Twenty minutes passed. He wrote two letters, then a short note. Having read them all carefully and satisfied himself that they were perfect, he got up.
Next, he went to the cupboard and took out the peasant’s clothes he had worn when working in the fields, together with a peasant’s hat that covered his red hair. Only when he was fully dressed in this did he bother to try the door. As he expected, it was locked. He went to the window and looked out. It opened wide enough to get his head and one arm out; if he wanted to leave that way, he would have to force the window out of its frame, and then take a fifteen-foot drop on to hard ground. As he looked round, however, it occurred to him that the window of Nicolai’s room was only the third along from his. He took a small coin out of his pocket and tossed it; then another. After the fourth coin had rattled against the glass, the tousled head of his friend appeared.
‘Hello, Nicolai,’ he called. ‘They’ve locked me in. You’d better let me out.’
At first, it seemed to Misha, it was clear what they should do. And so it would have remained, but for Boris.
It had only taken a few words, whispered by his son, to make the confused Timofei fully understand the danger Natalia was in from the leaflets; and once he understood, he was ready to do anything.
Certainly it was in all their interests that they should take care of the whole business themselves. ‘I don’t want him talking to outsiders, or even my own coachman,’ Misha frankly confessed, ‘because there’s no knowing what this accursed Popov might say about any of us.’ It was agreed, therefore, that before dawn the two Romanovs would come in their cart, collect the red-headed student, and take him all the way to Vladimir. ‘I’ve a stout club,’ Timofei remarked, ‘and we’ll strap him to the cart if necessary.’
‘When you get to Vladimir, you’re to put him on the Moscow train. And don’t go until you’ve watched it out of sight.’ This would complete Suvorin’s instructions and after that, Misha fervently hoped, he would never see the loathsome young man again.
At this point, it had occurred to Misha that perhaps he ought to lock Popov in his room. Fetching the key and going upstairs had taken several minutes. He was surprised, however, when he came down, to find both the Romanovs looking as if they had decided something separately between themselves.
It was Boris who took the lead.
He had a sharper mind than either of the older men. He had not given up hope of making some money from the landowner; and he also saw some real danger to all of them in the plan. His reasoning was simple. ‘After all, Mikhail Alexeevich, we’ve all seen what this fellow’s like. Even threatened with the law and Savva Suvorin, he refused to go. And if that’s so, then what’s the use of us putting him on a train to Moscow when he can just get off at the next station and be back here in a day or two?’
Misha couldn’t deny this. ‘But what can we do?’ he asked.
Boris paused, thoughtfully. ‘The fact is,’ he said coolly, ‘I’m worried about my sister, sir. She’s mixed up with this Grigory because she’s no dowry. And that’s because of my father’s debts.’ He looked at Bobrov politely but with meaning. ‘You’ve always been very good to our family, sir. You gave Natalia and me our education. Do you think you could see your way to helping us again?’
Misha frowned. ‘What did you have in mind?’
‘Maybe I could arrange for this Popov to make a long journey, so he’d be sure not to bother us again, sir.’
‘A long journey?’
‘Yes, sir. Very long.’
Misha felt himself tremble. The proposition was unthinkable. Yet – it was useless to deny it – he was tempted. At this moment there was nothing in the world he wanted more than to be rid, for ever, of Popov’s evil presence.
‘I could never countenance…’ he began.
‘Of course, sir, we’d just be doing what you said,’ Boris said calmly, ‘taking him to Vladimir.’ He looked at Misha carefully. ‘No one’s waiting for him, are they?’
‘No.’ There was a long pause. Then Misha shook his head. ‘Just put him on the train,’ he said. ‘Come back before dawn.’ And though Boris looked doubtful, he waved them away.
After they had gone, he sat in the salon for several minutes. Boris’s argument had worried him. It was perfectly true: there was nothing to stop Popov returning and no knowing what new troubles he might start for them if he did. And what of the young revolutionary? As far as Misha knew, no one was expecting him to turn up anywhere. The fellow was a wanderer. He might just go off into the country, of his own accord, for the rest of the summer. If he disappeared, it could be months before any enquiries were made about him. And by then…
He shook his head. It’s people like me, he reflected, decent people, who are always helpless when faced with vicious beasts like this Popov. In my place, I don’t suppose he’d hesitate for a second.
And it was just at this moment that Boris Romanov suddenly reappeared.
‘Popov’s gone, sir,’ he said. ‘He was seen going through the village towards Russka. What shall we do?’
Misha leaped up. ‘Impossible!’ He rushed upstairs, but unlocked the door to find the room empty. The devil! Suvorin had told him to keep Popov in the house. Now he’d probably gone to warn his associates or start some new trouble, and then what would Savva Suvorin do? Was there no limit to the danger this red-headed fiend could cause them? ‘You’ve got to stop him,’ he cried. ‘Quickly!’
But Boris did not move.
‘If we catch him today, he’ll be back tomorrow,’ he pointed out quietly. ‘What’s the point, Mikhail Alexeevich?’
‘Just stop him, for God’s sake,’ the landowner almost pleaded.
Still Boris did not move.
‘About my sister, sir,’ he said gently. ‘And my father.’
For a long moment both men were silent. Then at last, staring down at the floor, Bobrov murmured: ‘I’ll give your sister a dowry. As for your father – I’ll help. Will that do?’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you.’
‘And…’ Misha did not know how to go on.
‘Don’t worry, sir. We’ll take the young gentleman to Vladimir. You won’t be troubled with him any more.’ He turned to go, only pausing for a moment to remark: ‘He’ll be needing his luggage if he’s travelling. If you could pack his bags, sir, we’ll collect them before dawn.’
Then he was gone.
It was unfortunate that, though they hurried, the two Romanovs were just too late. By the time they came to the end of the wood opposite the monastery, Popov had vanished. The path leading across the fields and over the bridge into the town was empty.
‘God knows where he is,’ Timofei muttered. There was nothing to be done. But one thing was certain. ‘We’ll catch him on the way back,’ the peasant said.
Timofei had a club, Boris a knife. Their plan was easy enough. ‘When we’ve killed him,’ Boris had explained, ‘you hide with him in the woods while I go and bring his luggage in the cart. Then we just put him in the back, like he’s sleeping, and drive off towards Vladimir. Later we’ll bury him and his luggage somewhere.’ It should be straightforward. There was nothing but forest and a few hamlets on the way. ‘Plenty of room in which to bury him,’ Timofei remarked cheerfully.
The spot where they chose to wait was the little clearing by the old burial mounds, with its clear view to the monastery. Even if Popov chose to return after dark, they would be able to see him by starlight as he came along the path.
They settled down to wait.
Yevgeny Popov waited patiently by the old springs along the path to the skete. He had not wished to go into Russka by daylight, but fortunately he had met a boy by the monastery and given him a few kopeks to deliver the note. He had only waited an hour before the young man he had summoned came in sight.