The traitor's wife

CHAPTER I " Where shall the traitor rest

He, the deceiver Who could win maiden's breast,

Ruin and leave her ? " — Scott.

Paul Drumitz walked to the statidn: with the air of a man anticipating the agreeable. He seemed glad to be leaving what was behind, makirig obvicus 'cqr|-* fession that his heart was elsewhere. He disdained the casual droshky and drove away in the more distinguished likhac.

It was early — for St Petersburg. In the Russian capital the day begins late. People have a habit of paying calls at midnight and that conduces to late rising. The shop-keepers only begin to pull down their shutters about ten o'clock and it was to the accompaniment of this that Paul Drumitz drove to the station. He was of the official class. Almost everybody desires to be that in Russia and an extraordinarily great number get their wish. Russian officialdom is ubiquitous,

Paul Drumitz was — so he had told his wife — going

A to Yarub on behalf of the Government. The statenient was not accurate. He was not going to Yarub at all and the Government had no cognisance of his visit. He was going to Meschenk.

He had the manners and tone of a man of birth and breeding, for his lineage was noble, even if his patrimony were small. Most noble Russians refer to their " estate," but some would experience a difficulty in finding their own. Paul Drumitz had an estate, managed by his cousin Stephan, but it was rarely visited by him because it didn't repay him for the trouble. His income did not come from the land.

He was thirty-four years of age and ambitious of pleasure. He never dreamed of doing anything to bene§t. the world :•' he w^an ted money because it provided pleasure. He longed for power because by its use 'he Vas able to dq as' he wished. Altruism — self-sacrifice — his view of such matters was caustic and scorching. Only his view was not expressed. He knew the value of silence as well as its price. In his case the price was high. In some circles he was known as a reliable official — a tchin to be respected. In others he was welcomed as a revolutionary. Paul Drumitz (as we know him) a revolutionary ! In another — a small, discreet and important — circle, he was recognised and utilised as a spy. No wonder he lied. No wonder he knew when to be silent.

He chose a comfortable seat in the train, which,, though slowly moving in Russia, is at any rate decently warmed. He was not handsome but somehow he had pleased more than one woman. He could coax and be indifferent, excellent methods when worked together, but feeble as single supports. He had a blase air ; his weak chin and voluptuous mouth were covered with a well-trimmed beard and a full moustache. His eyes were blue — a watery blue, with little sympathy in them and no richness of colour. His nose was squat but his shoulders were broad and he was nearly six feet in height. So much for his outward seeming.

There was the usual inspection at the station, with the usual trouble and the usual tears. A missing passport, an arrest, that might mean little or so much, a separation of friends, and Russian officialdom master of the situation. Then the train proceeded at its even pace.

Paul Drumitz was glad to get out at Meschenk which, though generally referred to as a town, is really but an overgrown village. It was not one of the wooden houses inhabited by the peasants that Drumitz sought, but a one-storey building, with a wooden gallery on one of the facades. It was the house of a bourgeois.

Drumitz knocked and he received a welcome he did not deserve. Still if we did not all get, at least occasionally, things we did not deserve, life would lose much of its interest and humanity its encouragement.

Olga Krakoff had her arms round Paul Drumitz*s neck and the love that shone in her eyes was sufficient to influence an ordinary man for good or ill. It influenced Drumitz in no sense.

"I was afraid you were never coming, Paul," she said.

He smiled, quite pleased that he had been expected with such interest. He was almost punctual to the time appointed.

He kissed her.

" You are too nervous," he said.

She shook her head.

"So many things might happen," she said, and her attitude showed that she feared the slightest misfortune for her lover.

" Not to us," he said gaily.

" Are you never afraid, Paul ? "

He shrugged his shoulders. After all, most people know what fear is, and few acknowledge it. Drumitz never threw away a card and courage is the attribute of the lover.

"What must be must be," he said, repeating the Slav fatalistic formula as though he believed it.

" Have you arranged what you promised, dear ? " she asked in a timid, almost apologetic way.

" Practically ; it is all but settled."

" Ah ! " She kissed him not once but many times.

He put his arm round her.

" You are mine, Olga."

" Always."

Olga Krakoff was beautiful, but she loved too much to be a good judge of a lover. Her big soft eyes were an alluring temptation to an unscrupulous man of the type of Drumitz.

Olga was in the movement : she was an " illegal."

She had done her share from the age of nineteen — she was only twenty-four now — of propagandist work. She had worked among the peasants and sold them revolutionary literature and explained such words as " liberty " and " tyranny " with a fine exactness. She had walked half the night to leave letters in expected places and give signals of warning to comrades.

Drumitz had heard of her through his connection with the revolutionary party, and, having seen her, desired her. She knew nothing of him save that his name was Paul Drumitz. Olga's two brothers were also workers in the cause but to her intense grief they were both suddenly arrested and were now awaiting their trial, a thing that can be so long deferred in Russia.

Drumitz, who could have explained if he would how it came to the knowledge of the police that the brothers Krakoff were engaged in "illegal" work, seized the moment of Olga's grief to offer his sympathy. He won her heart — and had promised marriage.

"Alexander and Demetrius," she murmured at length, with hope in her face.

" I am working hard," he said. " I believe we shall manage to liberate them."

She looked at him gratefully and tenderly. Her brothers freed and by the help of her lover !

" Will they go out of Russia ? " she asked eagerly.

" I think so. It will be better."

"Yes, it will be safer. But — nobody can do the cause much good who does not live here."

"That is true. What an enthusiast you are, Olga ! "

" You know you are. Everybody knows you are. You give a few moments to me, don't you, even in the midst of your work for the cause ? "

"Every spare moment," she said, looking at him with a love abundant and frank.

He took her in his arms. This was to him a thing to chuckle over as well as to enjoy. His own wife had seemed to love him once, but this was much more pleasing.

" You love me ? " she murmured.

*' I couldn't help myself," he said.

She seemed very happy.

" I thought I should never hold any love in my heart so great as that I have for the cause and my brothers."

" But you don't regret it ? "

" Regret ! " She laughed at the word with a joyous ring. And he thought to himself, in his sordid soul, that he occupied an excellent position.

*' And I shall never regret," she added.

That, of course, is always love's improvident, boastful way.

He kissed her again, because he could not believe that, and somehow he did not care for her to discuss the future so dogmatically. She would not regret, . . , Well, some women were extraordinarily forgiving and would forgive almost anything in a man they really loved. " You are beautiful, Olga," he said.

" Am I ? " she answered and felt grateful for the praise. " Shall I make you some tea ? "

" Not yet — in a little while. Sit beside me.'*

" How long shall you stay, Paul ? "

" Till to-morrow." He laughed. " I am supposed to be away on official business."

The " to-morrow " set her trembling and she sat for a moment without speaking.

He was observant with women and guessed the reason.

" I think I will have some tea, dear," he said.

She rose willingly and at once, glad to do something to please him.

" It will soon be ready," she said.

While she got out the samovar and made tea he led her to speak of her connection with the revolutionary party. She told him of things she had done and, trusting him implicitly, gave him the names of friends who had helped and laboured with her.

He encouraged her. He did this kind of thing well. After all, there are expert villains just as there are clever lawyers.

" But Alexander and Demetrius," she said at length, her thoughts reverting to her brothers. "You do think, Paul, that they will escape ? "

" I feel sure of it."

" What are you doing ? "

" Let me keep that to myself, dear. We may fail. I don't think it possible. But if the first plan is not successful, I hope at least to arrange a * substitute* on the road to Siberia — ^you know that is not difficult.'*

"Siberia," she murmured. The word was too ominous, too awful to pass without casting its black shadow,

" Don't fret, dear, we shall save them. At least, I will do all that can be done."

" I feel that, Paul," she said. And it was almost wonderful that this man could raise so great a trust in a woman. Olga Krakoff was a remarkable woman. She was unselfish, and somewhat of an idealist, and that was all in favour of the rogue.

" How is the substitution effected ? " she asked. " I have heard of it, but I don't think I quite understood."

" When the politicals go to Siberia, there is always with them a gang of criminals. Now, by approaching the head of the artel of the criminals, it can be arranged that one of these men shall take the place of one of the politicals at any given moment. The political effects his own escape, the criminal takes his place— that's all."

" It sounds so simple," she said.

"Yes, it — sounds simple. But it has often been successful."

" And will Alexander and Demetrius — " she began.

But he interrupted her. He put his arm round her.

" Let us forget them for a moment or two," he said. " I don't see you so often, Olga, and — " He kissed her,

" It is selfish of me," she said. The unselfish are constantly upbraiding themselves with selfishness.

whilst the selfish talk superbly of their "self-sacrifice."

Dusk had thrown a gentle darkness on the landscape ; the clumps of willows and poplars, so abundant in parts of Russia, were silhouetted against a gloomy sky. The people of Meschenk were mostly indoors, and Paul Drumitz and Olga Krakoff were careless of the light and darkness of the outside world when they were suddenly disturbed.

There was a gentle knock on the door of the house that sheltered them.

The man and woman looked at each other and were still.

It is only in Russia that a knock on the door is so often the prelude to despair.

Olga stood up, but Drumitz caught her hand* There must be no indiscretion. He did not court publicity.

An arrest in a country where "administrative methods " prevail is generally but another name for condemnation. Olga Krakoff realised this — as do all "illegals" — and there was the fate of her brothers before her.

" The police," she whispered to Drumitz.

He shook his head.

" They would not scratch," he said.

She looked relieved.

" It may be a friend," she whispered.

He nodded.

The knock was repeated. It was not quite so timid as before.

" If it IS Alexander or Demetrius — "

But he stopped her excited speech with a warning look. He felt it was not the police. Them he could eventually have escaped, but a friend might know too much about him in St Petersburg and that would be awkward. He cursed the caller. He felt that friends could be a nuisance. All shady people feel that.

There was a tap on the window.

Olga leapt from fear to joy.

** It is somebody," she said to Drumitz, almost pleadingly. She meant somebody who counted in her heart, of course.

Drumitz had his own game to play. He put up a warning finger and nodded.

" Probably," he said ; " but I will not be seen. I might compromise you, and it is always wise to be discreet. Can I hide here?" He pointed to the room opposite.

She nodded, and he went quietly through the door.

" Don't let anybody know I am here," he said.

She smiled a little at his prudence, and then kissed him to smother the odd feeling.

" I won't mention you, Paul," she said ; " even if it is my best friend."

Then she went to the door.

A man with a bent back, with the air of a poor pedlar peered in her face. She, standing in the light, did not distinguish his features easily-7-perhaps that was part of his intention.

" It is very cold, matouchka.'*

The Traitor's Wife ii

The phrase was banal, but the voice and the accompanying look were full of significance.

Olga almost cried out. What she imagined seemed too joyful. She took a step forward and put her face near the man's. He took her hand.

" Are you alone, Olga ? " he said.

She flung her arms round him.

" Sh — " he said, and at once pushed into the house.

" Demetrius," she exclaimed when they were in the room and her heart was beating wildly. Demonstrative like the Slavs, she stroked and kissed her brother and scarcely knew what to do. "And Alexander — ? " she said eagerly.

" Free too, Olga. We both escaped."

She was tingling with ecstasy. She wanted to shout, dance — to do anything to give outlet to the emotion that possessed her. She laughed as if in mockery at their enemies. Then she thought of Drumitz and instinctively she turned towards the door through which he had gone, and gave a little cry of delight. What a surprise ! What a pleasure to introduce her lover and her brother under such circumstances ! Then she remembered his injunction and her promise.

Ah, well ! She would wait a little. The surprise and pleasure would be all the greater for the waiting. She felt as if she kept a rich treat to herself and enjoyed the secrecy.

" How did you escape, Demetrius ? "

" It is a glorious tale. We shall not be disturbed ? "

"One of the warders was a friend and prepared everything for us. He has gone too. Alexander and he and two others are going to Switzerland if possible. I want to join them — will you come, Olga ? "

She shook her head.

" My place is here."

"As you will. I thought as much. I expect we shall return soon, for nobody can do much out of the country. But I want a passport ; that is why I came. You can get me one through Stanovitch, and I must hide till the morning."

" I knew you would escape," said Olga.

" Did you dream it ? "

She shook her head.

" I got reliable information about you."

" From whom ? "

She hesitated a moment. Her lover should hear this conversation, and would throw open the door and introduce himself Olga quite enjoyed the situation.

" Paul Drumitz," she said.

" Drumitz ! "

"Yes."

He stood staring at her as though he did not understand. She was disappointed. She wanted her lover^s name to cause delight, and Demetrius looked unpleasantly perplexed. " Drumitz," he repeated, " Paul Drumitz ! "

There was no mistaking the look and accent Olga felt chilled. Her brother had drawn from her a step backwards and was looking incredulous.

" Oh, Demetrius ! what is it ? Why do you say his name like that ? " she exclaimed.

" His name like that ! — he is a spy." He hurled the last word, for his feelings were hot. She felt fit to weep. She saw her image broken, her ikon destroyed. Her face was white.

" Spy," she murmured faintly, scarcely realising the news to the full.

" Yes. It was he who betrayed us."

Her eyes blazed at that.

" Betrayed you ! "

Demetrius nodded.

"We learnt that in gaol." He gave a significant little grunt. " So he told you, did he ? "

" Paul Drumitz, Demetrius, you are sure that was the name?" She spoke as one stunned — hoping a mistake had been made.

"Paul Drumitz, Traitor — that's the man. Blue eyes, pointed beard, sidles up to you and is always knocking against you when he's near you. Paul Drumitz ..." As he spoke Demetrius Krakoff assumed an attitude of very dangerous hostility to Paul Drumitz.

Olga sat down and looked as though she had been lashed. She had more to think of than her brother knew.

"He was to be my husband," she said faintly, clearly apologising for stooping to such a position.

Her brother dropped his bundle at the news and lifted his sister's face.

" The villain," he said. " He is married ! "

She could go no paler. Her brother held her close to him, feeling her catastrophe. Demonstrative sympathy is easier to a woman than to a man, but the Slav is emotional and Demetrius was imaginative.

Looking on the ground, her hand resting on her brother's shoulder, she said very quietly as though the news were ordinary and had just come to her remembrance —

" He is in that room."

Demetrius looked surprised even after what he had heard. His own undoing could not have been more neatly sought. If Paul Drumitz got away with the news he had heard . . .

Demetrius seized a revolver and rushed into the next room.

But Paul Drumitz was not there. That astute gentleman had realised this place was not one to suit him.

" He has gone," said Demetrius.

Olga nodded. It was the confirmation of everything. It sealed the infamy. She sat down, looking haggard. Treachery is repulsive, and when one can't hate a traitor, one at least loathes him. Olga was doubly betrayed.

" What will you do ? " she said, speaking as if she were very tired.

" Get away at once. You must come too ! " He was suffering from no blow like hers, for he did not know all, and felt the need of instant action. Drumitz, with the knowledge of the escape and the whereabouts of at least one fugitive, might still serve Demetrius a nasty trick.

"He heard, perhaps," said Olga, starting up and realising the peril of wasting time.

"We must go at once. Find the passport, also your own, and let us get outside this country at once."

She acquiesced. The packing was hasty, but they were not disturbed while doing it. Without property some people would give up the ghost in despair. In Russia there are thousands who will give all they have — even liberty and friends — to propagate an idea. Demetrius and Olga Krakoff were wise enough to esteem instant flight more precious than the saving of goods.

They left Meschenk in the night and safely crossed the frontier. When they were in Prussia they breathed a little more freely, but not much. Bureaucracy in Prussia is not kindly disposed to those who talk of the rights of the people too loudly. The police must have their work.

Olga said to her brother when they were safe in Zurich : " I must go back to Russia."

" I understand, Olga," replied Demetrius. " We will find out what we can of Drumitz, and he shall have his — reward."

Olga nodded.

" The reward of a betrayer."

CHAPTER II ** Home has not the same sound in everybody's ears.''

Paul Drumitz'S wife sat in her flat in St Petersburg engaged in her correspondence. Although it is just as well to be careful what one writes in Russia there is more written concerning politics than manypeople think, as there is far more plain speaking now than the average newspaper reader in England imagines. Irene Drumitz was writing to her friends in England with a freedom that the English person cannot wholly shake off.

She was undeniably pretty, but a better adjective to describe her would be sweet. Her sympathy was an ever ready virtue. To such an one life might have brought happiness if only she had been well mated. It is either too early or too late in the day to rail at marriage. Paul Drumitz was not the good husband he had promised to be — the reader has no need to be told that with emphasis. And his wife felt his selfishness and his neglect.

He snatched her when she seemed to be on the point of being won by an Englishman named Alan Leigh. There were all kinds of rumours and reports set going at the time, and one was that her father was indebted pecuniarily to Drumitz. Alan Leigh had left her to go to Russia — he had an estate there

i6 which his mother, a Russian, had left him — and when he came back, it was to find Irene Carr engaged to Paul Drumitz. It may be that the rumours were all false and nothing but a specious tongue and the incomprehensible rest had made Miss Carr consent to marry the Russian.

The marriage took place and Leigh went to India. On his return he divided his time mostly between Russia and England and was gradually drawn into the revolutionary party.

Irene Drumitz's father was the Rev. Joseph Carr, of good family and unorthodox views, which is a hindrance to preferment. When he died he left enough money to pay the bill for dilapidations at the vicarage and no more. His son was doing fairly well as a barrister at the Cape. So Irene felt herself without strong support when her husband was more than usually unkind. No wonder that the sweet face had a sad look.

When Mr Leigh was announced she stopped her writing at once. They had met once at Monte Carlo since the marriage, but that was when she was happier, when her marriage with Drumitz did not promise so leaden a burden, was not so empty of loveliness. Then she had felt sorry for Leigh, for his secret seemed no secret to her then. He hid it as well as he could, but his hiding was clumsy — perhaps because he had too big a heart. The man with a heart always appeals to the woman who has one, just as mean folk find a kind of common sympathy in discussing their niggard economies.

B

She was tactful of course — she could not help being that — and he was sufficiently observant to admire her all the more for it They parted friends, with a bond between them.

This was his first visit to her in St Petersburg. He had not avoided her wilfully before but he had not gone out of his way to see her. He felt it was not perhaps wise for himself. But now he was passing through on his way to England and a call seemed not only desirable but imperative.

He brought another atmosphere with him in the room. The England of shady lanes and winsome curves, of hawthorn and primroses came to Irene Drumitz when a countryman called on her. To-day she could almost smell the roses in her father's garden, that she and Leigh had watered together.

" It was good of you to call," she said, greeting him with a glad smile.

" Don^t call it good. I could give you far better adjectives. I am on my way to England."

"England," she murmured. "When shall you come back again ? "

" Soon, I think."

" Have you been in Russia long ? I rarely hear of you."

" Two months."

" Not in St Petersburg."

He shook his head.

" No. I should have called if I had been here. I have been in Moscow and Kieff and Iver."

He spoke deliberately and she understood.

" Be careful," she said.

He shrugged his shoulders.

" It is an object in life," he said, and felt the next moment that he had spoken unadvisedly.

" Yes," she said, with a sigh, and he did not realise that a similar motive moved her to the same opinion.

" I have managed to dispose of two hundred copies of The People's Will during the last fortnight," he said, referring to a newspaper published by the revolutionary party.

" I did not know you were so keen, Alan," she said, being moved by his enthusiasm ; for be it remembered she understood much.

" I am getting keener," he replied,

" What will be the end ? " she said.

" Do you mean of us or of the struggle ? "

" I was thinking of — ^you," she said.

" Don't. To think of our danger in this game is to be too depressed. The cause is our support."

" Oh, Alan ! Why — " Then she stopped. These outbursts were no good. " I suppose you must," she said.

" I must. Those who see tyranny know that it must be fought."

She was silent for a moment and thought of her husband. He, too, was of the illegals, but did he ever speak like this ?

The tea was brought in the next moment, and as she handed Leigh the lemon he looked at the soft brown eyes that had won his heart years before and wondered if she were happy. Even the best-hearted woman will turn some stripe to the discerning.

" How is — Paul ? " he said at length.

"Well, thank you."

" What is he doing ? He doesn't run you into unnecessary risk, I hope."

She shook her head.

" I run no risk. I do nothing. He tells me very little. Perhaps he wants to keep me from trouble," she added quickly, as if to excuse the lack of confidence the remark betrayed.

" Perhaps it is as well," Leigh said slowly.

They were silent for a moment. These two felt more than they could utter. Each wanted to ask personal questions ; questions of trivial comfort and of deep personal feeling. Each had a desire to get on the bedrock of companionship and be made a confidant of the other's candid feelings, and they both felt that impossible. They were two people chained by sentiment, separated by principle — slaves in the galley !

He asked after her brother and told her news of common friends. They touched too on that tender topic — reminiscences : so full of sentiment, so captivating to the warm-hearted. And they had been together much in the past.

She realised her anxiety for him and feared.

She was not in the thick of the revolutionary fight. She had played her role on one or two occasions as one of the Ukrivateli, or Concealers ; one of that band that helps any revolutionary in need of concealment. But her husband had his own game to play and doubtless only allowed her to act a part that suited him. She would have done more but was content to follow his directions.

" Things," he said, " that many people here can regard with indifference make my blood boil in anger."

" That's home," she said understandingly.

"I expect it is. We have been accustomed to liberty and the denial of it is trying. The less freedom men have generally, the more tyranny is exercised by the few. The way in which one narrow-minded bigoted man here can control the destinies of hundreds of beings immeasurably superior to himself in knowledge, character and outlook is appalling. * You mustn't think this,' * you mustn't dream of that,' * don't utter a word on that subject ' — oh ! " he paused. " It is awful, isn't it ? That road to Siberia lined with those who dared to dream of Freedom and tell their dreams ! The prisons carpeted with men and women whose crime it was that they loved liberty — a little more liberty — more than a government of stern repression — "

" Alan ! " she said, and looked round, for he was speaking loudly.

" I am sorry. I must not get you into trouble."