The Boy Nihilist | Page 6

over his shoulder, and saw them coming after in the shape of a howling mob, and he plunged onward at still greater speed, going he knew not where, nor caring either, so long as he got away, and could find direction to the American Minister's residence.
He asked several as he ran for direction, but no one seemed to understand his language, and the mob at his heels, augmented by the police and citizens, was growing larger and larger every moment.
But still he kept the lead, and paid no attention to several shots fired after him.
He was a stranger in the city, and not knowing which way to go, was finally captured, roughly taken in charge, and handcuffed.
In the meantime, Tobasco made his escape complete, but stopped to see the soldiers drag the young American back to the prison to which tyranny had consigned him.
The excitement among the populace ran high, and rumor had it that the authorities had captured an important Nihilist official; and this, of course, roused that numerous and much-dreaded body of secret destroyers to learn, if possible, through their agents, all the particulars of the case.
William Barnwell was thrown into a dark and loathsome dungeon, from whence the body of many a poor prisoner had been borne after death, produced by torture and starvation.
"Curses on my luck!" he muttered, after collecting his thoughts for a moment. "It must be that I have been betrayed by that Paul Zobriskie into the hands of the Russian authorities. But what could have been his motive, when I was an innocent stranger, and only did what I did to accommodate him? What will be the result if I cannot communicate with the American Minister? I am evidently taken for a Nihilist, and goodness only knows what the end of it all will be. Am I destined to die in this horrible place, without having a chance to communicate with my friends? The thought is dreadful! It must not, shall not be; but--stay. What has been the fate of other good men who have fallen into the hands of this despotic government? That fate may be mine, and I sent to Siberia without even a trial. Oh, the thought will drive me mad!" he cried, and bowed his head, as he sat there on the filthy straw of his unlighted dungeon.
CHAPTER III.
A FRIGHTENED AND ENRAGED RASCAL.
When Prince Mastowix returned to his room from ordering the guard to pursue and recapture William Barnwell, the first thing he did was to seek for the paper he had left upon his table when the alarm of escape rang out so startlingly in the courtyard, the very paper that the young American had placed in his hands only a few moments before, and which Tobasco, the secret spy of the government, had secured during the confusion incidental to Barnwell's escape, and in which he had acted a friendly part.
He started and looked wildly around. Then he felt in his pockets to see if he had not placed it there in his excitement. Then he looked hastily into several drawers where he possibly might have placed it in the moment of hurry, and even upon the floor, where it might have fallen.
But nowhere could he find it, and his excitement grew until it was almost uncontrollable.
Where was that fatal document?
Again and again he went through his pockets and drawers, but all to no purpose--the paper could not be found.
He struck a bell savagely, and a clerk came hastily from an inner room.
"Huon, has any person from your room been in here within the last few minutes?"
"No, Excellency, no one," replied the clerk.
"Are you certain of that?"
"I am, for I am seated by the door, and I never allow anyone to enter your Excellency's chamber unless you summon them."
"And have you seen any person here?"
"No one, Excellency."
"Will you swear to that, or shall I work the knout in order to bring out the truth?" demanded the prince.
"I swear it by my religion."
"Down on your knees and swear!" thundered the prince, and the trembling wretch obeyed like a true Russian slave.
"Return," added the tyrant, pointing the way, and the next instant he was alone.
"Perdition catch me, but this is dreadful. What can have become of that document?" he mused, as he threw himself into his chair. "Who could have taken it? I have only one person about me who can read English, and he is not here to-day," and again he began searching for the fatal paper.
All to no purpose, though, of course, and he finally convinced himself that it was neither in his office nor about his person.
"Curses on my luck, for if that correspondence is found out, it means death or Siberia to me. Could that American have regained it without my seeing him do it? Great