Guilty Bonds

The bells of the Izak Church had broken the silence of the night, chiming the hour of three, as I lay dozing, when suddenly there came a sharp rapping at the door, and voices demanding admittance.

My first impression was that the hotel was on fire, but on throwing open the door, Trosciansky and two other men entered.

“What is the meaning of this?” I demanded.

“Hist! m’sieur,” he replied, laying his finger upon his lips, indicative of silence. Then he said in a low voice:

“Quick! Prepare yourself for a journey; the police are on their way here, and will arrest you! Make your escape, now you have time.”

“What?” I cried, rubbing my eyes to make certain I was not dreaming. “To arrest me! What for, pray?”

“M’sieur must be aware. Lose no time, you must get out of Russia at once, or all will be lost,” he said in a loud whisper, while the other men gave vent to some ejaculations in Russian.

“I have committed no crime,” I said, “and I certainly shall not fly from here like a thief. The police may come, and I will welcome them.”

“Fly! fly!” urged the man, with a look of alarm upon his face; “fly for Vera Seroff’s sake!”

“What has she to do with this?” I asked eagerly.

“You know, m’sieur; you know. It will place her in deadly peril if you are arrested. Fly, while there is still time.”

“But the police cannot touch me; I have no fear of them,” I remarked, just as a thought suddenly occurred to me.

Where was my passport, that paper without which no one in Russia is safe, not even Russians themselves? I took up my coat and felt in the inner pocket where I constantly kept it.

It was gone!

My valise, the pockets of other coats, every hole and corner I investigated, but found it not. It was evidently lost or stolen!

Then a thought crossed my mind.

“Take our advice, m’sieur; dress and escape,” said Trosciansky, persuasively.

“No, I will not,” I cried angrily. “I see this is a plot to extort money – or something. My passport has been stolen, and I shall myself inform the police to-morrow, and also of my suspicions regarding this house.”

“Diable!” he ejaculated, in the utmost alarm, as at that moment there was a sound of a door opening and heavy footsteps below!

“Hark! They are here! It is too late.”

I opened my lips to reply, but no sound came from them. I have a faint recollection of a sponge being dashed into my face by one of the hotel-keeper’s companions, then came a strange, even delightful sensation of giddiness, a confused murmur of voices, of music, of pleasant sounds, – and all was blank.

I had been drugged.

Chapter Eleven The Cell below the River

A terrible, excruciating headache of maddening intensity, a violent throbbing, as if molten lead were being injected into my skull; a horrible pain through my eyes and temples like the pricking of red-hot needles.

I tried to think, but could remember nothing distinctly; I was only conscious of frightful agony. To all else I was oblivious. Where I was, or what were my surroundings, I knew not.

My mind was wandering, my reason giving way, for suddenly I felt a sensation as if the burning in my head had been succeeded by an icy coldness which seemed to freeze my senses; and then, as suddenly, I felt as if I were being borne along in mid-air, floating higher and higher into space, then down, down, into depths too terrible to contemplate. In a moment I should be dashed to pieces. I felt I was falling and utterly unable to save myself.

The sensation was awful.

One moment I fancied I was in London, amid old associations and boon companions, the next I seemed in some out-of-the-way place, lonely and forgotten. Presently I saw the grave, beautiful face of Vera, and then it gave place to that of a middle-aged man, whose sinister features puckered into a hideous mocking smile.

I tried to collect my thoughts, to shape them, to think; but it was no use.

The pains returned more acutely than before. I essayed to cry out, but my dry, parched tongue clave to the roof of my mouth. I felt weak and ill, and my agony was so intense I was convinced if it continued I should go mad or die.

Perhaps it grew too much for me, for as the throbbing in my temples increased, I experienced a sickening sensation of giddiness, and again became insensible.

I must have fainted.

Slowly I struggled back to consciousness, only to find myself stretched at full length upon a heap of mouldy straw, with a black, impenetrable darkness around me. The place was cold and damp, and as soon as I was able I rose and commenced to feel the dimensions of my strange apartment.

It was not large, I found, but its four bare stone walls, through which water oozed in places, the large iron ring fixed into the masonry, and the strong iron-bound door, quickly apprised me of my position.

I was in prison.