To that criticism it is no part of my purpose to attempt any reply.
In the long run, I have found, men"s minds are not much affected by argument and advocacy. Facts tell their own story, and men"s judgments are usually the result of their personal prejudices.
For that reason I shall confine myself to relating facts. I have already told the story of my murder--for such it was in the intent--by Petrovitch. I shall now tell the story of the justice meted out by me on the a.s.sa.s.sin.
As soon as I was safely lodged in my house on the Alexander Quay, I despatched my a.s.sistant, a clever young Frenchman named Breuil, with a message to the promoter of the Manchurian Syndicate--the real moving spirit of that War clique in which even the bellicose grand dukes had only secondary parts.
The wording of the message had been carefully calculated to arouse curiosity, but not apprehension.
"The agent of a foreign Power," Breuil was instructed to say to this self-styled patriot, "with very large funds at his disposal, desires to see you in strict secrecy."
The bait took. Petrovitch, naturally concluding that he was to be offered a heavy bribe for some act of treachery to Russia, greedily accepted the invitation.
The infatuated man did not take even the ordinary precaution of asking for guarantees. He consented to accompany Breuil at once, merely asking how far he had to go. This recklessness was the result of his supposed triumphant crime. Believing that I was safely interred in the English cemetery, he thought there was no one left for him to fear.
On the way he did his best to extract some information out of my a.s.sistant. But Breuil returned the same answer to all his questions and hints:
"I am under orders not to converse with you, monsieur."
The doomed man was in good spirits as the droshky put him down at the door of my house.
"Decidedly an out-of-the-way retreat!" he commented gaily. "I should hardly be able to find my way here again without your a.s.sistance!"
The silent Breuil merely bowed, as he proceeded to open the street door with a latch key.
Perhaps Petrovitch had been a little more nervous than he allowed to appear. When he noticed that his escort simply closed the door on the latch, without locking or bolting it further, he said in a tone of relief:
"You are not much afraid of being visited by the police, I see."
Breuil, as silent as ever, led the way into a back parlor, overlooking the Neva, where I was waiting to receive my visitor.
The room was plainly furnished as a study, and I had placed myself in an arm-chair facing the window, so that my back was turned to the door as Petrovitch entered.
I pretended to be writing furiously, as a pretext for not turning my head till the visitor had seated himself.
Breuil said quietly, "M. Petrovitch is here," and went out of the room.
As the door closed I tossed away my pen and turned around, facing my a.s.sa.s.sin.
"I am pleased to see you, M. Petrovitch."
"Monsieur V----!"
I thought he would have lost his senses. His whole countenance changed. He clung to his chair, and his eyes were fixed on me with an expression of panic.
So complete was his collapse that he did not attempt to speak or excuse himself. I saw that he was hardly in a condition to listen to anything I had to say.
"I fear you are unwell, M. Petrovitch. Allow me to offer you a little brandy."
The wretched man watched me with bewildered looks, as I took a bottle and gla.s.ses from a cupboard and helped first him and then myself.
"It is quite wholesome, I a.s.sure you."
As I said the words I raised my own gla.s.s to my lips and sipped.
A choking cry escaped from the author of the war. He seized the gla.s.s I had set before him and feverishly drained it.
I saw that he was burning to know by what means I had escaped the fate prepared for me. But I had no object in gratifying his curiosity, and mere boasting is not a weakness of mine.
Steadfastly preserving the tone of a business interview between men who understand each other, I went on to say:
"I am here, as you know, in the joint interests of England and j.a.pan."
My murderer nodded faintly. I could see him making a tremendous effort to control his nerves, and enter into conversation with me on my own terms.
"I think I should be glad of a little more brandy. Thank you!--I am not at all myself."
I shook my head compa.s.sionately.
"You should be careful to avoid too much excitement," I said. "Any sudden shock is bad for a man with your nerves."
The promoter gasped. The situation was clearly beyond him.
"You," I went on in my most matter-of-fact tone, "on the contrary, are acting on behalf of Germany."
"Who says so!" He was beginning to speak fiercely; but his eye met mine, and the words died on his lips.
"We will say I dreamed it, if you like," I responded drily. "I have very remarkable dreams sometimes, and learn a great deal from them.
"To confine ourselves to business. I have caused the sailing of this Baltic Fleet to be put off, because----"
"You--have caused it!"
The interruption burst from him in spite of himself.
I affected to shrug my shoulders with a certain annoyance.
"Your opinion of my powers does not seem to be a very high one, unfortunately," I remarked with irony. "It would be better if you accepted me as a serious antagonist, believe me."
Petrovitch lowered his eyes in confusion, as he muttered,
"I apologize, Monsieur V----. I have blundered, as I now perceive."
"Let us resume. I was about to say that I had prevented the sailing of this fleet, because I feared that its voyage might be marked by some incident likely to bring Great Britain and Russia into collision."
The financier raised his head and watched me keenly.
"You, yourself, M. Petrovitch, have been active, I believe, in preparing the mind of the Czar and the Russian public for something of the sort. Doubtless you have not done so without very good grounds."