The Black Cross | Page 2

Olive M. Briggs
picked himself out of a drift with the assistance of his lackey and

was brushing the snow from his long fur cloak. A fur cap, pulled down
over his eyes, hid his face, but his gestures were angry, and his voice
was high and rasping.
"Where is the fellow?" he snarled, "Let me see him; let me see his face.
Away, Pierre, I tell you, go to the horses! A mercy indeed if their legs
are not broken. A pretty pass this, that one can't drive through the
streets of the capital, not even incognito!--Call the police!"
The other gentleman, who seemed little more than a boy, stood by the
overturned troïka wringing his hands:
"Is it hurt, my little one, my treasure, is it scratched? Keep their hoofs
away, Bobo, hold them still a moment while I raise one end."
He knelt in the snow and peered eagerly beneath the sleigh.
"Sacre--ment!" cried the older man, "What is he after? Quick, on him,
Pierre! Don't let him escape."
The lackey moved cautiously forward, and then gave a sudden leap
back as the boyish figure sprang to his feet, clasping a dark, oblong
object in his arms.
"A bomb, a bomb! In the name of all the saints! If he should drop it
they were doomed, they were dead men!"
The eyes of the lackey were bulging with terror and he stood riveted to
the spot. In the meantime the young man had snatched out his watch
and was holding it up into a patch of moonlight.
"Twenty past the hour!" he exclaimed, "and old Galitsin fuming, I'll be
bound! I'll have to make a run for it. Hey, Bobo!"
As he spoke, an iron hand came down on his shoulder and he looked up
amazed into a pair of eyes, small and black and crossed, flashing with
fury.
"Drop it," hissed a voice, "and I'll throttle you as you stand! Traitor!

Assassin! Your driver obeyed orders, did he? You knew? Vermin, you
ran us down! How did you know? Who betrayed me?--Who?"
The youth stood motionless for a moment in astonishment. He was
helpless as a girl in that vicious grasp that was bearing him under
slowly, relentlessly. "For the love of heaven," he cried, "Let go my arm,
you brute, you'll sprain a muscle! Be careful!"
"Drop it, and I swear by all that is holy--"
"You old fool, you curmudgeon, you coward of an old blatherskite!"
cried the boy, "I wouldn't drop it for all the world, not if you went on
your bended knees. Bobo, yell for the police! Don't you touch my wrist!
Look out now! Of all unpleasant things--!
"Bobo, come here. Never mind the horses. I tell you he is ruining my
arm!--Hey! Help! You're an anarchist yourself, you fool! Shout, Bobo,
shout!"
In the struggle the two had passed from the shadow into the moonlight
and they now confronted one another. The master of the black sleigh
was still enveloped in his cloak, only the gleam of his eyes, small and
black and crossed, was visible under the cap, his beaked nose and the
upward twist of his grey mustache.
The youth stood erect and angry; his head was bare, thrown back as a
young lion at bay, his dark hair falling like a mane, clustered in waves
about his broad, overhanging brows; strange brows and strange eyes
underneath. The mouth was sensitive, the chin short and rather full, the
whole aspect as of some one distinguished and out of the ordinary.
They stared at one another for a moment and then the hand of the older
man dropped to his side. "I beg your pardon," he said, with some show
of apology in his tone, "Surely I must have made a mistake. Where
have I seen you before? You are no anarchist; pray, pardon me."
The young man was feeling his arm ruefully: "Good gracious, sir," he
said, "but you are hasty!--I never felt such a grip. The muscles are quite

sore already, but luckily it is the left arm, otherwise, Bózhe moi[1], I
vow I'd sue you!--If it were the fingers now, or the wrist--"
He took off his fur gloves and examined both hands carefully, one after
the other. A scornful look came over the older man's face:
"There was no excuse, my friend, for the way your troïka rounded that
corner. Such driving is criminal in a public street. It's a mercy we
weren't all killed! Still, you really must pardon me, these anarchist
devils are everywhere nowadays and one has to take precautions. I was
hurrying to the Mariínski."
Hardly were the words out of his mouth, when there came the snapping
of two watch lids almost simultaneously, and both gentlemen gave a
cry of consternation.
"Oh, the deuce!" exclaimed
Continue reading on your phone by scaning this QR Code

 / 81
Tip: The current page has been bookmarked automatically. If you wish to continue reading later, just open the Dertz Homepage, and click on the 'continue reading' link at the bottom of the page.