THE WIZARD Of WARSAW.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXII, Issue I, 7 January 1899, Page 13

THE WIZARD Of WARSAW.

(By WILLIAM LE QUEX, in the ‘New York Herald.’)

In Nice, the town of violet sand mimosa, the centre of all the mad gaiety of the Riviera, there was enacted five years ago the opening scene of this strange, puzzling drama, the astonishing denouement of which startled the whole of Europe. The mystery has never been elucidated, but now, for the first time, 1 will relate the true facts, which will no doubt astonish many. Times without number as 1 trod the broad concrete walk of the Promenade des Anglais, gay with its borders of spring flowers and crowd of smart visitors in Parisian toilets. I passed one neat female figure which always attracted me. Young, not more than twenty-two, she was invariably attired in white, with the waist girt by a narrow band of pale blue or rose, the colour always matching that in the hat she wore. Her costumes and millinery were doubtless products of the Rue de la Paix, her wealth of fair hair was evidently arranged by a maid of the first order, and her face was pure and innocent looking as a child’s. Once, in passing, our eyes had met for an instant. Hers were of a clear, deep blue, but in their unfathomable depths was an expression half of fear, half of ineffable sadness —an expression ftdl of mystery. She lowered her gaze modestly and passed on. Sometimes! she was alone, but often there hobbled at her side a decrepit old fellow, attired in shabby ill-fitting clothes; a white moustached man, whose furrowed face bore an expression saturnine and forbidding. They were a strangely assorted pair —she young and lovely, he old and eminently ugly. Many times on those bright mornings in early spring-, when I strolled along the promenade from the Place Massena to the bridge spanning the Mag-man, 1 met them and amused myself by trying to read hetstory in her face. That it was a strange and mysterious one 1 felt confident. The expression of abject terror in those blue eyes was unmistakeable.

One sunny afternoon an opportunity to speak to her presented itself, and I was not long in taking advantage of it. I was sitting upon one of the seats facing the sea at the further end of the promenade, when, either by design or accident, she came also to the same seat, and presently, while absorbed in a French novel she had brought with her. the wind carried away the little lace handkerchief. The latter 1 recovered, being- rewarded by a smile, and a soft, modest word of thanks in French. This, of course, gave us an opportunity for conversation, and soon we were chatting merrily, discussing Nice ami its gay cosmopolitan crowd, the prospects of Carnival and other topics uppermost on the Riviera. ‘I have seen you so often,’ 1 observed at length, ‘that you seem already a friend.’ She laughed lightly, looking gay and bright beneath her cool white sunshade. ‘And I have also passed you many, many times,’ she answered. ‘You were at Monte Carlo two nights ago. You lost.’ ‘Yes,’ 1 replied, surprised. ‘I had no idea you were present.’ She smiled again, a mysterious smile, the meaning of which I could not exactly determine. ‘Do you often play?’ I asked. ‘Sometimes,’ she answered. ‘lt is so didl here without friends. ‘But you have a friend. I see you with an elderly gentleman. ‘Gentleman!’ she laughed. ‘He is my servant. I take him out in order to" have someone to talk to.’ ‘Well.’ I said, with increasing astonishment. ‘l. too. am alone here. I should be delighted if sometimes I might be permitted to take your servant’s place. I’m at the Grand.’ ‘The pleasure will be quite mutual.’ she assured me. ‘I am staying only a few doors from yon—at the Cosmopolitan.’ •Then we are actually neighbours!’ I observed, enthusiastically. ‘I shall be delighted to stroll with you sometimes.’ •|t is not pleasant for a woman to be alone here,’ she exclaimed, sigh-

ing. after a brief pause. ‘There is, of course, plenty of freedom, but a lonely woman in Nice is at once classed with the demi-monde.’ Presently,after we had been chatting half an hour, while the shadows bail lengthened as the sun declined, we exchanged cards. She took one from her silver case and handed it to me. The name upon it was ‘Marya Zassouloft’.’ ‘So you are Russian!’ 1 exclaimed, surprised, having believed her to be French. ‘Yes,’ she answered, ‘and you are English from London.’ I began to question her about herself, but to evade answering she declared that the wind had grown chilly, therefore we rose, and I walked with her to the door of her hotel, where we parted, having arranged to meet on the morrow. We met almost daily through the bright pleasant weeks that followed, and 1 make open confession that I loved her. Such infinite grace, such wondrous beauty, such charm of manner I had never before witnessed as that of my divinity. I loved her with the whole strength of my being, and sometimes, when she smiled upon me. flattered myself that she reciprocated my affection. At times, however, she was strangely cold and prepossessed, and would walk for hours almost without uttering a word, while at others she was bright and vivacious, overflowing with mirth and good spirits. She no longer took Ivan, her servant, on her walks, but regarded me as her constant companion. I did not like Ivan. Somehow, 1 had an instinctive antipathy toward him. for he was keen-eyed, crafty, and apparently unduly anxious as to the movements of his young mistress. Once I thought I detected an evil glint in his eyes when at Marya’s side 1 passed him in the Quai Massena. At first I was puzzled over this cireiimstanee. but at length grew to regard it as mere imagination on my part.

Thus weeks slipped by. King Carnival enjoyed his brief but mirthful reign, and had been immolated amid the dancing of clown and columbine; the battles of confetti and flowers had been fought, and the season was already on the wane, when one evening, after dining, we were seated together by the moonlit sea. and she turned to me suddenly, saying—‘l leave Nice to-morrow.’ ■To-morrow! So soon?’ I cried, dismayed at the mere suggestion of parting. ‘I had no idea you intended to leave just yet.’ ‘lt is imperative.’ she answered, in a low. strained voice, quite unusual to her. and she sighed, passing her tiny gloved band beneath her veil and slowly across her brow. ‘Some trouble weighs heavily upon your mind.’ I said, sympathetically. ‘Cannot you confide in me? If 1 can assist you I will.’ ‘Ah!’ she cried, turning her beautiful eyes to mine with an imploring gesture. ‘if you only would!’ ‘Certainly!’ I exclaimed. ‘I shall be delighted to assist you.’ Then, in a moment of passion, I seized the hand lying in her lap. raised it quickly to my lips, and told her of my love. ’.No! no!’ she implored, in a tone of distress, making an effort to rise. "There must be no love between us. None whatever. You may love me tonight. but you would hate me to-mor-row if you only knew.’ ‘Knew what?’ ‘lf you knew my secret.’ ‘ls it such a terrible one?’ I asked, surprised at her strange and sudden air of tragedy. ‘No. no!’ she said. ‘Do not let us speak <>T it. A moment ago you expressed your readiness to assist me. It is not a difficult task., if you are willing to undertake it. By doing sjo you will save my life.’ ‘Your life!’ I gasped. ‘What do you fear?’ ‘Death.* she answered, in a hoarse whisper. ‘1 may die to-morrow.’ ‘Well, what do you wish me to do?’ I inquired, amazed at the strangeness of her manner and the despairing tone of her voice.

‘Return with me to the hotel. I will show you.’ We rose, and retracing our steps along the promenade, entered the Cosmopolitan, and ascended to her little private sitting room. Here I waited while she went to her own chamber, and presently she returned, bearing in her arms a box of bright lin about eighteen inches square. She shook it before placing it upon the table, and I could hear a liquid within. ’'This.’ she said, regarding me gravely with her clear, trusting eyes, ‘contains ten litres of petroleum.' ‘Petroleum!’ 1 observed, astounded. She nodded. ‘To the eye it contains nothing but petroleum, but there is a secret within. At the bottom of the tin is a narrow air-tight compartment, in which are secreted certain documents of the greatest importance to my family, together with some jewels, which are heirlooms and absolutely priceless.' ‘Well?’ I said, failing to understand her meaning. ‘lvan has left, and this very evening an attempt has been made to steal them,' she explained. ‘To-mor-row 1 must fly; but before leaving I must intrust this hermetically sealed tin to the care of some person whom I can trust.' ‘Then you trust me?' I cried, joyfully. •Certainly. Ai;e you not my friend? Indeed, you should be my lover were that possible.’ ‘Why not? 1 adore you. Marya.' I dec I a rec I. passi on ate I y. ‘At present, no.' she said, raising her tiny bejewelled hand with a gesture of warning. ‘When you have successfully accomplished the task 1 am imposing upon you, and I find myself in comparative safety, then we will again discuss the matter. Until then, no more need be said.’ She spoke decisively and with determination.

‘And what am I to do with this box?' I inquired. ‘Take it into your keeping, and deliver it to me intact on the night of Christinas Eve at the railway station at Warsaw, on the arrival of the midnight train from Alexandrowo. the frontier.’ ‘At Warsaw!' I gasped. ‘Yes.' she said. Then asked. ‘ls the journey too great for you to undertake?' ‘Not at all.' I hastened to assure her. ‘No distance is too far to travel tn meet you again.’ She smiled, contemplated her ring.for a few moments in silence, then observed that the present was nol a fitting time for compliments. I longed to clasp her slim form in my arms and imprint a kiss upon her lips, but dare not, she seemed so deeply in earnest. Even as she stood before me her breast rose and fell quickly beneath its lace, and in her blue* eyes was an expression as if she were* haunted by some terrible dread. ‘You. too. must leave litre to-mor-row.' she said, a moment later. If you remain, an attempt may be made to obtain possession of the documents. 'Therefore, leave Nice, and travel to some cpiiet out-of-the-way French town. Remain there a week, and then take the box to London. For the customs examination you have only to unscrew this metal disc and allow them to smell. The thing is quite easy. 'The tin is unsuspicious, for it is a traveller's sample, such as passes the frontier every day.' It had not been my intention to leave the Riviera just then, but in pursuance of her wishes I expressed my readiness to go. and half an hour later, when I had wished her a fond and lingering adieu. 1 carried the mysterious tin of petroleum to my room at the Grand, and sat for a long time gazing at the address in Warsaw which she had given me in case we did not meet. Her last words to me had been ‘As you love me, do not allow that box for one instant out of your possession. The secrets it contains arc such as would startle Europe* from end to end; but for the present they must be* preserved, or I must pay the penalty of their exposure. My life is. therefore. in your hands.' 'Through several hours that night I sat thinking over this remarkable* declaration. and wondering what could be the nature of the strange documents contained in that unsuspicious looking case which bore the name of a well known firm of oil refiners. It was an ordinary sepiare lin of petroleum such as is used in almost every

household in France and Italy, and as I shook it 1 could hear the liquid bubbling. Next day. however, having called at Hit* Cosmopolitan and ascertained that the fair faced woman I loved had gone, I. too, left Nice, and that same night arrived at the quaint old world town ot ( arpenteras, in the hills beyond Avignon, and a week later carried tin* mysterious box with me to London, where I placed it with my bankers for safety. I hat Marya was enshrouded by some very remarkable mystery I had felt confident from the very first moment we had met. but this was increased when about a month after my return to London I chanced to attend one of ihe Marchioness of Milford's balls at Milford House, and there in the drawing room saw my well beloved herself Her costume of pah* blue chiffon, trimmed with silver, was superb, and her diamonds the most magnificent I had beheld, but I st«»od gazing at her dumbfounded, for she was leaning on the arm of a man who was no stranger to me—her keen-faced servant Ivan. 'The man, though bent and apparently decrepit, was well dressed, and across his white shirt front was the broad him* ami white silken sash of some foreign order, while suspended at his neck was the glittering star of the Order of St. Andrew, one of the highest of Russian distinctions. Why. I wondered, should this man masquerade as a person of note* amid that crowd of English statesmen and notables? Instinctively I disliked him. and held back to watch his movements. 'The pair were introduced by the Marchioness here and there, and were evidently regarded as persons of distinction. Presently, however, when dancing commenced. Marya gave the first waltz to young Lord Mabelthorpe. one of the Under Secretaries, and at its conclusion stood for a moment alone. Quickly I approached her. and expressed pleasure at meeting her. But with a cold supercilious glance she regarded me with dignified surprise. then siinplv observed in broken English: ‘I am not in the habit of speaking with gentlemen to whom I have* not had an introduction,’ and sin* turned away, leaving me alone and diseomfitted. 'This rebuff crushed me. for I fell that all standing round had noticed how utterly I had been snubbed. But walking slowly away, deeply puzzled over her curious determination not to recognise me. I suddenly encountered a man who was a kind of animated Debrett.

•'Tell me. Ferguson.' I asked quickly, ‘who's tin* girl in blue over there? See. she has just joined the old man who accompanied her.’ •'The girl.' he answered. ‘Why. don't you know ? She's the Princess Marya, daughter of the Grand Duke Paul ot Russia, and niece of the 'Tzar.' ‘Princess Marya!' 1 gasped, remembering what I had read in the newspapers regarding her ext raordi narv l>eauty. and the fact that a few days before sin* had visited the ()iicen so Windsor. Wnd the man?' I asked. ‘'That is General Grineviteh. Governor General of Warsaw, the best halt'd man in Poland, ami one of tin* Tzar’s principal advisers. Do you know 1 hem ?' I nodded, tried to smile, ami making an excuse, left him, and returned to my own chambers, deep in the bitter thought that Marya, tin* daughter of an imperial house*. could never, alas! be mine. Sin* had deceived me. and refused to recognise me. yet. when I r<*ll<*ctc(l upon all tin* facts and recollected tin* love light in her clear blue eyes during those never to be forgotten days at Nice. I refused to denounce her as altogether false* and heartless. On that night, when sin* entrusted to me her secrets, sin* was indeed desperate. And had she not de clared that her life* was in my hanels?' II was this latter fart which inehiccd me* to keep the* appointment I had made, and in accordance with mv promise*. I took the mysterious tin. packed it securely in my large* dressing case*, ami two days before* Christmas eve left for Poland travelling bv way of Ostend ami Berlin to Alrxandrovve*. the* Russian frontier. Here*, sifter nearly fortv hours' of incessant travel. both my passport and baggage* were examined, the sample* tin of petroleum um*arthed, the* quantity it contained carefully measure'll, and upon it I was compelled to pay twelve* rubles duty. 'Then after many delays and si great

show of officialdom on the part of the frontier guards and gray coated police, 1 was allowed to enter the train for Warsaw and proceed. The weather was cold, snow covered the ground, and the windows of the carriage were so obscured by ice that it was impossible to see outside. My only companion was a small, wizened faced Russian woman, muffled in costly furs, whose countenance, half hidden by her shuba and hood of fine wool, was decidedly ugly, and as my Russian vocabulary was limited, I did not venture any remark to her. Once or twice, when I lifted my eyes from my book, 1 detected her gaze fixed curiously upon me, but attributed this to the faet that I was an Englishman. The long hours dragged by slowly as we crawled across the limitless frost-bound plain, white beneath the bright moon, and unrelieved by anything save a few clumps of high, dismal looking pines. I glanced at my watch at last. It was nearly midnight. Therefore I gathered together my traps, in the happy knowledge that in a few moments 1 should be at my destination, and should once again meet the woman 1 adored. I had turned from my companion to adjust the straps around my rugs, when I was startled at hearing my name uttered, and, turning quickly, was astonished to find that my fellow traveller, having cast oil' her furs, sat with her neat, well dressed figure revok'd. It was Marya. '.My disguise was evidently complete!" she exclaimed, laughing, at the same time stretching forth her hand and expressing thanks that I should have kept the appointment. •You,Princess!’ I exclaimed, amazed. ‘I had no idea it was you. Your face ’

‘Yes; it is wonderful the changes a little theatrical “make-up” will effect in one’s features. My maid can render my face old or young, just as she pleases. But you have the box there,’ she added in a lower tone. ‘I stood beside you when the customs officers examined it. They suspected nothing,’ And she laughed lightly at the recollection of how ingeniously the tin had been constructed so as to deceive the prying officers of the douane. Then she added: ‘I was growing anxious, for 1 feared lest, after a certain incident in London, you would forget your appointment with me,’ and she fixed her luminous eyes calmly upon mine with unwavering glance. ‘Why did you refuse lo acknowledge me, princess?’ I asked, gravely. ‘Not princess,’ she protested, hastily. ‘ \ni I no longer Marya to you t’ ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ 1 cried, gladly, snatching up her small hand and imprinting upon it a passionate kiss. ‘1 still love you; I shall love you nl-

‘Ah, no,’ she answered, sighing sadly. ‘We must not love. When you know the truth you vill no longer rcgs.rd me with affection,’ and before I had time to demand further explanation the train had come to a standstill, the door of the compartment opened, and a bearded Russian railway porter, in his heavy winter coat, stood before us, ready to do our bidding. In an instant, recognising the princess, he touched his cap and said, ‘Yom highness’ carriage is waiting. I will eal] it.’ Then we stepped out upon the snowcovered platform, shivering, and were soon afterwards driven away t> the outskirts of the city. ", on have performed for me a service for which I eann it sufficiently thank you,’ she said pr?senily, bending towards me with an affectionate gesture. ‘Some day I will endeavour to re] (>;, you.’ I desire no repayment. Marya.’ I aiiswcied. ‘You know how fo.nily T love you.’ ‘All, yes, but T cannot ’me you in return. I dare not.’ •Why?’ ‘lt would be fatal. It would—’ The carriage stopped suddenly, preventing her finishing the sentence, and I found we were before the great palace of the Grand Duke Paul, which stood alone on the dreary snow-covered high road, where only the tclgrnph posts marked the track. We alighted, but ere T had put foot upon the snow 1 found myself seized by two muscular men. while nt the same moment Marya shrieked. ‘Ah, the police! We nre lost! The Wizard has done this.’ Not an instant was allowed me for reflection, for 1 was hustl'd into a hired carriage, apparently held in readiness, and. with an officer on

either side of me, was driven away, not, however, before I had heard my well beloved in altercation with the Chief of Police. She defied him, declaring her immunity from arrest without an order of the Tzar himself, as she was of the royal blood. ‘Ah, you will go to the mines soon enough, my pretty one,’ I heard the man exclaim, with a brutal laugh. Then I was driven off.

That night, tired and hungry, I spent in a squalid police cell, and next morning was driven to the palace of the Government and ushered into a small room, where at a small table sat the evil faced man whom I had known at Nice as Ivan Ivanovitch, Marya's servant.

He was attired in the imposing white uniform of the Guard, his breast covered with medals and crosses and as I entered he glanced up and gave a grunt of satisfaction. Before him stood the bright tin box. I bowed and began to complain of the extraordinary treatment I had received, when, with a low imprecation, he silenced me, and in obedience to a sign the three police officers who had accompanied me at onee set to work upon the mysterious tin box, unscrewing the metal stopper, emptying rhe oil, and then turning the empty case on end commenced ripping open the tin with extreme caution by means of a small pair of sharp shears. Slowly they eut the metal around all four sides, being watched breathlessly by the general and myself, until suddenly the whole of the bottom was raised, nnd then to my amazement I saw concealed in a narrow air-tight compartment and packed carefully in wadding a small casket of repousse silver, such as ladies use upon their toilet tables. Gingerly the police officials withdrew it, examined it minutely, and then handed it over to the scrutiny of an elderly spectacled man in civilian attire, who felt its weight, and then by means of a small chisel, and with infinite care, removed its lid.

Inside was a quantity of delicate mechanism. The silver trinket box was nothing less than an ingeniously constructed bomb filled with a most deadly and powerful explosive. I stood aghast, unable to speak a word.

The general, fixing his keen eyes upon me. said, ‘This is a conspiracy against the person of His Majesty. To-morrow you start for Siberia.’ At that instant one of the officials took up the opened bomb to examine it, when suddenly there was a frightful explosion which shook the building

and caused the walls of the room to collapse and fall. I have a distinct recollection of witnessing a bright flash, blinding as lightning, pass close to the governor’s face, but in an instant I became stunned by the terrific force of the explosion and choked by the dust. But only for a few moments. Then, recovering consciousness and extracting myself from the fallen masonry, I glanced around and saw to my horror that all five men who had been my fellow occupants of that room were terribly maimed, and were dead or dying. The limbs of each were shattered, while the evil face of General Grinevitch had been blown out of all recognition. Across my mind the thought flashed that by the explosion all who had held knowledge Marya’s secret had been swept away. I alone remained uninjured. Therefore, I bent, squeezed myself through a crack in the wall, and found myself outside in a barren snow-eovered garden. Behind me I could hear the shouts of the excited crowd assembling in the street, but I rushed forward, brushing my clothes as I went, and soon gained the railway station. Within an hour of the explosion I had started on my long journey back to London. When safe on English soil three days later I wrote to Marya, using wellguarded language, but to my letter received no reply. That my divinity was a Nihilist there was no room for doubt. Indeed, in the following spring we met again at Nice, and then she admitted to me that it had fallen to her to make an attempt on the life of General Grinevitch, the GovernorGeneral, who, on account of his inhumanity and cruelty towards political suspects and his autocratic power to send batches of persons to Siberia by administrative process, had been nick-named by the revolutionists ‘The Wizard of Warsaw.’ She, a daughter of the imperial house, feared herself to introduce the bomb into Russia, and had, therefore, induced me to do so. Grinevitch had, however, obtained knowledge of the conspiracy and arrested me, only to meet with his death in the manner I had witnessed.

During the season we often met at Cannes. Mentone, Monte Carlo and other places on the Riviera, and frequently walked and dined together, but no further words of love I spoke to her. I now saw how mysterious were her actions, how desperate she was, and what a terrible and passionate enthusiasm possessed her whole being. One evening, in her private sittingroom at the Cosmopolitan, I saw lying

on the table a pair of man’s white buckskin gloves, and taking them up inquired whose they were, and made a feint to put them on. In an instant she dashed toward me with a cry of terror and snatched them from my grasp. I asked the reason, but she evaded my question. That night after dinner we discussed the political situation, and she spoke of the approaching death of the Tzar Alexander as if the date were fixed, declaring that it would be a glorious day, for Russia would then be free. We parted when the season waned. She returned with her servants to her father’s great palace, on the outskirts of Warsaw, and I to my modest London chambers. Six months later, however, the whole civilised world was startled by the sudden and mysterious illness of the Tzar, and a few days later Russia was plunged into mourning. A week afterwards I received by post a report of the tragic event from an anonymous correspondent. In a spirit of exultation it was stated that the Nihilists had succeded in ‘removing the autocrat’ by simple means. In the finger of one of his gloves there had been placed a pin smeared with the deadliest of arrow poisons of the Congo, and that the laceration of His Majesty’s finger had caused death. The postmark of the letter was Warsaw. and the fine angular handwriting was that of the Princess Marya. [The End.]