The Minister of Evil | Page 8

the identity of the
lady with the long veil, and have been here awaiting an opportunity to
fire at her!"
"What?" I gasped, aghast at the serious charge levelled against me. "I
am no revolutionist! I carry that weapon merely for my
self-protection."
The bearded man gave a low whistle, and next moment three
grey-coated policemen in uniform sprang up from nowhere, and I was
unceremoniously marched through the streets to the head police bureau
in the Gostiny Dvor, well knowing the seriousness of the allegation
against me.
Two hours later I was taken to the dark-panelled room of the Chief of
Police, a bald-headed, flabby-faced functionary in a dark blue uniform
glittering with decorations. Before his big table, standing between two
policemen, I answered question after question he put to me, my replies
being carefully noted by a clerk who sat at a side table. In the room
were also the two officers of the Okhrana who had travelled, unknown
to the Empress, in order to keep Her Majesty beneath their surveillance.
"Why did you arrive at the Frantsiya and await the coming of the two
ladies?" snapped the Chief of Police in his peculiarly offensive manner.
I was at loss what to say. I was unable to tell the truth lest I should
betray the plot of Boris Stürmer and General Kouropatkine. I

recollected my friendship with the hotel clerk, and my eagerness for the
arrival of the travellers.
"Ah! You hesitate!" said the all-powerful functionary with a sinister
grin, and knowing what I did of the political police and their arbitrary
measures towards those suspected, I realised that I was in very grave
danger.
"You had secret knowledge of Her Majesty's journey incognita, or you
would not have been watching in the church with a loaded revolver in
your pocket," he went on. "Your Brothers of Freedom, as you term
them, never lack knowledge of Their Majesties' movements," my
inquisitor said.
"I deny, your Excellency, that I was there with any evil intent," I
protested. "Such a thing as you suggest never for a second entered my
mind."
The man in the brilliant uniform laughed, saying:
"I have heard that same declaration before. It is a clever plot, no doubt,
but fortunately you were watched, and the knowledge that you were
being watched prevented you from putting your plans into execution.
Come--confess!"
"I had no idea that I was being watched until I was arrested," I
declared.
"But you cannot explain the reason why you travelled from Petrograd
to Kazan. Let us hear your excuse," he said with increased sarcasm.
"I have no excuse," was my very lame reply. I was wondering what had
become of the Starets. It was quite evident that they knew nothing of
my double journey up to the monastery, and further, there was no
suspicion against Rasputin. That being so I hesitated to explain the
truth, in the faint hope that Kouropatkine, as Minister of War, would
hear of my arrest, and contrive to obtain my release. I saw that, at least,
I ought to remain loyal to those who employed me, and further, even if

I told the truth it would not be believed.
"It will be best to make some inquiries in Petrograd regarding this
individual," suggested the police agent who had arrested me.
"I really don't think that is necessary," replied the Chief of Police of
Kazan, tapping his desk impatiently with his pen, as he turned to me
and said:
"Now, tell me quickly, young man. Why are you here?"
What could I reply?
"Ah!" he said, smiling. "I see that there are others whom you refuse to
implicate. It is useless to send such people as you for trial."
"But I demand a fair trial!" I cried in desperation, a cold sweat breaking
out on my brow, because I knew that he had power to pass sentence
upon me as a political suspect who refused information--and that his
order would certainly be confirmed by the Minister of the Interior.
Too well did I know the drastic powers of the Chiefs of Police of the
principal cities.
At my demand the bald-headed man simply smiled, and replied:
"My order is that you be conveyed to Schlüsselburg. You will there
have plenty of leisure in which to repent not having replied to my
questions."
To Schlüsselburg! My heart fell within me. Once within that dreaded
fortress, the terrible oubliettes of which are below the surface of the
Lake Ladoga, my identity would be lost and I should be quickly
forgotten. From Schlüsselburg no prisoner ever returned!
Would any of the conspiring trio, whose tool I had been, raise a finger
to save me? Or would they consider that having served their purpose it
would be to their advantage if my lips