“How were you going to do it?”
He seized a sheet of paper and began hastily making sketches to illustrate his wonderful scheme. The capital was all neatly divided up, the chiefs of each district were appointed to their respective posts, he had the whole police force at his beck and call and about half-a-dozen regiments.
“Give but the signal,” he cried, dramatically, “and this city of Peter the Great is ours.”
“And the supreme commander?” I queried. “Who will be governor of the liberated city?”
The sanguine little Policeman smiled a trifle confusedly. “Oh, we will find a governor,” he said, rather sheepishly, hesitant to utter the innermost hopes of his heart. “Perhaps you, Michael Ivanitch—”
But this magnanimous offer was mere formal courtesy. It was plain that I was expected to content myself with the secondary role of kingmaker.
“Well, if all is so far ready,” I said, “why don’t you blow the trumpets and we will watch the walls of Jericho fall?”
The little man twirled his moustache, smirking apologetically. “But, Michael Ivanitch,” he said, growing bold and bordering even on familiarity, “er—funds, don’t you know—after all, nowadays, you know, you get nowhere without—er—money, do you? Of course, you quite understand, Michael Ivanitch, that I, personally—”
“How much did you tell Marsh it would cost?” I interrupted, very curious to see what he would say. He had not expected the question to be put in this way. Like a clock ticking I could hear his mind calculating the probability of Marsh’s having told me the sum, and whether he might safely double it in view of my greater susceptibility.
“I think with 100,000 roubles we might pull it off,” he replied, tentatively, eyeing me cautiously to see how I took it. I nodded silently. “Of course, we might do it for a little less,” he added as if by afterthought, “but then there would be subsequent expenses.”
“Well, well,” I replied, indulgently, “we will see. We’ll talk about it again some time.”
“There is no time like the present, Michael Ivanitch.”
“But there are other things to think of. We will speak of it again when—”
“When—?”
“When you have got Mrs. Marsh out of prison.”
The little man appeared completely to shrivel up when thus dragged brusquely back into the world of crude reality. He flushed for a moment, it seemed to me, with anger, but pulled himself together at once and reassumed his original manner of demonstrative servility.
“At present we have business on hand, Alexei Fomitch,” I added, “and I wish to talk first about that. How do matters stand?”
The Policeman said his agents were busily at work, studying the ground and the possibilities of Mrs. Marsh’s escape. The whole town, he stated, was being searched for Marsh, and the inability to unearth him had already given rise to the suspicion that he had fled. In a day or two the news would be confirmed by Bolshevist agents in Finland. He foresaw an alleviation of Mrs. Marsh’s lot owing to the probable cessation of cross-examinations. It only remained to see whether she would be transferred to another cell or prison, and then plans for escape might be laid.
“Fire ahead,” I said in conclusion. “And when Mrs. Marsh is free—we will perhaps discuss other matters.”
“There is no time like the present, Michael Ivanitch,” repeated the little Policeman, but his voice sounded forlorn.
Meanwhile, what of Melnikoff?
Zorinsky was all excitement when I called him up.
“How is your brother?” I said over the phone. “Was the accident serious? Is there any hope of recovery?”
“Yes, yes,” came the reply. “The doctor says he fears he will be in hospital some time, but the chances are he will get over it.”
“Where has he been put?”
“He is now in a private sanitarium in Gorokhovaya Street, but we hope he will be removed to some larger and more comfortable hospital.”
“The conditions, I hope, are good?”
“As good as we can arrange for under present-day circumstances. For the time being he is in a separate room and on limited diet. But can you not come round this evening, Pavel Ivanitch?”
“Thank you; I am afraid I have a meeting of our house committee to attend, but I could come tomorrow.”
“Good. Come tomorrow. I have news of Leo, who is coming to Petrograd.”
“My regards to Elena Ivanovna.”
“Thanks. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
The telephone was an inestimable boon, but one that had to be employed with extreme caution. From time to time at moments of panic the Government would completely stop the telephone service, causing immense inconvenience and exasperating the population whom they were trying to placate. But it was not in Bolshevist interests to suppress it entirely, the telephone being an effectual means of detecting “counterrevolutionary” machinations. The lines were closely watched, a suspicious voice or phrase would lead to a line being “tapped,” the recorded conversations would be scrutinized for hints of persons or addresses, and then the Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold to seize books, papers, and documents, and augment the number of occupants of Gorokhovayan cells. So one either spoke in fluent metaphor or by prearranged verbal signals camouflaged behind talk of the weather or food. The “news of Leo,” for instance, I understood at once to mean news of Trotsky, or information regarding the Red army.
Zorinsky was enthusiastic when I called next day and stayed to dinner. “We’ll have Melnikoff out in no time,” he exclaimed. “They are holding his case over for further evidence. He will be taken either to the Shpalernaya or Deriabinskaya prison, where we shall be allowed to send him food. Then we’ll communicate by hiding notes in the food and let him know our plan of escape. Meanwhile, all’s well with ourselves, so come and have a glass of vodka.”
I was overjoyed at this good news. The conditions at either of the two prisons he mentioned were much better than at No. 2 Gorokhovaya, and
