CHAPTER XXVII
The Fate of Klostivitch
Red dawn was breaking when a Russian naval pulling-cutter ranalongside the Probenjsky Quay. Already the ice, that a few hourspreviously had been broken by gangs of men impressed under theRevolutionary Government's decree for that task, was again forming,rendering it a matter of difficulty for the boat to force her waythrough the last twenty yards of water.
The quay was deserted. Heavy showers of sleet had dispersed thecrowds of demonstrators who had "run wild" the previous evening. Inthat respect nature had found a far more efficacious method ofdealing with the disorderly mob than had the Red Guards and theirever-ready machine-guns. Many broken windows and walls splayed withbullet-marks were the remaining evidences of the orgy that had endedin bloodshed and rain, and now a fall of snow was obliteratingsinister patches on the roadway and pavements in a mantle of dazzlingwhiteness.
At the head of the flight of stone steps stood a sentry-box, thediagonal stripes of the Imperial regime still discernible under ahastily-applied coat of yellow paint. Within, and reclining againstthe woodwork, was a sleeping sentry.
Upon the approach of half a dozen or more bluejackets he bestirredhimself sufficiently to push aside an empty vodka glass and grasp hisrifle.
"It is all right, comrade!" exclaimed the foremost of the partyreassuringly. "We've just had private information as to where we canobtain some sides of beef. We haven't tasted fresh beef for nearly amonth. We belong to the _Kuptchino_, and have just come in fromHelsingfors."
"Have you your permit, comrade?" enquired the sentry.
The bluejacket solemnly closed one eye and slipped a sheaf of roublenotes into the man's hand.
"'Ts--sh!" he whispered. "These are better than permits, ComradeIvan. We will not be long, and when we return there will be a bottleof vodka for you."
"So long as you do not get me into trouble I am content," remarkedthe befuddled soldier. "A whole bottle, mind, and none of the stufffrom the Winter Palace."
He laughed at his own jest, and his listeners laughed too, for thestory of the pillaged wine-cellars of the Imperial Palace was nowcommon property--how the Red Guards had looted thousands of bottles,drunk their contents, and refilled them with coloured water. Theinhabitants of Petrograd, eager to purchase wine from the ex-Tsar'sstock, bought the proffered bottles with avidity, only to find thatthey had been "sold". There was no redress, for the deluded purchaserrealized that arguing with an inebriated Red Guard was likely to endin a bayonet-thrust.
Having paved the way for their retreat, the landing-party--CaptainOrloff and seven of his men, all in bluejackets' uniform--hastenedalong the deserted street until they arrived at the BobbinskyProspekt.
Here Orloff halted his men under an archway, and, taking one of theparty, stole softly down the passage until he came to a gap betweenthe two houses--a space fenced off by a tall iron railing.
In a very short space of time Orloff's companions filed through twoof the bars, and, by means of a powerful tug, wrenched themsufficiently apart to admit a man's body. It was then a simple matterfor the two Russians to lower themselves upon the slippery ice on thesurface of the stream.
Flashing an electric torch, the captain of the _Zabiyaka_ plungedinto the arched passage, through which the now frozen water usuallyflowed. For nearly a hundred yards he went, until he stopped at asmall barred grating barely a foot above the ice.
"Are you there, Monsieur Fordyce?" he whispered in his own language,knowing that the captive Sub-Lieutenant spoke Russian fluently.
"I am. Who is it?" asked Fordyce.
"A friend," replied Orloff. "Take courage again," Fordyce, by the by,had never lost it; "help is at hand. I am Boris Orloff,Captain-Lieutenant of the _Zabiyaka_, the destroyer that piloted yourcraft into Cronstadt."
"I am pleased to meet you, sir," said the Sub.
"And still more so under better auspices," rejoined Orloff. "Nowlisten: Here are a brace of revolvers. We are going to tackle ComradeKlostivitch. If he beats a retreat to this cellar, corner him. He isa desperate man, and doubtless armed. Cornered, he will not hesitateto shoot, unless you act promptly."
"He has someone with him," announced Fordyce. "A fellow from England.Whether he is an Englishman or a German I hardly know, although hissympathies are certainly Teutonic."
"We'll collar him too!" exclaimed the skipper of the _Zabiyaka_."Now, make ready. In five minutes we'll be with you."
"One question, sir!" exclaimed the Sub. "Might I ask how you knew wewere here? Did a dog----?"
"Yes," replied Orloff, "it was a dog that brought the news."
"Then Flirt--my dog--is safe?"
"I have every reason to believe so."
"That's good!" ejaculated the overjoyed Fordyce. A great weight hadbeen lifted off his mind. The harassing thought that harm hadbefallen his devoted pet had troubled him more than his own difficultposition. And now, thanks to Flirt, deliverance was at hand.
Retracing his steps, the Russian rejoined his companion, and, havingbent the railings to their original position, the pair hurried backto the rest of the party.
"No unnecessary noise, my children," continued Orloff, speaking inthe pre-Revolutionary manner with which an officer addressed his men."Two of you will remain here; two more at the other side of thestreet; the rest will come with me."
The dwellers in the Bobbinsky Prospekt were still deep in slumber.Undisturbed, the Russian bluejackets effected a forcible entry intoNo. 19 by the drastic expedient of cutting away the door-post intowhich the bolts securing the door were fitted.
Entering the room--there was no lobby--the intruders reclosed thedoor and proceeded in their search for Vladimir Klostivitch. Thefirst room they entered was that in which Fordyce had interviewed theExtremist official. They found someone asleep on the bed over thestove.
"Seize him, men!" ordered Orloff.
Strong hands dragged the sleeper from his bed. It was Mindiggle, or,to give him his true name, von Verbrennungsraum.
Before he could be effectually silenced the German gave a yell ofterror.
"Gag him!" ordered the captain of the _Zabiyaka_.
It was too late. A shuffling sound announced that another inmate ofthe mysterious house was awake.
Revolver in hand, Orloff dashed up the creaking stairs, just in timeto catch sight of a grotesquely-garbed figure disappearing up thenext flight.
"Surrender!" shouted the naval officer, loath to fire lest the reportshould arouse the neighbourhood.
In spite of his years, Klostivitch possessed plenty of activity.Rushing into an attic, he slammed and bolted the door, pilingarticles of furniture against it as an additional safeguard.
Throwing caution to the winds, Orloff placed the muzzle of hisrevolver to the lock and pressed the trigger. Then, with a tremendousheave, he burst the door open.
The room was empty. An open dormer window showed the track of thefugitive. His pursuer, leaping upon a box, thrust his head throughthe opening.
Brave as he was, Orloff hesitated to follow his quarry. Klostivitchhad gained the parapet and was contemplating a leap to the roof ofthe adjoining house.
Before the naval officer could thrust his hand through the narrowopening of the window, and level his pistol, the rascal, desperate inhis courage, leapt from his precarious foothold.
It was not a great distance for a man to jump--six or seven feet atthe outside; but the fugitive had not taken into consideration theice-rimmed stonework.
Even as he leapt, Klostivitch's feet slipped from under him. With ashriek of horror he grasped vainly at the thin air, then, turning acomplete somersault, crashed upon the paving-stones sixty feet below.