At his entrance they all jumped to their feet. The tallest of the three stepped forward, gave a curt bow and said in German: "You are the Chevalier de Breuc are you not? Since you left all your money here we were in hopes that you might return for it before attempting to leave the country, and our patience is well rewarded."
Roger returned the bow politely. "I had no intention of leaving the country, Sir. I have been absent on a fishing-expedition for the past few days; but this being my lodging I naturally intended to return to it. May I inquire the reason for your desiring to see me?"
The officer coughed, brushed up his flowing moustache and said firmly: "It is my duty to arrest you, Chevalier, for the murder of Count Erik Yagerhorn."
CHAPTER XVII
PENALTY FOR MURDER
"MURDER!" gasped Roger, his blue eyes opening wide with shock and sudden apprehension. "Is the Count then dead? I left him.."
He broke off half-way through his sentence from a swift realisation that, for the moment, the less he said the better. He had already committed himself to one lie, by saying that he had been on a fishing-expedition, and if found out in that it might throw discredit on all else he said. What had gone wrong in his absence he could not even remotely guess; but it was clear that some fatal accident had now placed his own life in the direst peril.
The officer relieved him of his sword; one of the men left the room for a few minutes, and on his return, Roger was taken downstairs. Outside in the street there now stood a plain carriage with iron shutters instead of windows. They all got in and drove off.
Suddenly Roger's benumbed wits began to work again and he had an inspiration. His companions were not police-officers at all but men hired and disguised in police uniforms by Yagerhorn. The Count evidently meant to make a vendetta of their quarrel and had thought up this clever ruse for a double purpose; firstly to inflict a terrible fright upon him and secondly in order that he might be conveyed unresisting to some lonely spot where full vengeance could be exacted.
Five minutes later this illusion was abruptly dissipated. The carriage halted, and as Roger got out he recognised the police-office of his district. He was led inside and immediately taken before the local police-president.
The official asked him his name, rank and nationality. Roger gave them as "Rojé Christorovitch de Breuc; Major-General, and Chevalier; native of Strasbourg, France."
When these had been noted down, and his age, his address and the date of his arrival in Russia had been taken, the next question was: "When did you last see Count Erik Yagerhorn?"
To this Roger refused to reply, and added that he would make no statement of any kind until he was given full particulars as to why they should suppose that he had killed the Count; and had also been allowed to see the French Ambassador.
The police-president shrugged, and said that given a little time in a dungeon to think matters over the prisoner would, no doubt, see the advisability of answering straightforward questions. In view of his rank he could not be put into the ordinary aiminal prison, so would be taken to the Fortress of Schlusselburg.
Roger had never seen the fortress but knew that it lay some twenty miles to the east of St. Petersburg, on a small island in the mouth of the Neva where it enters Lake Ladoga; and he had heard of it in connection with the tragic life and death of the Czar Ivan IV.
This unfortunate prince, although the legitimate heir to the throne, had been deposed while still a babe in arms in favour of his aunt Elizabeth. From fear of his being used as the focus of a conspiracy against her she had kept him a solitary prisoner during the whole of his childhood and youth. At the time of her death he was twenty-two, and, report had it, a personable young man of agreeable manners, who, considering that he had spent his whole life behind prison-walls, showed every sign of good mental abilities. For a few months his prospects had then brightened as Peter III, owing to his hatred of his wife Catherine, had during his short reign, contemplated putting aside both Catherine and his son by her and making the poor captive his heir. He had even visited the prisoner at Schlusselburg and given orders for more comfortable accommodation to be provided for him. But the coup d'etathad put an end to any hopes of poor Ivan ever knowing the joys of freedom. Worse, after Peter's death all those who had a grudge against the new Empress began to contemplate another coup d'etat which would place Ivan on the throne. The conspiracy misfired and during an abortive attempt to rescue him he had been brutally murdered by his guards. Some people whispered that Catherine had known of the conspiracy and deliberately allowed it to develop to a point at which she could use it as an excuse to rid herself of this inoffensive yet potentially dangerous rival to her power.
While Roger was on the way to Schlusselburg, in the closed carriage, he recalled all that he had heard of this melancholy tragedy, and particularly the rumours, though they were no more, which inferred the the complicity of the Empress in young Ivan's untimely death. With fresh trepidation he remembered that no more than rumour accused her of having ordered her husband's death, yet he carried the written proof of her guilt upon him.
That damning piece of evidence against the autocrat was carefully sewn up in the stiff buckram lining to the collar of his coat; but he knew that when he reached the fortress his clothes as well as his person might possibly be searched. Alexis Orlof had, apparently, never missed the document and still believed it to be where it had lain untouched for years, safely in his secretaire; but Roger knew that, whether it could be proved that he was responsible for Yagerhorn's death or not, he could expect no mercy if the paper was discovered.
His fears for himself were further augmented by the fact that he still had both Yagerhorn's laisser-passerand King Gustavus's gift, the Order of the Sword of Sweden, in his pocket. If they were found upon him it should not be difficult to put two and two together and, since Russia was in a state of war with Sweden, he would be shot as a spy. Yet he could not possibly rid himself of the laisser-passeror the Star and its yellow ribbon while in an iron-shuttered carriage with his guards watching him.
With such concrete grounds for apprehension on three separate counts, any one of which might result in his speedy death, Roger felt that his chances of leaving the fortress alive were almost nonexistent; and by the time they reached it his very natural fears had caused him to break out in a muck sweat.
On arrival, his particulars were entered by a sour-faced clerk into a heavy ledger, and the police then handed him over to two hefty, ill-favoured gaolers. They lit their lamps, took him to a gloomy stone-floored room, and waited there with him for some twenty minutes until a senior warder joined them. The newcomer beckoned, and Roger was taken along seemingly endless, low-vaulted corridors. At length they halted in front of a heavy iron-studded door. It was unbolted; Roger was thrust in and it clanged dismally behind him.
There was no light or heat and the place smelt dank and foul. His heart sinking to his boots Roger stood still for a moment, listening to the eerie echo of the warders' retreating footsteps. Then there fell complete and utter silence.
Nerving himself against the unexpected, he shuffled forward a few paces, his hands outstretched before him. His feet made a softly-padding sound, so he judged the floor to be covered with a layer of sodden straw. At about twelve paces from the door his fingers suddenly came in contact with damp, rough-hewn stone. Feeling about with his hands, in places he touched slime, and as he continued his investigation, he discovered that he was in an underground cell which measured about four paces by three, and had at one side of it a solid stone slab raised some eighteen inches from the floor which could be used as a seat or for lying down.