, as time swept by, became nothing but a slender hope
with any of the women. They began to realize that their blood would
not very greatly shock the nerves of statesmen who had become
accustomed to the daily cataract that poured down upon the soil of
Europe. They felt abandoned by the diplomats. Their only friends were
busy in the red work of war. One chance alone remained. Soldiers
might be deceived by men disguised as comrades. The Secret Service
might overlook the hysterical entertainers who fluttered under the mask
of charitable workers and skipped across forbidden lines protected by a
Cross. This was the only possibility, this the phantom hope that stood
trembling on the brink of the prisoners' abysmal fear. Thus the sight of
a Red Cross driver or an English uniform in the midst of their disaster
became a welcome incident in the lives of these affronted women. The
appearance of either seemed to carry to the prisoners a spirit of
encouragement and reflect a ray of mercy into the dark corners of their
hearts. They indulged the hope that some of those foreign uniforms
might conceal trustworthy friends. And they recognized a basis for such
a hope in the mystifying movements of one of those uniforms that met
their notice day by day. It was near them at the palace when they were
thrown upon a maddened world. They saw it following onward as they
passed through pathless wilds. They could see it hovering near them on
that last historic night. They learned about its maneuvers in the
morning as it moved among the silent rooms of the pretty mansard
cottage that had witnessed their withdrawal from the vision of historical

events,--how it had paused to scan without emotion the small blood
stain on the floor--how an agitated censor informed the credulous that
the prisoners had been murdered in cold blood! Thus they learned that
the world had heard with skepticism that, so far as history and
international politicians were affected, their _seven lives had been,
technically, blotted out_! (See
Part II:
Petrograd--Tumen--Tobolsk.)
Possibly the Prisoners of Tobolsk may have been willing to suffer what
is termed a "technical death" in diplomatic circles in order to elude the
hungry bloodhounds of the Revolution. They may have welcomed the
many opportunities such an event would furnish to read their own
obituary in the letters and official documents which treated of their
tragic fate. Who knows? They certainly possessed a saving sense of
humor or they would never have left behind them at Ekaterinburg so
many little reminders of the tragic romance to which calm investigation
hereafter will give birth. For instance, there are a couple of diaries that
some men must have kept. Of their existence it seems certain that some
of the prisoners knew. Why and just how the hitherto profound State
secrets narrated in these diaries come now to light is suggested by a
simple little letter that raises the inquiry, "Did the Imperial Russian
family escape?"
The letter that started this investigation is little different from others
one receives from friends traveling in the Orient. By itself it does not
clearly identify the family it describes; but, when the scene it pictures is
coupled with the events narrated in the purloined diaries which the
hands of some invisible diplomats have left behind, the student of the
Russian Revolution will marvel at the skill with which some other
Royal hands untied the knot of Fate.

II

WHAT MAY BE READ BETWEEN THE LINES
There may be those in official circles who will suggest that a case of
mistaken identity is exhibited in the following quotation from the letter.
"It is in a sort of arboreal enclosure, with all sorts of flowers and
vigorous vegetation that characterizes this region," the letter reads.
"Behind the ivy-covered wall that extends around the gardens and shuts
out all intruders, I got a glimpse of that man through the heavy iron
gate. He was smooth-shaven, slightly drooped, sprinkled with gray and
with a scar upon his forehead near the roots of his hair--a little to one
side. He was twirling a pruning knife in his left hand and speaking in
English to a boy who scampered up to him ahead of four beautiful girls
and a very dignified woman moving leisurely over the lawn in the
direction of the gate.
"When the women reached the man's side they paused for a