By this lime, so many senior officers had been summoned to meetings by Count Pahlen and asked their views that it seemed to Roger that half St. Petersburg must know about the plot. Every day now he cxpected to hear that Paul had learned about it and had had his Minister arrested: and if that happened the whole movement would be nipped in the bud because the Count, as Governor of the City, controlled the police and should he be deprived of that post everyone else concerned would also be arrested.
With ever-increasing anxiety Roger strove to keep his thoughts on listing the titles of books and manuscripts until the morning of March 23rd. Still fearing that the Czar must know of the conspiracy and that they would all be seized at the last moment, he rode into the city to be present that night at a supper party Count Pahlen was giving for some sixty officers.
Among them were the three Zuboff brothers, the eldest of whom. Plato, had been Catherine's favourite at the time of her death. Roger had never previously met him, but had heard many accounts of his vanity, stupidity and insolent behaviour. Paul, on his accession, had deprived the brothers of the greater part of their wealth and they had since been living uncomfortably in the country. Pahlen had chosen them to act as Bennigsen's immediate supporters and had sent for them in secret. Later it emerged that they, and many of the other officers present, were not yet aware of the reason for this gathering.
Soon after midnight, by which time large quantities of wine had been consumed, Pahlen addressed the company. He told them that that morning the Czar had carried out his threat against the dilatory Frederick William, and sent him an insulting message by the Russian Ambassador in Berlin declaring war on Prussia. When the exclamations of dismay had died down the Count added that this last insane act could mean the ruin of Russia so must be stopped, and he then immediately called upon them to join him that very night in forcing the Czar to abdicate.
Only four officers refused their aid: the rest enthusiastically hailed this chance to protect themselves from falling under the mad Czar's displeasure. In an excited mob they streamed out of the mansion and headed for the Palace. On the way there Pahlen succeeded in forming them into two groups: one that was to enter the Palace under Bennigsen, the other to remain outside with himself and overawe any officers of the guard who might attempt to make trouble. But there was no trouble. The senior officers of the Semenourki regiment were in the plot and had arranged that their sentries should allow the conspirators to pass.
Roger and the Zuboff brothers had joined Bennigsen's party. It was now close on two o'clock in the morning and all but a few of the inmates of the Palace were sleeping. Quickly the conspirators made their way across the great hall, up the broad staircase and along dimly-lit corridors to the Czar's apartments.
Outside them two heyducks were on guard and attempted to halt them. One was instantly struck down, the other managed to escape and, as he ran off shouting for help, several of the conspirators dashed away in pursuit of him.
Hearing his cries the Czar's valet, who had been dozing in the ante-room, appeared, his eyes round with terror. Knowing that he had the key to his master's bedroom, Bennigsen seized him by the throat, shook him as a terrier shakes a rat, and took the key from him. Two minutes later they were in the bedroom.
Roused from his sleep, Paul was sitting up in his huge canopied bed. but only vaguely discernible by the glimmer of a single night light. Bennigsen, waving his sword with one hand, with the other pulled from his pocket the Act of Abdication and shouted:
‘You have ceased to reign! The Grand Duke Alexander is now Emperor. I summon you in his name to sign this document. Refuse and I'll not answer for your life!'
Protesting wildly, Paul slipped from his bed and made a dash for the door leading to the Empress's apartments. Then he pulled up short, suddenly remembering that he could not escape that way because, fearing that his wife might have him murdered, he had only a few days before, ordered it to be blocked up. By his unworthy suspicions he had trapped himself.
At that moment there came the sound of tramping feet out in the corridor. Fearing that the heyduck who had got away had succeeded in reaching and rousing Paul's bodyguard and that they were now coming to his help, the conspirators panicked, faced about and ran back into the ante-room. There ensued a wild scramble as they pushed one another aside in their anxiety to get through the further door and away down the passage.
After a few moments Bennigsen regained his wits and bellowed, 'Stop, you fools! Defend the door! Give me five minutes and I'll force him to sign, then threaten him with death unless he orders his people to let us freely leave the Palace.’
Except for Plato Zuboff, his brother Nicholas and Roger the others ignored Bennigsen's plea and ran on. It seemed now that, if the coup was to be accomplished, every moment was precious. With no word said, all four of them turned about and dashed back into Paul's bedroom.
During their brief absence he had scrambled back into bed and had endeavoured to conceal himself under the heavy rugs at its foot. Three parts drunk with wine and excitement, Bennigsen and the Zuboffs launched themselves at the bed and began to tear away the covers. One of them knocked over the night light and a moment later the room was plunged into total darkness.
Roger drew a sharp breath as it flashed into his mind that this contretemps spelled disaster. In the pitch darkness it would be impossible to make the Czar sign the abdication. At any moment now Paul's bodyguard might arrive on the scene. Even if Bennigsen carried out his threat to kill the Czar, there would be no escape for those who had brought about his death. All four of them would be overwhelmed and slaughtered.
Swiftly he assessed his own chances. Shouts and the noise of a desperate struggle came from the direction of the bed, but no sound came from the ante-room or the corridor beyond it. If he acted at once and abandoned his companions, there was still a chance that he might evade the guards, find some place in which to hide until the fracas between them and the conspirators had been settled one way or the other then, under cover of darkness, slip out of the Palace.
Heading for the door he fumbled his way out of the bedroom. The ante-chamber was almost as dark, being lit only by a faint glow that came from lights some way down the corridor. He halted abruptly, his mind still racing with thoughts of his perilous situation and all that hung on this attempt to force Paul to abdicate.
To achieve that end he had made the long, exhausting journey to St. Petersburg and for many weeks had tirelessly intrigued to bring it about. Barely five minutes earlier he had seemed to be within an ace of reaching his goal. Had he done so, it would have altered the whole balance of power in Europe to the inestimable advantage of Britain. If there was still even a slender chance that he could yet succeed in that, could he square it with his conscience to save himself rather than risk his life?
For another moment he was racked by awful indecision, then his sense of duty overcame his fears. The chance lay in quickly finding a light that he could bring to the bedroom, so that Paul could be coerced to sign the act of abdication before the arrival of his guards. Some way down the corridor there were lamps or candles burning. Resolved now, whatever the cost, to see matters through, he started forward and dashed out of the ante-room to fetch a light.
The corridor was deserted and still no sound came from further along it. Racing down it, he sped round the corner, then pulled up short as he came opposite a wall bracket holding six candles. Turning, he grasped one of them to take it from its socket. At that moment he heard distant footfalls. A glance over his shoulder showed him that a group of men was approaching from the far end of the passage, two of them holding flambeaux. Taking them for Paul's guards, he let go of the candle, instinctively drew his sword, and prepared to beat a hasty retreat.
As he did so, one of the advancing group hailed him by name. Next minute he recognized the man who had given the shout and, with a surge of relief, realized that it was not Paul's guards approaching but a number of officers who were taking part in the conspiracy. As they adv
anced they called to him excitedly that the escaping heyduck had been killed, that the alarm had been a false one and that Paul's bodyguard had been arrested by the Colonel of the Semenourki regiment; so the Palace was now in their hands. Joining the group, Roger hurried back with them to the Czar's bedroom.
By the flickering light of the flaming torches a grim sight met their eyes. Paul lay limp across the foot of the bed. His forehead was bleeding from a blow by which he had been struck down. His head lolled back, exposing his neck and the red bruises on it showed that he had been strangled.
Bennigsen hotly disclaimed any part in the murder, and was furiously cursing the Zuboffs. Plato appeared scared by the deed, but Nicholas, a huge brute of a man. only gave a drunken laugh and cried:
The swine deserved to die. I'll go now to Alexander, hail him as Czar and ask a fair reward for this good night's work —that he restore our estates to us.' Then he staggered from the room.
Hours later Roger learned from Count Pahlen what had followed this terrible scene. Nicholas Zuboff had gone straight to the Grand Duke and told him bluntly that his father was dead. Alexander had been completely shattered, burst into tears and refused all consolation. Pahlen had then learned that the Empress, on being informed that her husband was dead, had claimed the right to succeed and was rallying her friends about her. He had hastened to Alexander, found him still in tears but forced him to pull himself together and, to prevent his mother usurping his throne, allow himself to be proclaimed Emperor. In the murky dawn of March 24th the Brigade of Guards had been paraded and Alexander hailed by them as Czar of all the Russias.
Roger had no means of sending this stupendous news back to London, but he knew that within a month or so it would be known there. Meanwhile he was content to bide his time as Count Pahlen's guest until the new Czar recovered from the shock of his father's murder.
Alexander ordered that his Court should go into the deepest mourning, but that could not prevent matters already set in train from taking their course. Although Paul's declaration of war against Prussia had been promptly withdrawn, before Frederick William received news of it he had reacted to the threat and, on March 29th. opened hostilities against England by invading Hanover. The British too had not been idle and decided to attack the fleets of the Northern Powers piece-meal, before they had time to concentrate. Eighteen ships of the line had been despatched to Copenhagen under Admiral Sir Hyde Parker, with Vice-Admiral Nelson as second in command.
On March 30th the British forced the Sound and on April 2nd daringly destroyed the Danish fleet while under the guns of its capital.
It was not until many weeks later that Roger received a full account of this famous battle. Having forced the Sound
Nelson, believing Paul I to be still alive and regarding him as the mainspring of the Northern alliance against Britain, had been in favour of sailing up the Baltic and attacking the Russian fleet. But Sir Hyde Parker had insisted that the Danish fleet should first be dealt with, although he had given Nelson only twelve ships out of his eighteen to engage them and with gross stupidity kept the remaining six under himself out of the battle.
The Danish ships had, in addition to their own armaments, the protection of their shore batteries; so Nelson's squadron had had to face the fire of no fewer than seven hundred guns. A murderous cannonade had ensued and there had come a time when it seemed that the British were receiving such terrible punishment that they must be totally destroyed.
Observing the progress of the action through his telescope, Sir Hyde Parker had signalled Nelson to break off the battle. It was then that Nelson put his telescope to his blind eye, said he could not see the signal and had one hoisted that his Captains were to engage the enemy more closely. Their personal attachment to him led to their ignoring the senior Admiral's signal and obeying his.
Shortly afterwards the fire from the Danish ships began to waver. Anxious to spare the many wounded in the Danish vessels, and refrain from inflicting further loss on a people that his own policy would have left unharmed. Nelson proposed that firing should cease on condition that the Danes acknowledge him to be the victor. A truce was called, he took possession of the Danish fleet, and on April 9th the Danes agreed to a suspension of hostilities.
By mid-April Alexander had sufficiently recovered from the shock and horror of his father's death to attend to business. Count Pahlen presented Roger to him again, this time as the official envoy of Great Britain. Under the tuition of the Swiss, Colonel le Harpe, the young Czar had acquired a most liberal outlook, and cherished great ideals for the improvement of the condition of the masses. But he believed Bonaparte to be a menace to the peace and well-being of Europe and, headed by Pahlen, Panin and Vorontzoff, the anti-French party was now paramount in his Councils. In consequence he received Roger graciously and informed him that he was agreeable to negotiating a peace with England.
Count Pahlen arranged for a despatch containing this good news to be sent by Roger to Lord Grenville and. by the same vessel, sent instructions to Count Simon Vorontzoff, whom Paul I had suspended on his refusal to return to Russia, to resume his duties and enter into pour-parlers with the Court of St. James.
From the time of Paul's death onward Roger had remained as Count Pahlen's guest in his St. Petersburg mansion. During the past few weeks he had made many new friends and had been entertained with lavish Russian hospitality. Spring had come, the snows had melted, the trees were putting out young green leaves and he was thoroughly enjoying himself so, although his mission had been accomplished, and in an unexpectedly horrible manner, he saw no reason to terminate his visit to the Russian capital for some time to come.
In any case he did not plan to go back to England, as it remained his intention to make a career for himself in France. He felt reasonably certain that if Bonaparte's projected expedition to India sailed at all, it would do so in the Spring; so if he returned to Paris in June he would have escaped any danger of being sent with it; and by then he hoped that Bonaparte would have found some other useful employment for him.
Then in mid-May he received one of the worst shocks of his life. He was attending a levee at the palace and conversing gaily with the young Baroness Zukinski, whom he found decidedly attractive, when Muriavieff tapped him on the shoulder and said with a mischievous grin, 'Monsieur, I am sure you will be delighted to make the acquaintance of the French emissary that the First Consul has sent to congratulate His Imperial Majesty on his accession.'
Turning on his heel Roger found himself staring at a stalwart, handsome man, whose jaw dropped with surprise at seeing him. It was his old friend Duroc, whom he had known in Italy, gone duck shooting with in Egypt, shared a tent with in Syria and dined with a score of times in Paris. They knew one another as intimately as though they had been brothers. For Duroc to have found him out to be an Englishman meant the end to all his plans for making a career in France.
10
The Alibi
With commendable presence of mind Roger made a low bow that enabled him to control his features before again looking Duroc in the face. Having returned his bow, the Frenchman said with a smile, 'Mon cher ami, what a surprise! You are the last person I should have expected to meet in St. Petersburg.'
Roger's expression remained blank as he replied, 'Monsieur, I fail to understand you, since you are a stranger to me.' Most fortunately, during his stay in the Russian capital he had for much the greater part of the time used German or English; so his having replied in French, but with an atrocious accent, caused no surprise to Muriavieff or the little Bareness.
Duroc stared at him wide-eyed, 'But surely you must be Le Colonel Breuc? He . . . you . . . We have been together on a thousand occasions. I could not possibly be mistaken.'
'Unquestionably, Monsieur, that is the case,' Roger smiled, now throwing himself with all the acting ability he could command into playing a part that might save the situation. 'I can, though, account for your error. You have mistaken me for my French cousin who
was born in Strasbourg. We are of the same age and in our teens we were said to be as like as two peas. It seems that our close resemblance has continued.'
That explanation had been accepted on several previous occasions: but none of the chance acquaintances who had taken Roger Brook for Colonel Breuc, or vice-versa, had known him as intimately as Bonaparte's A.D.C.-in-Chief. Without calling him a liar, Duroc could not contest his statement; so with another bow the Frenchman said suavely, 'Please accept my apologies. Monsieur, for having addressed you with such familiarity.' But as he turned away Roger saw clearly in his eyes puzzlement and doubt.
Concealing his agitation with an effort, Roger continued his flirtation with the pretty Baroness, but his mind was no longer on persuading her to grant him an assignation. It was ninety per cent engaged in endeavouring to devise a means by which he could allay Duroc's suspicions. Should he fail to do so, it would be highly dangerous for him to return to France. It was certain that Duroc would shortly learn that he was an agent of the British Government, and Duroc was very far from being a fool. There could be little doubt that the extraordinary resemblance between Roger and 'Le brave Breuc' would lead him on his return to Paris, to set enquiries on foot. Once the secret police had checked up that while Roger was supposed to be at his little chateau in the south of France he had not, at that time and on numerous previous occasions, been there at all, the fat would be in the fire. The double life he had led would be exposed and if he were caught he would find himself facing a firing squad.
Within a matter of minutes he had decided that either he dare not return to France, or he must provide himself, in the role of Colonel Breuc, with an alibi. To achieve the latter it seemed there was only one way. He must reappear in Paris so soon that no-one there would believe that he could possibly have been in St. Petersburg at the time of Duroc's arrival in the Russian capital.
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