Rasputin The Rascal Monk Part 17

The Prince went to the telephone and asked for the monk at his house.

The reply was that the Father had gone out to dine somewhere early in the evening.

Would he come? Would he walk into the trap so cunningly baited for him?

The moments seemed hours as the little a.s.sembly sat waiting and discussing whether any one could have given him warning, for it was known that the "miracle-worker" had, through his catspaw Protopopoff, spies set everywhere.

At twenty minutes past eleven a car was heard at the back-door in the Offitzerskaya, and his host, rus.h.i.+ng down, admitted him mysteriously.

The monk removed his big sable-lined coat, disclosing his black clerical garb and big bejewelled cross suspended around his neck. Then he removed his galoshes, for it was snowing hard outside.

"You need not be afraid, Father," said his host. "We are alone, except for my friend Stepanoff. He is one of us," he laughed merrily.

Then he conducted the "Saint" into the large handsome dining-room, where a tall, fair-bearded man, Paul Stepanoff, came forward to meet him.

Upon the table were two bottles of wine. Into one cyanide of pota.s.sium had been introduced, and its potency had an hour before been tried upon a dog, which at the moment was lying dead in the yard outside.

After Stepanoff had been introduced, the Prince said in a confidential tone:

"The lady I mentioned has not yet arrived. I shall go to the door to await her so that the servants are not disturbed."

Thus the Father was left with his merry, easy-going fellow-guest, who at a glance he saw was a _bon viveur_ like himself.

The two men began to talk of spiritualism, in which Stepanoff declared himself to be much interested, and a few minutes later he poured out some wine, filling the Father's gla.s.s from the poisoned bottle while he attracted his attention to a picture at the end of the room.

They raised their gla.s.ses, and drank. Some dry biscuits were in a silver box, and after Rasputin had drained his gla.s.s, he took a biscuit and munched it.

But to Stepanoff's amazement the poison took no effect! Was the monk after all under some divine or mysterious protection? Stepanoff was expecting him to be seized by paroxysms of agony every moment.

On the contrary, he was still calm and expectant regarding the mysterious lady whom he was to meet.

Suddenly, however, Rasputin, slightly paler than usual, exclaimed: "Curious! I do not feel very well!"

And he crossed the room to examine an ancient crucifix, beautifully jewelled, which was standing upon a side table.

Stepanoff rose and followed him, remarking on the beauty of the sacred emblem, yet aghast that the "Saint" could take such a dose of poison and yet remain unharmed.

Prince Youssoupoff with the others, was standing silent in the upstairs room eagerly awaiting Stepanoff's announcement that the traitor was no more. Those moments were breathless ones. What, they wondered, was happening below! They listened, and could hear the voices of the pair below still in conversation.

"Ah! That spasm has pa.s.sed!" Rasputin was heard to declare.

Pa.s.sed! Was he immune from the effects of that most deadly poison?

They looked at each other astounded. The fact was that he had only sipped the wine, and having had sufficient already to drink he had contrived to empty his gla.s.s into a dark porcelain flower-bowl.

The monk had taken the big crucifix in his hand to examine it the more closely, when Stepanoff, seeing that Rasputin was still unharmed suddenly drew a big Browning pistol, and, placing it under the monk's arm and against his breast, fired.

The others above, hearing the shot, rushed out upon the wide balcony, while Stepanoff dashed up the stairs to meet them, crying:

"The Saint is dead at last! Russia is freed of the scoundrel!"

The others shouted joy, and re-entering the room, toasted the liberation and regeneration of Russia. Suddenly, they heard a noise and went out upon the balcony again, when, to their horror, they saw the door of the dining-room opened, and Rasputin, haggard and blood-stained, staggering forth, with an imprecation upon his lips, to the door opening to the street, in an effort to escape!

The attempt at poisoning him had failed, and he had only been wounded.

The tension was breathless. Was he after all endowed with some supernatural power?

"You have tried to kill me!" shrieked the monk, his hands stained with blood. "But I still live--I live!--and G.o.d will give me my revenge!"

With his hands clasped over the spot where he had been wounded, he gave vent to a peal of demoniacal laughter, which held the little knot of witnesses on the balcony utterly dumbfounded and appalled.

Only one man seemed to have courage to stir.

According to the lady who was present and who gives me the description which I here reproduce--the only true and authentic account of the affair--Stepanoff, his revolver still in his hand, again dashed down the stairs, and preventing the monk from opening the outer door, sprang upon him and emptied the contents of his weapon, barrel after barrel, into the monk's head.

At last the spy and traitor was dead!

Ten minutes later a closed car arrived containing Doctor Stanislas L--, and driven by a soldier in uniform named Ivan F--. In the car the body of the monk was placed by the doctor, the soldier, and the patriotic executioner Stepanoff.

Leaving the Prince and those who had a.s.sembled to witness the death of the hated agent of the Kaiser who had so misled the Russian Imperial family and the Russian people, and who had been directly and indirectly responsible for the death of thousands of brave men, British and French, on the various battle-fronts, the men drove with the fellow's body, the great golden cross still dangling around its neck, to the Petrovsky Bridge.

It was very dark and snowy. n.o.body was about, therefore the doctor, the soldier, and the man who had that night lopped off the tentacle of the German octopus in Russia, carried the body to a point between the second and third arches of the bridge. Here it had been ascertained earlier in the night that the ice was broken, and a large hole existed.

They raised the body to cast it over when, horror! The dead hand caught in the soldier's shoulder-strap!

"Is this a curse upon me?" gasped Ivan.

"Curse or not, he goes!" cried Stepanoff, and all three hurled him over the parapet.

There was a loud splash. Then all was silent again, and the trio, re-entering the car, drove hurriedly away.

For six days there were rumours everywhere in Petrograd that "something"

had happened. Fredericks, Sturmer, and Protopopoff were frantic. The Secret Police, at orders of the Emperor, were making every inquiry, for the Holy Father was missing!

On December 31st, at 3 p.m., the Tsaritza despatched the following telegram to Nicholas II.

"Order Maksimovitch arrest Dmitri (the Grand Duke) in your name. Dmitri waited to see me to-day. I refused. The body has not yet been found.-- Alec."

To this His Majesty replied that he was taking every measure, and that he had ordered the Grand Duke Nicholas into exile to his estates.

Then, on the following day, the distracted Empress, who was grief-stricken and inconsolable at the tragedy, telegraphed "Thanks for your wire. Body found in the river."

An abandoned motor-car soaked in blood had been found miles out of the city. It was believed to belong to a Grand Duke. The entire police and detective force of the capital had in the meantime been afoot, and raked through all the houses of ill-fame, gipsy singers' haunts, and in fact every conceivable place, until the finding of a blood-stained galosh, proved to have belonged to Rasputin, gave evidence of a tragedy.

The ice on the river and ca.n.a.ls was, of course, several feet thick, but it is the custom in Russia to cut openings where water is obtained and linen is rinsed by laundresses. Divers went down, but discovered nothing; eventually, however, the body was picked up near the bank, not far from where it had been thrown in.

When it was discovered the Empress saw it in secret and knelt before it, crying hysterically for half-an-hour. Anna Vyrubova standing in silence at her side.

Then, at the Empress's orders, it was buried privately and at night at Tsarskoe-Selo.

In the meantime the Emperor had arrived post-haste from the front, and for three days extremely guarded references to an "interesting murder"

appeared in the Petrograd and foreign Press. Alongside were printed some biographical notes regarding the chief actors in the tragedy. No mention, however, was allowed to be made of Rasputin.