The Angel of the Revolution (Dystopian Novel). Griffith George Chetwynd

One part of the business, I presume, you are already familiar with?”

      Arnold bowed his assent, and she went on —

      “Then the other is easily explained. Interested as you are in the question, I suppose there is no need to tell you that for several years past the Tsar has had an offer open to all the world of a million sterling for a vessel that will float in the air, and be capable of being directed in its course as a ship at sea can be directed.”

      “Yes, I am well aware of the fact. Pray proceed.” As he said this Arnold glanced across the table at Natasha, and a swift smile and a flash from her suddenly unveiled eyes told him that she, too, was thinking of how the world’s history might have been altered had the Tsar’s million been paid for his invention. Then the Princess went on —

      “Well, through a friend at the Russian Embassy, I have learnt that a French engineer has, as he says, perfected a balloon constructed on a new principle, which he claims will meet the conditions of the Tsar’s offer.

      “My friend also told me that his Majesty had decided to take an entirely disinterested opinion with regard to this invention, and asked me if I could recommend any English engineer who had made a study of aërial navigation, and who would be willing to go to Russia, superintend the trials of the war-balloon, and report as to their success or otherwise.

      “This happened a few days ago only, and as I had happened to read an article that you will remember you wrote about six months ago in the Nineteenth, or, as it is now called, the Twentieth Century, I thought of your name, and said I would try to find some one. Two days later I got news from the Circle of your invention — never mind how; you will learn that later on — and called at the Embassy to say I had found some one whose judgment could be absolutely relied upon. Now, wasn’t that kind of me, to give you such a testimonial as that to his Omnipotence the Tsar of All the Russias?”

      Once more Arnold bowed his acknowledgments — this time somewhat ironically, and Natasha interrupted the narrative by saying with a spice of malice in her voice —

      “No doubt the Little Father will duly recognise your kindness, Princess, when he gets quite to the bottom of the matter.”

      “I hope he will,” replied the Princess, “but that is a matter of the future — and of considerable doubt as well.” Then, turning to Arnold again, she continued —

      “You will now, of course, see the immense advantage there appeared to be in getting you to examine these war-balloons. They are evidently the only possible rivals to your own invention in the field, and therefore it is of the utmost importance that you should know their strength or their weakness, as the case may be.

      “Well, that is all I have to say, so far. It has been decided that you shall go, if you are willing, with us to Petersburg the day after tomorrow to see the balloon, and make your report. All your expenses will be paid on the most liberal scale, for the Tsar is no niggard in spending either his own or other people’s money, and you will have a handsome fee into the bargain for your trouble.”

      “So far as the work is concerned, of course, I undertake it willingly,” said Arnold, as the Princess stopped speaking. “But it hardly seems to me to be right that I should take even the Tsar’s money under such circumstances. To tell you the truth, it looks to me rather uncomfortably like false pretences.”

      Again Natasha’s eyes flashed approval across the table, but nevertheless she said —

      “You seem to forget, my friend, that we are at war with the Tsar, and all’s fair in-in love and war. Besides, if you have any scruples about keeping the fee for your professional services — which, after all, you will render as honestly as though it were the merest matter of business — you can put it into the treasury, and so ease your conscience. Remember, too,” she went on more seriously, “how the enormous wealth of this same Tsar has swollen by the confiscation of fortunes whose possessors had committed no other crime than becoming obnoxious to the corrupt bureaucracy.”

      “I will take the fee if I fairly earn it, Miss Darrel,” replied Arnold, returning the glance as he spoke, “and it shall be my first contribution to the treasury of the Brotherhood.”

      “Spoken like a sensible man,” chimed in the Princess. “After all, it is no worse than spoiling the Egyptians, and you have scriptural authority for that. However, you can do as you like with his Majesty’s money when you get it. The main fact is that you have the opportunity of going to earn it, and that Colonel Martinov is coming here to tea this afternoon to bring our passports, specially authorising us to travel without customs examination or any kind of questioning to any part of the Tsar’s dominions, and that, I can assure you, is a very exceptional honour indeed.”

      “Who did you say? Martinov? Is that the Colonel Martinov who is the director of the secret police here?” asked Colston hurriedly.

      “Yes,” replied the Princess, “the same. Why do you ask?”

      “Because,” said Colston quietly, “he received the sentence of death nearly a month ago, and tomorrow night he will be executed, unless there is some accident. It was he who stood with the governor of Brovno in the prison-yard and watched Radna Michaelis flogged by the soldiers. I received news this morning that the arrangements are complete, and that the sentence will be carried out tomorrow night.”

      “Yes, that is so,” added Natasha, as Colston ceased speaking. “Everything is settled. It is therefore well that he should do something useful before he meets his fate.”

      “How curious that it should just happen so!” said the Princess calmly, as she rose from the table and moved towards the door followed by Natasha.

      As soon as the ladies had left the room, Colston and Arnold lit their cigarettes and chatted while they smoked over their last glass of claret. Arnold would have liked to have asked more about the coming tragedy, but something in Colston’s manner restrained him; and so the conversation remained on the subject of the Russian journey until they returned to the sitting-room.

      Chapter 9.

       The Beginning of Sorrows.

       Table of Contents

      On the 6th of March 1904, just six months after Arnold’s journey to Russia, a special meeting of the Inner Circle of the Terrorists took place in the Council-chamber, at the house on Clapham Common.

      Although it was only attended by twelve persons all told, and those men and women whose names were unknown outside the circle of their own Society and the records of the Russian police, it was the most momentous conference that had taken place in the history of the world since the council of war that Abdurrhaman the Moslem had held with his chieftains eleven hundred and seventy-two years before, and, by taking their advice, spared the remnants of Christendom from the sword of Islam.

      Then the fate of the world hung in the balance of a council of war, and the supremacy of the Cross or the Crescent depended, humanly speaking, upon the decision of a dozen warriors. Now the fate of the civilisation that was made possible by that decision, lay at the mercy of a handful of outlaws and exiles who had laboriously brought to perfection the secret schemes of a single man.

      The work of the Terrorists was finally complete. Under the whole fabric of Society lay the mines which a single spark would now explode, and above this slumbering volcano the earth was trembling with the tread of millions of armed men, divided into huge hostile camps, and only waiting until Diplomacy had finished its work in the dark, and gave the long-awaited signal of inevitable and universal war.

      To-night that spark was to be shaken from the torch of Revolution, and tomorrow the first of the mines would explode. After that, if the course to be determined on by the Terrorist Council failed to arrive at the results which it was designed to reach, the armies of Europe would fight their way through the greatest war that the world had ever seen, the Fates would once more decide in favour of the strongest battalions, the fittest would