Guilty Bonds

Vera was an enigma, it was true, yet somehow I could not bring myself to realise that she had made pretence to love me merely for the purpose of prevailing upon me to undertake the conveyance of the jewels. Loving her as sincerely as I did, I was loth to credit anything base of her, feeling confident she reciprocated my affection.

It must be confessed that I was bitterly disappointed in Volkhovski. He had not welcomed me as I had expected, and his behaviour was so brusque as to leave me no pleasant impression of his character.

The day wore on.

The afternoon I spent smoking in the Café Chinois in the Nevskoi Prospekt, and in the evening strolled through the delightfully artistic Summer Gardens, debating whether I should remain a few days longer, or leave Russia at once.

Sitting alone at dinner about seven o’clock, I chanced to gaze across the Polschad. It was apparent something unusual had taken place, for people were standing in small groups talking and gesticulating together; and as I rose to regard them more closely, Trosciansky, the proprietor of the hotel, entered, with a pale, half-scared expression upon his face.

“What’s the matter outside?” I asked in French. “It seems as if something is wrong.”

“I have heard of nothing, m’sieur,” he replied, with an expression of astonishment which I detected was feigned, at the same time advancing to the window and looking out.

I made a mental note that mine host was not telling the truth, for his agitation was plainly observable; and, while a number of police were being marched across the square, he quickly withdrew his face from the window, as if half-fearful lest he should be observed. He left the room for a few moments, afterwards returning with a large bowl of crimson flowers, which he placed upon a small table close to the window, remarking:

“These will make your room brighter, m’sieur. I, myself, am very fond of flowers.”

“And I’m not,” I remarked, “I detest flowers in a room; take them away, please.”

He turned and looked at me with surprise, not unmixed with alarm.

“Eh? M’sieur really means I am to take away the beautiful blossoms?” he said, raising his eyebrows in astonishment.

“Yes, I won’t have them here on any account, they smell so faint.”

He hesitated for a few seconds, then replied: “Well, I regret it, for I procured these expressly for m’sieur’s benefit,” and carried the bowl out of the room, muttering as he did so, “Then it must be the artificial ones.”

He had been absent only a few minutes before he reappeared, bearing a large basket of crimson roses in wax, under a glass shade, and set them in the place whence he had removed the real ones.

“What have you brought those for?” I asked, as wax-flowers are one of my abominations.

“For you, m’sieur. Are they not superb? – so near the life. Wonderfully clever imitation, are they not?”

I nodded assent, but it struck me there must be some reason for the hotel-keeper placing these in my window. What was it?

I was about to order him to remove them also, but refrained from doing so, determined to observe this strange proceeding and endeavour to find out the cause.

After some cigarettes, I went out for an evening stroll, and as soon as I gained the street there were unmistakable signs that something extraordinary had happened, though, not speaking Russian, I was unable to ascertain. Intelligence of some description had spread like wildfire and was causing a terrible sensation, for from mouth to mouth ominous news was whispered with bated breath, conversations were being carried on in an undertone, heads were shaken mysteriously, and newspapers rapidly scanned, which all tended to confirm my suspicion that something had occurred.

Such a stir had not been created in the capital for many years, and that night the streets presented a scene of panic that impressed itself indelibly upon my memory.

When I returned to the hotel I chanced to be walking upon the opposite side of the street, and glancing up, before crossing, saw what caused me to start in surprise. Though the lamp in my sitting-room was alight, the blind was not drawn, the brilliant illumination within causing the wax roses to stand out in bold relief in the window – so bold, indeed, that they could be plainly seen from the most distant part of the great square.

That they were placed there for some purpose I was convinced – what did they mean?

I retired to rest as usual, but could not close my eyes for thinking of the strange episode. There seemed an air of mystery about the whole place that I did not like.

Several minor matters now occurred to me of which, at the time they happened, I thought nothing; yet as I lay thinking I confess I began to wish myself anywhere but in St. Petersburg. Throughout, there had been so much that was incomprehensible, and I had been so sorely puzzled, that I felt a fervent desire to give up, and seek no further elucidation of the riddle from Vera.