The King's Commisar

CHAPTER FOUR

-------------------Second instalment of the account, written by LtCdr H. G. Dikeston, RN, of his journeyings

in Russia in the spring of 1918

So they had been promised weapons, these Bolsheviks, that much was plain! And what a figure: fifty million sterling, in arms\ It was no wonder I had seen eyebrows raised in pleasure and surprise on those hard, determined faces. For Lenin, then trapped in a nutcracker between the White Russians and the Germans, it was the gift to save both his revolution and his Tartar hide. Trotsky, commissar for an army near empty-handed in the field, beamed like a child in a chocolate factory, and Yankel Sverdlov, Head of State to a tottering conspiracy, must on the instant have felt the ground grow firm beneath his feet. Not Zaharoff the war-monger now: Zaharoff the Saviour!

All haste was made at once to propel me along on my journey.

I was in Sverdlov's hands, and busy hands they were! No sooner had I been waved from his presence with the admonition that I must on no account be late next morning, than I was approached by a male secretary. I saw this man on that one occasion only, and for but a moment or two, yet I remember him, clear as can be, as though there were a camera in my brain. He had a tall, narrow head without a hair upon it anywhere, a white imperial beard upon his chin which reminded me of Zaharoff s own, and pince-nez upon his nose, attached to his lapel by a wide ribbon of brilliant crimson silk. If I waste time here upon the man, it is only because in Moscow it was the only item of striking personal adornment that I saw: in that great city, a mere two feet of silk ribbon! He called a man with a camera and my photograph was taken.

The man passed me on to a messenger: a sailor in uniform who said in a curt manner, 'Follow,' and set briskly off. Striding behind him, I left the Kavalersky Building and after some five or six minutes' brisk walking, was brought to another, the name of which I do not know. The sailor said only, 'Enter,' and left me there.

Inside I was greeted by what I judged to be some kind of petty officer in the Fleet. 'From Comrade Sverdlov's office?" he demanded.

I nodded.

'This way, then.' He pointed to a door. 'And help yourself. It's all there. Take what you need. Oh, and here -take this.' He handed mea valise and turned away.

I raised my hand. 'One moment. You have instructions about me?'

He looked round in surprise. 'Naturally.'

"What are they?'

The man took a paper from his pocket. There was handwriting on it, somewhat grubby and likely I guessed to be his own. He read slowly, 'Officer's uniform, winter journey east.'

I said, "What rank?'

'No ranks in there, Comrade. Help yourself, I told you.'

I did as he bade me and passed through the door to which he had pointed. Inside, in a dim-lit chamber of some size, I was struck first by an overpowering smell of wool, sweat and human bodies. Great racks of dark clothes stood everywhere: and when I came to examine them it was at once apparent that all were naval officers' uniforms.

I wondered soberly, as my hands moved over the heavy, soft, navy-blue doeskin, where the men might be whose garments these were. It was hardly a thought to offer reassurance, for there were hundreds, perhaps thousands of them. I sniffed cautiously at one or two and without exception they had been much worn and little cleaned.

Still, it was my task here to outfit myself and I began to hunt among them for jackets and trousers of a size appropriate. I tried clothing on, then boots, for though my own were excellent, no man ever came to harm by equipping himself with good spare boots. And I know that I was struck, standing there in the gloom amid all this second-hand rag-merchant's stock, by the contrast between this dingy outfitting and that splendid efficiency at Gieves' the night before I left London. I did not trouble to seek out a greatcoat, for it was doubtful whether in this odorous hall there would be the equal of mine from Gieves, with the full Guardee cut. At last, my valise full of cast-offs, I left the hall. The petty officer awaited me. 'Put them down on the table, Comrade.'

I did so and he went over the two tunics, the trousers, and the cap carefully. He was looking for something. I asked what.

'Making sure there are no rank badges, no stripes, no braid.' he said. 'Here, they're all right. You can take them.' He directed me back to the Kavalersky Building, where I collected my own suitcase and was told I had been allocated a bed for the night in the guard barracks. At mess I was given borsht and a kind of solyanka, which should be made with fine beef steak but was not. It was also cooked without wine, but I have had worse in RN wardrooms often enough, so all I had to complain of was that my bed had neither sheets nor blankets and that because of the cold I must perforce sleep in my clothes. I fell asleep thinking of Vassily Yakovlev, the name that Sverdlov had told me to remember. Who, I wondered, could he be?

I woke uncomfortable. Sleeping in day clothes is a habit perforce to be acquired in service at sea in time of war; so too is the hasty eating of half-prepared food. There was no way to wash more than face and hands, and that only in bitterly cold water. Breakfast was rough bread and a sliver of cheese washed down by sadly weak tea without lemon. We in Britain had heard much of the discomforts of the new Russia and it occurred to me then that discomforts is what they were. Certainly not hardships. All the same, as I made my way to the Kavalersky and my morning appointment with the Head of the Soviet State, I felt far from fresh, less than clear-headed, and in truth somewhat dull of mind. I knew in general what might lie before me. The envelope containing Mr Basil Zaharoff s document lay safe in my travel case, and I had known from the beginning, of course, that it was Zaharoff's intention that I be sent to the Tsar. It seemed also, from the previous day's events, that I was indeed to be sent east. But that morning, with my creased clothes sticking to my unwashed body, it was difficult to care. I presented myself ten minutes early, was kept waiting for fifteen and then was shown in to Sverdlov, who was breakfasting at his desk.

'I have been here since six,' he told me. 'It is the best of disciplines to wait for food.' He was peeling a hard-boiled egg as he spoke, and when it was done, inserted it whole in to his mouth. Accordingly further conversation was postponed for several moments. Then he said, 'The name - you remember the name?'

'Yakovlev,' I said. 'Vassily Vassilievitch Yakovlev.'

'Good, good.' He opened a drawer in his desk and extracted a large envelope of yellowish-brown paper. This he placed at the edge of the desk, close to where I stood. 'Open it.'

I took it up, and lifted back the flap. Naturally enough, the envelope contained papers, the first of which bore a photograph and a seal. I took it out. It was a combined laissez-passer and identity document. The photograph was of my own face, and could only be the one taken on the previous day. The paper bore the name Yakovlev, Vassily.

I looked at Sverdlov. 'I am to be Russian, then?'

He was busy with another egg.

'It is safer. Read while I eat. A man works up an appetite at a desk.'

The laissez-passer held further and surprising news. I was, it seemed, to be no ordinary Yakovlev, but Commissar Yakovlev! My eye travelled down the lines, making further discoveries as it went. I was on a mission of great importance for the Soviet Central Executive Committee, whose seal, in black wax, decorated the bottom of the paper, and whose chairman, Sverdlov himself, had signed it. I held in my hand a paper issued by the most powerful men in Russia demanding that my every requirement be met by whomever I encountered.

But there was more even than that. There was the threat - no, it was more than a threat - it was a plain statement: that summary execution awaited those who defied the wishes of Commissar Yakovlev!

I must have looked as astonished as I felt, for when I raised my eyes, Sverdlov was regarding me sardonically. 'We must hope that it works,' he said.

'I beg your pardon?'

'You are going to Tyumen, to Tobolsk,' he said. 'And both are a long way from this desk and from the Kremlin.'

'But surely, with such orders -?'

He raised a hand, amused. 'You think that suddenly the word of Comrade Lenin is law from the Ukraine to the Pacific? My friend, it all takes time. The regional soviets are made up of men who have never governed, who have spent their lives in secret activity and in fear of their lives. They are in the open now, but the old instincts remain. They fear and distrust the ruler in the distance, even when it is Comrade Lenin himself. They will govern the Urals, Georgia, the Ukraine.' He gave a low, rumbling laugh. 'Oh, they will listen. Or anyway they will say they are listening. Oh yes, Comrade Sverdlov, well naturally. .

.oh yes, they say it all the time. When they are here. But let them get off the train and it's a different matter. In their own territories they are independent and mean to stay so. Word from Moscow will be considered, sometimes it will be accepted, but sometimes the order is destroyed and the messenger with it. You'll be in danger, Englishman, whatever papers you carry. Be in no doubt of it.'

I nodded. To be in danger would be no great novelty after three years of war.

'What am I to do?'

He considered me for a moment. 'What is your relationship to Zaharoff?'

'None, sir. I am a messenger only.'

He gave a little snort of disbelief. 'That fellow would not send anyone but his own man.'

I protested. 'I am a serving officer, sir. I have been three years with the Grand Fleet. A month ago I was patrolling the Heligoland Bight on coastal bombardment. I met Mr Zaharoff only on the night I left London!'

Sverdlov waved an arm dismissively. 'It doesn't even matter. You are Yakovlev now, and Zaharoff too is far away. The matter is simple. You must have understood at yesterday's meeting that you had brought with you his promise of arms. The price is Nicholas Romanov and his family.'

I nodded; it was likely enough.

'But-' Yankel Sverdlov wagged a finger. 'There is more. Nicholas Romanov himself will pay for the arms. He has a hidden fortune in London. He releases the money to Zaharoff, Zaharoff releases arms to us, we release Nicholas Romanov and his family to his cousin, the English King. The former Tsar must sign your paper, so you must reach him at Tobolsk. And there are people in that region, members of the Soviet at Ekaterinburg, for instance, who would want only to stop you. They want Romanov dead. They think it matters that an ex-Tsar lives on. It doesn't. Nicholas Romanov counts for nothing. Except -' and Sverdlov produced again that sardonic smile - 'in so far as he can be useful. That is why he lives.' He lit a cigarette and glared at me for a moment. 'He lives and you live. But it would take very little to change that. Be very careful.' Then he gave me a sudden grin full of genial cunning. 'And give an increase in pay to the guards at Tobolsk, eh!'

And then, abruptly, his attention had switched to other things upon his desk. The interview was clearly at an end, and I was left standing with my papers. I bowed and withdrew and in the outer office stood in a corner and gave my own attention to the other papers in the envelope. They gave specific instructions to certain officials of the Trans-Siberian Railway; they gave me my command; they conferred upon me all the power and authority necessary to this strange mission of mine. When I had read them, nothing remained to be done except to depart. There was no car, no arranged transport, not even, I was told, the possibility of summoning a taxi.

So Commissar Yakovlev walked to the station with his valise and his new power of life and death. It is needless, I believe, to describe the journey by rail eastward from Moscow, along the endless track of the Trans-Siberian. This account is not a travel journal and I kept no notes of the food nor of anything else. I had a soft seat in what had been a first-class carriage, but that was all. I sat on my documents for safety and remained in my seat, sleeping for much of the time. The journey was uneventful. Tyumen, on the far side of the Ural Mountains was heralded by much snorting and clanking from engines and coaches. As the train drew in, I took papers and valise and, alighting, saw a heavy-set man, booted and spurred like a hussar, standing beside the track looking keenly round. From the top step of the carriage it was possible to see his troop of horsemen drawn up not far away, for the steaming breath of many close-ranged horses made a considerable mist in the cold air. I made for him and introduced myself. 'I'm Yakovlev.'

He turned and saluted; he was a veteran by the look of him of twenty and more years as a cavalryman. He said, 'Welcome, Comrade Commissar,' but said it awkwardly as though, like myself, he would be more at home with a simple 'sir'. As I buttoned myself together I saw his eye resting doubtfully on the naval uniform and I laugh cheerfully and slapped his shoulder and said, 'Don't worry. Comrade. I can ride!' For now I must play a part, and confidence was of importance. 'You have a good horse for me?'

He smiled and I saw an imp of mischief in his eye.

'One of those, eh?' I said. 'A stallion, I'll bet!'

'A fine animal, Comrade.'

'You ride it,' I said. I’ll take yours.'

He grinned in embarrassment, but he took it like a sportsman. He had spoken the truth: it was a fine stallion. But his was better, and with a long ride ahead I was glad not to have to battle a wayward beast. We set off at once, he and I in the van, the rest strung two abreast behind: one hundred and fifty of the fine horsemen of the steppes - and under the command, now, of a naval officer. I could not help wondering what they would think had they known I was a British naval officer.

'You were sergeant?' I asked.

'Yes, Comrade Commissar.'

'Your name?'

'Koznov.'

'Good. How far to Tobolsk?'

'Two hundred versts.'

That is a distance of about one hundred and thirty miles, the Russian verst being approximately two-thirds of an English mile; and the saddle was hard, with wood in its construction. Also, it was years since I had spent even a day on horseback. I would be sore, and walk accordingly, by the time Tobolsk was reached. That was unfortunate, for upon arrival I would need all the dignity, authority and confidence I could muster, and few things are so irresistibly comic, especially in central Russia, as the man who is saddle-sore.

Again, there is no need to describe the journey. We rode, we ate, changed horses, slept briefly, and we rode again. And so, at mid-morning on April 22nd, we rode into Tobolsk. I made direct for the Governor's House, where the Imperial Family was held under guard. By the time the house was reached we were awaited, for even when the earth is snow-covered, a hundred and fifty horsemen do not travel quietly and our approach had been seen and heard.

I reined in at the gate and called to one of the two guards on duty to summon the officer in command, a Colonel Kobylinsky.

The man demanded my name and my business.

'Tell him Yakovlev,' I said, 'from Moscow. Commissar. On the business of the Soviet Central Executive Committee!'

I dismounted then and told Koznov to get his men settled and fed. A moment later Colonel Kobylinsky was before me. Knowing a little of his story, I looked at him with interest. He was a big man, healthy-looking, but with the white whiskers of an older man. Like his master the Tsar, the Colonel had assumed in recent months a far lower station in life than he was used to. Once he had commanded at Tsarskoe Selo, the great palace of the Tsars; but he too had been exiled by Kerensky, like his master, and was with him still. But the guards now were not the fine, shiny soldiers of more prosperous days. According to Sverdlov's situation papers, Kobylinsky now had two sets of men in his nominal charge: the first group was from Omsk, in western Siberia, the second group came from Ekaterinburg and it was these, the so-called 'Red Guards,' who presented the greatest threat to the Romanovs and, indeed, to me.

'Commissar Yakovlev,' I said loudly, and held out my laissez-passer. 'Here on the instructions of the Central Committee.'

'Kobylinsky. ' He looked down his nose at me, clicked his heels, then took the paper and held it at arm's length while he read it. As he was doing so a man came to stand and read at his shoulder, glancing at me several times.

'Who are you?' I demanded.

'People's Soviet of the Urals,' he said, 'That is who I am.' He said no more, and indeed a moment later he had turned and was moving away; but there was something in his manner I found disturbing.

'Come inside,' Kobylinsky said, taking my arm. 'Let us give you refreshment. Come - your men will be attended to.'

He gave me breakfast. The bread was warm and fresh, the coffee hot, and he did not force questions upon me. It would have been most pleasant had we not twice been interrupted by members of¿he rival guard factions intent upon inspecting my papers once again. One of them was the fellow from the gate, and having examined my pass once more, he said softly, 'You come direct from Comrade Sverdlov?'

'Yes.'

'You met him?'

'Yes.'

'Who else did you meet?'

'Comrade Lenin,' I said. 'And Comrade Trotsky.'

He gave a nod and a little smile. 'Remember you are beyond the Urals now, my friend.'

Again he sidled away. 'Who is that man?' I demanded of Kobylinsky.

'Ruzsky,' he replied. 'From Ekaterinburg. He is a member of the Urals Soviet. I can tell you no more, except that he sometimes calls himself Bronard.'

'You can tell me,' I said, 'of the former Tsar. He is well?'

'Yes.'

'And his family?'

'They, too, except the son. You will know, I imagine, that the boy is haemophiliac, subject to bouts of severe illness and only now beginning to recover from the most recent.'

This latest bout was hardly welcome news. 'The boy is in bed?'

'And will be for some days,' Kobylinsky said. 'He suffers great pain still.'

Kobylinsky had tobacco and paper and we made ourselves cigarettes in the Russian manner, but we were not even to finish them before the man Ruzsky returned. He did not knock, merely walked into the room, accompanied by others, and said, 'Your presence must be discussed, Comrade.'

And discussed it was. Largely by them. I informed them that my business must, for the moment, be of a confidential nature, that when the time came they would be informed of my purpose, and then said no more for a while.

The man Ruzsky was plainly still suspicious of me and he did not hesitate to say so. If, as Sverdlov had told me, the Bolsheviks of Ekaterinburg were more militant than most, it was clear that Ruzsky was among the most virulent of them. 'Papers can be forged,' he said, looking hard at me, and speaking in a quiet voice but with great emphasis. 'Who among us knows Comrade Sverdlov's signature?' The man was chronically suspicious and went on about plots to save the lives of the Romanovs, about lurking traitors to the Revolution, some of them there in the house, and many swarming in Tobolsk. As he talked, others came into the room and it became possible to sense dissension, Omsk against Ekaterinburg. Ruzsky's statements were received by some with head-shaking and pursed lips. He wanted the Tsar killed, and quickly, before somebody - the Whites, the Germans, or maybe the treacherous leadership in Moscow - liberated them. 'The family too. They must all be wiped out,' he insisted.

'The Revolution doesn't kill women and children,' he was promptly told by one of the Omsk men. He came back at me then. 'Who is this supposed Commissar? He says he is here on Comrade Sverdlov's orders, but he will not tell us what they are!'

I judged it time to speak. 'There is such a thing,' I told him, 'as a telegraph. Send a telegram to Comrade Sverdlov.'

'No telegraphs here, Comrade,' he said. 'You're in the wilds here, not Moscow. The nearest is at Tyumen.'

'Good,' I said. 'Go there. We'll find you a horse.'

This observation, for some reason, was greeted with loud laughter from the Omsk men and when Ruzsky began again to speak they hissed at him. Soon, to my surprise, he withdrew from the room. Since it was clear most of the men remaining were now fairly disposed toward me, J chose that moment to tell them of Sverdlov's authorization of an increase in their pay, and that I would like to address their committee. Five men then sat at the table with me. Kobylinsky tactfully went out. The rest withdrew. I said, 'You are right that I am here because of Nicholas Romanov. Right, too, that I am to take him away.'

They frowned at me then, all of them, even the Omsk men.

I said, 'Has he any value to Russia now? Tell me!'

Heads were shaken. 'None, none.'

I said, 'You are right. But he has value to others. In exchange for his person we are to receive enough weapons to equip an army.'

'Yes,' demanded one of the remaining Ekaterinburg men sourly, 'but will it be an army to put him back on the throne?'

I shook my head. 'An army to smash the Whites. To defeat the Czech Legion. An army to win the revolutionary war! Once he's away, Russia will never see Nicholas Romanov again. He can safely be forgotten for ever!'

Somebody said, 'Where's he to go?'

'Omsk first,' I said.

'Why?' This was an Ekaterinburg man. 'He's ours. We have jurisdiction.'

'No, we have.'

I said, 7 have. And I am under orders that I am powerless to alter. Comrade Lenin and Comrade Sverdlov want him moved. I'm to move him. And now I must see this enemy of the people who is to equip the people's army!'

There were smiles at that and they rose from the table. My mind went winging briefly to London, to Zaharoff, who, whatever one's thoughts about him, had so accurately divined the assorted wishes of different men and seen where they came together.

Much has been made of the hardships and gross indignities suffered after the abdication by the Imperial Family, and I for one can testify to the truth of such stories as the year 1918 drew on. But in the Governor's House at Tobolsk they were far from uncomfortable. They had wintered warm and well fed. Bored maybe but nothing worse.

Colonel Kobylinsky having gone upstairs to inform Nicholas Romanov of my presence and my requirement to meet him. I took up position in the hall of the house, near the foot of the stairs, and waited. Only a few moments passed before I heard footsteps and, looking up, beheld the former Tsar of all the Russias descending towards me. I did not at that moment see him clearly, for the hall was high and ill-lit, with coloured glass in small windows. Still, even in drab he was recognizable, and as he reached the foot of the stairs and came towards me, he was more than that: for this was the absolute double of the King George to whose presence I had had the honour to be summoned a mere three weeks before. The same eyes, the same hair, the same beard and moustache; it was the same face, even to expression, for the gravity of his eyes was identical with that of his royal cousin. It was this, perhaps which affected my behaviour. I had intended formal propriety, no more, addressing him as Comrade. But the words escaped me involuntarily, and I responded to his polite 'Commissar Yakovlev?' with:

'Your Majesty.'

I saw his quick frown, the surprise in his eyes, and thanked my Maker that, Kobylinsky's apart, there were no other listening ears. Those words, overheard by such as Ruzsky, might have had me shot!

I told Nicholas of the intention of the Central Executive Committee that he and his family be moved from Tobolsk within twenty-four hours.

His body stiffened. 'Moved? Where to?'

I said, 'The intention is ultimately to take you and your family into safety abroad.'

He shook his head. 'We go nowhere without prior knowledge of the means and conditions. I ask you again: where?'

I lowered my voice. 'Your Majesty. I am acting under orders from the highest. I am to remove you from the hands of these people here. My own life depends upon your safety.'

'I repeat: I can not go,' he said. 'My son is ill and cannot safely be moved and I will not abandon him.'

'It is important for you to understand,' I said, 'that my orders are that you must go from here. The preference is that you should go voluntarily, but it is only a preference. For go you must.'

'If it means force, Commissar Yakovlev?'

'Those are my orders.'

He looked at me thoughtfully. This, I suspected, must in all probability be the first threat of actual force against his person, and no doubt it was a shock. He said, 'Will you tell me what you know?'

I nodded. 'At Tyumen a train is to be waiting.'

'Where is it bound?'

'We shall not know that until we reach Tyumen. Further orders from Moscow will await me there.'

He closed his eyes. 'What is your guess, Commissar Yakovlev?'

'Probably a return to Moscow. It is my belief you are to be sent abroad quickly. I know such action to be the wish of Comrade Sverdlov.'

'Sverdlov? But if he wishes it -'

I nodded, and still keeping my voice low, said, 'Sir, there is a train. Whether it goes west to Moscow, or east to Omsk and beyond, I shall not know until I receive further orders. But I and my men are here to ensure your safety.'

'East to Shanghai, perhaps?'

'I cannot say, Sir. It is a possibility. I know only that Comrade Sverdlov wishes your family to leave the country in safety.'

Nicholas drew himself up. He had much simple dignity as he spoke. 'You leave me no alternative but I beg you not to move my son. To do so would be to inflict much needless agony upon a young boy.'

'He can remain here,' I said, 'and others of your family, if necessary, to be with him.'

'Thank you for that.' He made a little inclination of the head. 'I must discuss this, of course. There are family decisions . . .'

I nodded. 'We leave in the early morning - at four a.m.'

'At four? So early?'

'The train is scheduled.'

He left me then, and Kobylinsky with him, to talk with his family. I watched him walk heavily up the staircase and felt a deep regret that I was unable to tell him more. But what could I say that was true? Beyond Tyumen I knew nothing. Upon reaching the railway telegraph there I was to send a signal to Sverdlov and await his reply. The matter of Zaharoff's document now concerned me greatly, for in addition to getting it signed, I must get Nicholas away. If he read the document and knew as a consequence what he was being required to sign away, might he not suspect that in doing so he was sealing his own fate? He might indeed -and then refuse to leave, and what then would I do? I did not, in any case, have reason to believe anything was intended other than that the Imperial Family should leave Russia for England.

Sir Horace Malory, engrossed in Dikeston's narrative, did not at first hear the ring of the telephone on his desk. When it rang a second time he muttered at the interruption, picked it up and briskly instructed Mrs Frobisher that he would accept no calls.

'But it's the man from Oxford,' she said. 'You were most anxious -'

'Very well, put him on. What's his name?'

'Dr Felix Aston.'

It was a young voice with a jaunty note in it. Malory had a mild impulse to ask whether Aston were wearing jeans but forbore. 'You're an expert on the Russian Revolution, is that so?'

'It's a foolish man who pretends to expertise, Sir Horace,' the voice said cheerfully. 'I've made a study for some years. Written a book.'

'Name Yakovlev mean anything to you?' Malory asked.

There was a pause, then, 'Yes, it does - if it's Vassily Yakovlev. If he was a commissar.'

'That's the chappie. Tell me.'

'Well, it was post-Revolution, of course. But Yakovlev was the man who went off with the Tsar and all the jewels, then vanished.'

Malory said slowly. 'The jewels?'

'Trainload of stuff.' Aston's voice was positively chirpy. 'Tremendous mystery man, Commissar Yakovlev. Have you come across something about him?'

'Hmmm?' said Malory, with sudden caution. 'Oh no, no, no, nothing like that. Sorry if I raised a hare. But thank you, thank you.'

He put down the telephone, then pressed Pilgrim's button on the intercom. 'Laurence, anybody with you?'

'Just Graves.'

'Well, he'll be interested, too. Our man Dikeston went off with all the Romanov treasure.'

'All of it - what's that mean?' Pilgrim demanded.

'A trainload,' said Malory, and took his finger off the button. I was far from idle as I waited while the Imperial Family made its decisions. My trusty hussar Koznov was set to scouring Tobolsk for the largest koshevas he could find and horses to draw them.

'Will the owners give them up?' he asked me. 'What do I do if -?'

'The threat of death should suffice,' I said grimly. 'If any man refuses, bring him to me.'

None did. The Commissar from Moscow was evidently to be obeyed. As the day went on, the courtyard of the Governor's House began to fill with sleds of many kinds. I sent for Kobylinsky, who had spent hours closeted upstairs with the Family, and instructed him to arrange the packing of all the Romanov possessions. Only the essentials of living were to remain in Tobolsk with those who stayed behind.

My work was interrupted many times, not least by the odious Ruzsky, who came smirking to me and said, 'I hear you're taking him away.' His expression surprised me. He seemed almost pleased. 'To Moscow, I believe?' he went on. He was half-drunk.

I told him I awaited further orders from the capital and the Central Executive Committee. He smirked yet more. 'The way to Moscow lies through Ekaterinburg,' he said, and turned and sauntered off. That was his way, to deliver an unpleasant thrust and turn his back. As I watched that back retreating I wished more than anything that I could put a bullet in it. He came again, later. It was dark and the room lit by candles. He stood before me, a bottle in his hand, and said, 'Keep a place for me.'

I said, 'What do you mean?'

'What I say. I go with you to Tyumen. And on from there, too. Comrade Romanov -' and he laid rough emphasis on the 'comrade' - 'is ours and we mean to keep him.'

'Ours?'

'You know what I mean - the Urals Soviet.'

'I cannot permit -'

He banged his fist on the desk. 'You cannot prevent,' he said. 'I go, or Nicholas doesn't.'

'You have no authority,' I told him, and he laughed sharply.•

'Authority? You mean bits of paper from Moscow? Listen to me, Yakovlev. We are letting you go - we are letting you take Nicholas, as a courtesy to Moscow! It is not your pretty face or your fancy papers. Oh no, my friend. If I kill Nicholas, here, now - and I would most willingly, believe me -1 would be a hero in Ekaterinburg! Be grateful tome.'

'Very well.' I shrugged. 'It makes no difference. Come with us. I fail to comprehend the reason for your rancour, Comrade.'

'And I don't like your airs,' he said. 'Don't force me to doubt your loyalty.' With which, again, he departed.

I dined with Kobylinsky, the two of us alone. He was tired. He had been labouring all day at the packing of the possessions of the Imperial Family but he ate little. Often I sensed his eyes on me, and at last I said, 'It is my belief they will be safe.'

When I looked up, it was to see a tear in his eye. He brushed it away and said with great sadness, 'All my life I have served my country and the Imperial Family, and now I can serve no more.'

'You can serve those who remain here,' I told him. 'Has the choice been made?'

It had. Young Alexei, the former Tsarevitch, whose claim to succeed had been waived a year earlier when Nicholas abdicated and who was therefore merely a sick boy of thirteen instead of a Crown Prince, was to remain in his sick bed. Three of his sisters, all of whom had nursed him devotedly, Anastasia, Tatiana and Olga, were to remain with him. The ex-Tsarina, Alexandra, and the third daughter, Marie, aged nineteen, were to accompany Nicholas.

'What is to happen,' Kobylinsky then asked of me, 'when the boy has recovered? Will you come back for him?'

'If I can.' I could promise no more, but could hardly promise less. The position of this stricken family bore down upon me more heavily with every passing hour. I had made a private resolve that somehow I would contrive to accompany them until the exchanges were made, until Zaharoff accepted a paper and a family and gave in return the means of war.

'Then will you,' Kobylinsky asked me, 'come with me to reassure the Grand Duchesses - I beg your pardon, the Romanov daughters - that it is intended the Family be brought together again. Though I had no instructions to that effect, I gladly agreed. It is always better for people to live in hope. Accordingly I accompanied Kobylinsky to an upstairs sitting-room where the Imperial Family was resting preparatory to parting and departure. The feeling of strain among them was obvious, yet so too was a sense of strong unity and affection. The boy's bed was in the room and he lay propped on pillows, his sisters all around him. I noticed particularly that as I entered, both his hands were being held by one sister or another, and their smiles were directed at him.

Seeing me, Nicholas rose and made again the formal motion of the head that was half-nod and half-bow. He was simply-dressed in a plain, belted tunic and his manner en famille was also one of simplicity. There was little to discuss, nor did I wish to take up time he could spend better with his children. I simply asked him to confirm who would go and who would stay and this he did. It was then I thought of the letter. Nicholas could as well read it here as anywhere, and perhaps if I were to leave it with him and his family so that it could be discussed, less suspicion might attach to it, and to me.

'One word more, your Majesty, if you will?' I moved away from the rest, towards the window, taking the missive from my tunic. He hesitated, then followed me. 'Well?'

I held out the envelope. 'For you to read, sir, and - I believe-to sign.'

'What is it?' He had not yet taken the envelope and his eyes were not upon it, but upon my face. I shook my head. 'I am the messenger, no more than that. But my instructions are that it is concerned with your release."

He took it then and placed it on a small table. 'Thank you.'

I turned to leave, and found my wary barred by one of the daughters. Preoccupied as I had been with Nicholas, I had barely so much as glanced at the girls, or at the boy Alexei, but the upraised face before me now fully caught my attention, for it was striking indeed.

'I am Marie,' she said, 'and I am to accompany you, Commissar Yakovlev.'

I saluted.

She was very pale; she had wide, dark eyes. It was a face of symmetry and, one can fairly say, of beauty. She was quite tall and perfectly slim, and I can see her now, as I write this, see her standing between me and the door, looking at me with that composure that bespeaks courage. 'Will you,' she asked me, 'answer the question which most concerns us all?'

'If I can.'

'We are to be separated for the first time,' Marie said. 'Is it true we are to be brought together again before long?'

As I said earlier, hope is easier to live with than despair. 'Yes,' I said. 'That is the intention.' It seemed to me impossible that if Nicholas were freed, the girls would not be set free also. She stood aside at once. 'I thank you for that reassurance.'

I saluted again, and left. As I descended the stair I found she lingered in my mind. From time to time one meets an individual whom one recognizes on the instant to be of superior mettle to the rest of humankind. She was one such, and there was no mistaking it, however brief the encounter. Downstairs, Ruzsky awaited me. 'Well?' I asked him. 'What now?'

He still wore that smirk of his. How I ached to wipe it from his unpleasant countenance!

'Your horse,' he said. 'I have borrowed it.' He waited for me to say when, or how, or why, or for what? I did not do so and he was therefore obliged to speak. 'To send a man to Ekaterinburg. They will be anxious to learn of this departure.'

'It's a long ride,' I said. And so it was - close to four hundred miles!

'He will go by train from Tyumen,' Ruzsky said, smiling. 'As you will.'

'Very well,' I said, as calmly as I could. But inside I was fuming, knowing what the creature intended. When I put the Imperial Family on the train at Tyumen and started for Moscow, the train would have to pass through Ekaterinburg. Yankel Sverdlov had warned me of the likely conduct of the Soviet leadership in the city and Ruzsky, having underlined the warning, was clearly intent upon mischief. This matter now required much careful thought, but did not get it at that time, for I became too busy. The excellent Koznov and his men were doing their best, but to load and organize a substantial convoy of horse-drawn koshevas is no light matter, and there was some confusion. It was hard work, bringing order to bear, but gradually it came about, and soon after three o'clock in the morning the baggage was all loaded and I was able to go back indoors to summon the family. They awaited me in the hall, the ex-Tsarina and Marie wrapped in furs, and Nicholas between them, in a top coat that came down no further than mid-thigh.

Seeing that the time for departure had come, they exchanged kisses and goodbyes with those who were to stay behind, and followed me outside into the cold, blowing snow. I saw no tears.

'Commissar!' A woman's voice and I turned. 'I will ride with my husband.'#

I saluted the former empress. 'I regret that that is not possible. I must myself accompany him. I have arranged that you occupy a kosheva with your daughter.'

She was disposed to argue, but Marie intervened. 'Come, Mama, the arrangements are already made. The commissar can hardly leave Father alone!'

She was German, the Empress, and I saw signs of German truculence then in her face, but such was her daughter's persuasiveness that she gave way quite easily and took her seat as I guided her. We were ready to go. Yet the cold was bitter, and Nicholas Romanov wore only that light coat. I sent for another.

He said, 'It's what I wear. I'm all right.'

I said it was out of the question. I had been sent to bring him alive from Tobolsk. He gave a quiet chuckle and said he was glad to hear it.

And so, at four o'clock, after a few last frustrating delaysa s a harness broke and sled runners collided and became locked, we were off on the hundred and thirty miles to Tyumen and the train. We went fast; there had never been time for delay and now, with Ruzsky's messenger ahead of us and bound for Ekaterinburg with his warning, there was less than ever.

The falling snow, this late in the year, was set, and the snow on the ground became slushy during the day; a thaw was upon us, and the journey became accordingly harder. I will not attempt to describe it, save to say that no time was wasted, that changes of horses were waiting for us as I had arranged, and that the entire affair took almost exactly twenty-four hours.

During that time I had little conversation with Nicholas. It may seem strange that two men thrust together at close quarters in enforced companionship should exchange no more than a few words occasionally, but so it was. The back of a running sleigh is no place for idle pleasantries. Inevitably, though, there were moments when we talked, as when Nicholas asked: 'What is the true purpose in moving me?'

It seemed a good moment to ask him about the Zaharoff document. He smiled. 'My signature still seems in demand. It was wanted at Brest-Litovsk, you know, in March. Having given so much away to the Germans, they wanted my imprimatur upon it. Perhaps to blame me later. I refused, of course.' He glanced across at me. 'This document of yours needs more consideration. You will give me a few hours?'

I nodded. 'Of course.'

So at last we came to Tyumen. Weariness lay heavy upon every man and beast in the sled convoy, but there was no sickness and no injury.

I was naturally exceedingly anxious to know if the instructions I had left with the railway authorities had been carried out, and therefore drove direct to the station to find with satisfaction that they had been obeyed to the letter. The train I had demanded upon Sverdlov's orders had not only been marshalled, but waited in a siding with a full head of steam. Quickly I got the Romanovs aboard. Then I left Koznov superintending the loading of their possessions into two baggage cars while I went to speak to the station controller to inform him that departure of the train must be delayed until I had received new instructions from Moscow. I went from there immediately to the telegraph office, taking with me one of Koznov's men who, luckily for me, could operate a telegraph. Luckily because I disliked the look of the operator: a shifty, small fellow with a cast in his eye and a furtive air. I sent him from the room and composed my message to Sverdlov.

It was lengthy, for there was much to say. I had to report not only our arrival, but that the Ekaterinburg Soviet would soon be aware of the removal of the ex-Tsar from Tobolsk and might well take action. I badly needed advice now. And support, too, if Sverdlov could provide any. I spent most of the day and half the night awaiting his answer, and when it came it was in many ways most dispiriting. Sverdlov required me to bring my charges to Moscow right enough, as I had expected. It was clear, though, that Moscow's writ did not run in Ekaterinburg, for he instructed me to make a long and roundabout journey in order to avoid that city. To reach Moscow meant travelling west, but since the rail line west went through Ekaterinburg, I was therefore to begin by heading east out of Tyumen, in the direction of Omsk. From Omsk ran a great loop of the Trans-Siberian which passed far to the south of Ekaterinburg as it headed for Moscow and the West.

In the warmth of the telegraph room I sat and smoked and considered this. To Sverdlov, in his Moscow office, it would make good sense. Danger came from the men of Ekaterinburg; therefore avoid the city. But how was I to do so when the man Ruzsky, who could no doubt tell east from west, would be with us on the train?

Kill him? I thought of it and thought hard, and not a day now passes but I wish with all my heart it had been done; but it was impossible then, in that little telegraph office, to know anything of what was to come. My central thought then was the avoidance of bloodshed. If Ruzsky died, I thought, it would not end there: the man was of too much consequence.

I therefore conceived a stratagem. Ruzsky was a drinker, that much I knew. If I could get him befuddled

. . .

I ordered the station's liquor store opened to obtain two bottles of vodka: one of lemon flavour, the other of plum. They vanished into the deep pockets of my Guardee greatcoat. I walked then to the train in its siding and went at once to the wagon-lit I had reserved for myself, placed the bottles conspicuously upon the cover of the washbasin, and went to look for Ruzsky. He was not difficult to find: the man had installed himself in the attendant's alcove at the end of the special carriage in which the Imperial Family now rested. An empty bottle lay on the floor at his feet.

'Got your orders?' he said thickly.

'Moscow,' I said, and shrugged. Then I stretched. 'God, I'm tired!' I said, and looked at the bottle.

'Anything left in that?'

'No,' he said.

'I need a drink,' I told him. 'How about you? I have some back there.'

He looked at me in a puzzled way, as though to say: why are you offering drink to me? But he was half-fuddled already, and he followed me without arguing.

The plum was his; it makes me sick. The cleaner-tasting lemon seems not to affect me greatly. It never did, not even when, as a boy, I occasionally helped myself to my father's. Ruzsky sat on my bed with the bottle in one hand and the glass in another. We drank to Russia, to Marx, to the Revolution, all quick and in succession and he had such a head start on me that by then he wanted only to sleep. As consciousness slid away from him, I put my hands beneath his heels and lifted, lowering and turning him on to the bed. He was already beginning to snore as I left and made my way forward, turning on electric lights as I passed. At last I reached the engine and gave my instructions to the driver. He and I descended together to the track to lean upon the points lever.

A few minutes later, with lights shining the entire length of the train, we headed out of the railway station at Tyumen in the direction of Ekaterinburg.

Does that puzzle you - you who read this history - this departure for Ekaterinburg? Do you say to yourself: but he was intent upon avoidance of that place! For I was. But what I did was to let a few miles pass and then bring the train to a halt. Then in the dark, well outside the town, I went again along the train, turning out every light. Now do you see? So it was a darkened train that began to reverse back towards Tyumen. We went at no great speed. I hoped by this means to present the train to any idle watchers at Tyumen station as a legitimate one. I held my breath as the train entered, then passed through the station. All was quiet as we slid gently on our way; and then Tyumen was falling back behind us and I remember letting a great sigh of relief come from my lips. What lay ahead was three hundred miles to Omsk and then the safe journey by the southern loop to Moscow; what lay behind was the dark menace of Ekaterinburg. So my thoughts ran. Tired as I was, at that moment I enjoyed a sense of triumph, a feeling that my mission was now on its way to a successful conclusion. Like a fool, I allowed myself the luxury of counting chickens, heard in my mind the thanks and congratulations of my sovereign. But then I did not know, nor could I have known, that already the house of cards I had built was beginning to tumble. So, still, and deceptively, all seemed to be well. As daylight came I washed myself, presented myself at the sitting-room car occupied by the Imperial Family, and was greeted almost warmly. Nicholas, having bade me a cheerful good-morning, now asked, 'Are we bound for Omsk?'

I nodded. 'It is a long way round, to go this way to Moscow, but -'

'So Moscow is our destination?'

'Yes. I had orders in the night.'

'Good, good.' Like me he was full of optimism; like mine, his was baseless. We were in a land of fantasy, all of us.

I said softly, 'The document, sir. Have you had time to -'

He was looking at me now in a new way, as though trying to read my face. I waited, and at length he said, his manner altogether grave, I have signed it.'

'Good,' I said, smiling. 'May I -?'

He was watching my face still. 'But it is not here.'

I frowned. 'Mot here, sir? Then where -?'

'Trbolsk." Nicholas said. 'I signed it before we left.'

'But yesterday,' I reminded him, 'in the sleigh, you told me you still required more time.'

He nodded. 'I'm sorry. I judged the deception necessary.'

I felt anger rising in me and suppressed it. 'Why, sir? Why was it necessary? The document is an important factor in your release.'

He put his hand on my arm. 'Commissar, I had no wish to answer your courtesy with discourtesy. But I must keep my family together. The letter is with my son. When he is brought to join us, you will have it.'

I swore, but only to myself. His action was understandable enough and I had told him, with more or less certainty, both that the family would be reunited and that I would myself be returning to Tobolsk for Alexei and the Grand Duchesses. But it was, at the very least, a damned nuisance!

'There is another matter, sir, upon which I must speak to you,' I told him. I moved to the far end of the room and after a moment he joined me. From my pocket. I took another piece of paper and handed it to him. He gave me an enquiring glance as he unfolded it, followed a moment later by a look of sharp surprise and puzzlement.

'My cousin's signature, Commissar?'

I said in English, which Nicholas spoke perfectly, 'It is a letter sent by your children's tutor, Gibbes, to a woman in England.'

'So I see. But why did Cousin George sign it?'

'To demonstrate its bonafides, sir.'

'I do not understand.'

I said, 'Sir, I am not a Soviet commissar.'

'Then who? And why?' He was instantly perturbed. 'Where are we going?'

'My name is Dikeston, sir. I am an officer in the Royal Navy, sent to Russia by your royal cousin upon a mission to seek your removal and that of your family to England. '

'Thank God,' he said. 'I had been told I was not welcome in Britain.'

'You must tell nobody,' I said. 'I have a part to play still.'

I left him then and returned to the wagon-lit, where I had left Ruzsky. It was my intention to change my clothes. But I was no sooner in through the door than he gave me the first of several shocks. He was sitting on the bed, unshaven, a cigarette between his lips, his eyes were more than a little bloodshot, and he wore his habitual smirk. The shock, however, lay not in his appearance, with which I was all too familiar, but in his utterance. He gave an unpleasant laugh and said, 'You're a fraud, Yakovlev! And I know exactly what kind of fraud.'

I threw him a haughty look which merely made him laugh more. 'You were told to look out for a man, were you not?' he said.

'I was sent to bring the Romanovs,' I said. 'You know that.'

He waved my answer away with an impatient gesture. 'Before you left London,' he said. I gaped at him and he laughed again. 'Gave you a surprise, did I?'

'Who are you?'

He gave me a mock salute. 'Henri Bronard. At your service - for the moment.'

'Henri? You're French?'

'Oui, m'sieu.'

'Then what are you doing out here in the middle of Siberia?'

'I serve various interests,' he said. 'For the moment I am to help you, when you need help. And you will.'

I blinked at him. 'I don't understand. You are a member of the Urals Soviet.'

He grinned, and it was more than the smirk I knew so well and detested; there was arrogance about him now, a clear pleasure in deceit. 'Not difficult,' he said. 'AH you need is to be more rabid than the rest.'

'But you sent a man on my horse to Ekaterinburg!'

'Somebody else said they should know. I insisted on sending your horse. They liked that.'

I said angrily. 'You're a damned fool, Ruzsky or Bronard, or whatever your damned name is. You've alerted them unnecessarily.'

'What's it matter - you're bound for Omsk, are you not? Has Nicholas signed?'

Once again I gaped. Once again he gave that arrogant grin. 'The paper. Has he signed it?'

'Who is it?' I demanded. 'Who's your master?'

He laid his finger along his nose and said, 'Either nobody is my master - or it's Henri Bronard. Did Nicholas sign?'

I declined to discuss the matter further and turned to leave. Behind me his voice said, 'Make sure of that signature, whatever else you do!'

It was close to noon when the train slowed suddenly, shuddering as the brakes gripped. What could be amiss? I lowered a window to put my head out and saw there were men beside the track ahead, apparently talking to the driver. I jumped down and hurried forward until I reached them. There were eight or ten of them, railway workers. I called, 'What's wrong?' to the driver.

'Warning not to proceed,' he answered. 'Ask them.' Which, of course, I immediately did. A hastily-erected barrier of tree-trunks and stones blocked the track. I stood looking at it for a moment, wondering, but it was clearly enough to prevent the train's moving forward and the men were amused; so I turned to look at the fellow who was in obvious command of the group, and flourished my paper at him.

'Who are you?' I demanded.

His name I forget but it is of no consequence: though by God his actions were! The man was leader of the railway workers in Omsk, a poor, starved-looking intense fellow with gleaming, fervent eyes. He read the laissez-passer document slowly and carefully, then looked up at me with a slight frown. 'I apologize, Comrade. You cannot take the train through.'

'Why not? As you see, my orders are from the Central Executive, from Comrade Sverdlov. Is this what happens when Moscow sends -'

He interrupted me. He was shaking a little. 'We have to respect all our comrades. You bring us orders. We are used to orders. But from the Urals Soviet we have a request. It is not from great men in Moscow, but from our brother workers. Please, they ask us, do not accept the passage of this train. That is their request. Please - do you notice the word? Yet your paper threatens death. Such was always Moscow's way. Comrade Commissar, we live in a new world now, where worker heeds the words of worker.'

I surveyed him coldly. 'So you halt the train-what now? We stand here in the snow?'

'No, Comrade. You return along the track to Tyumen and then to Ekaterinburg.'

'If I do that,' I protested, 'I shall be going directly against the orders of the Central Executive Committee. I shall be shot.'

He said he cared, but he didn't. There was no moving him or his men. But they were without authority-merely a group of railway workers. Ahead in the city must be the members of the local Soviet: more moderate men than those of Ekaterinburg if the ones at Tobolsk had been typical.

'You will have no objection if I go on alone into the city?'

'None at all.'

I uncoupled the locomotive and the Omsk men obligingly cleared their barrier to allow it through. On its footplate I reached the dreariness of Omsk, found three members of the local Soviet, including the secretary, and for two hours I argued and cajoled and waved my paper at them. They were adamant. There was no hostility, or not, at any rate, to me; but at the end I knew all about their feelings regarding the Imperial Family. The Omsk men did not care: whatever happened, Bloody Nicholas had brought upon himself. Their attitude was simply that, if Ekaterinburg's Soviet cared enough to make a formal request, the Omsk Soviet must comply with it; to do otherwise would be to strike at the very basis of solidarity.

'But they're extremists,' I said. 'They'll kill them.'

'They are workers like us,' I was told, 'and we are all free now to make decisions.'

They were immovable. Sympathetic to my dilemma, yes; pleasant and even polite to me, yes. But implacable. The train must go west to Ekaterinburg.

'I must telegraph Moscow.'

'By all means inform Comrade Sverdlov. Give him our greetings. Inform him that the Omsk Soviet grows daily in stability and authority.' This was the secretary speaking. I did all that, adding these words: 'Therefore returning Ekaterinburg. Your urgent intervention required there. Yakovlev.'

After that there was nothing I could do save leave. I rode back at no great speed, endeavouring with some desperation to work out in my mind some means to avoid the unwelcome requirements of the two Soviets - some way to keep my charges out of the hands of the Ekaterinburg men. Several crossed my thoughts. A return to Tobolsk, for example, and some attempt to travel north from thence up the Ob river to the Arctic.

But it was hopelessly impracticable. There was no boat at Tobolsk, I knew that from Kobylinsky, who must clearly have had the same thoughts. The boats would come with the spring thaw. Soon, but not yet. What else? Go on foot? Take the Imperial Family and head south? Try walking to meet the White Russian army? It could be tried, but the snow was thick yet, and the distances great. To try was to ask for death in another form.

At last, as the barrier by the track came into my sight, a decision had to be made. I made it. The Moscow leaders, the great names, Lenin, Trotsky and Sverdlov - they wanted arms. Nicholas was part of the price of the arms. They must save Nicholas! After all, could it really be true that Lenin and Trotsky could not persuade a rabble of uneducated peasants and workers? No, they would do it. For the sake of their Revolution, they must do it!

The railway workers' leader strode towards me as the locomotive came to a stop. 'Well, Comrade Commissar?'

Sourly I said, 'Well, what?'

'Where do you go now, eh?'

'Ekaterinburg.'

He nodded with satisfaction. 'I thought you would. Now the Tsar does as we say, eh Comrade?' Then as I turned away from him he said, and it must surely have been out of habit, Go with God." I told him sharply that I had very little doubt some of us would go to God as a result of his actions. So far in this telling, I have referred always to 'Nicholas' or 'the ex-Tsar'. I can do so no longer, for truly he was a king, that one. Faults he certainly had, many of them, and deep. I know what history says: that he was weak, dominated by his wife; that he never grew up; that he was too blind to see where the autocratic road must lead. All true, no doubt. But I am a sailor and we judge a man also by his courage. There I cannot fault the Tsar.

He must have waited for me in the corridor of the train; I could see him standing there as I swung myself up to the carriage; there was a cigarette in his hand and a grave, sad look on his face. As I approached, he threw down the cigarette and ground it beneath his boot.

'They've turned us back?'

I had no need to answer, for he had read it in my face. He gave a little resigned smile, it's Ekaterinburg, isn't it?'

'Yes,' I said, and went on: I have informed Moscow and the Central Executive.'

'Thank you.' He gave that little inclination of the head, if you will excuse me, I must tell my family.'

'Of course. Sir.'

As the door closed behind him, I went angrily in search of Ruzsky to tell him what had happened. To my surprise the man was unconcerned. 'Don't worry about Ekaterinburg,' he said. And then he laid his finger against his nose in the manner of cunning men.

So we set off. There is a town on the track between Omsk and Tuymen, its name Kulomzino: a place of no great size or importance and it figures in this story only as a marker, for we passed its lights at night and the train was perhaps ten miles beyond it when suddenly the air was filled with the sound of gunfire!

The driver slammed on the brakes, and the train ground abruptly to the sort of halt that flung people from their seats.

Coming to my feet, I hurled open a window to look out. Soldiers milled around us in great numbers, many of them with sabres drawn. We must have fallen across one of the dangerous small armies that were ravaging the country behind the Urals!

As I stood looking out at them, a mounted officer suddenly lunged at me with his sabre, pinning my coat to the woodwork.

'And who the devil are you?' I yelled at him.

He gave a bold grin, and well he could afford to. 'Not so noisy, my friend. We're White Cossacks don't we look like it?'

'Who is in command?'

The grin widened. 'Fond of questions, aren't you?'

'Who commands?'

He laughed at me. 'What's it matter to a dead man, eh?'

'You must take me to him!'

Something in my voice or my face must have told him there was urgency, for his expression changed.

"Open the door and jump down!'

I did so, and felt his sabre at my back as I was propelled along the track.

'Halt and be still!'

I stood. Ten yards away, mounted upon a milk-white horse, a shako on his head, sat a lean figure with a flowing moustache. My captor called, 'Sir!' and the man's head turned towards me.

'Well?'

I said, 'May I speak to you in private?'

He flung back his head and laughed. 'With a thousand men around us?'

I put my hands in my pockets for paper and pencil, and wrote a message quickly. My captor handed it on. In a second the leader slid off the horse's back and strode over to me. 'Nicholas Alexandrevitch here

- on board?' he asked incredulously.

I nodded. 'Also the Tsarina and the Grand Duchess Marie.'

'Great God!' He swore and slapped at his thigh. Truly, he was a weird and melodramatic figure there in the night with his hat and his horse and his recklessly extravagant gestures. 'I swore an oath of loyalty to Nicholas once. Never expected to be held to it now, though! Where? Take me to him!'

So I did, still not knowing his name. Nicholas knew him, though, knew him at once. I knocked upon his door; he opened it a crack, saw our faces and flung it wide. 'General Dutov!'

Dutov fell upon one knee.' Your Majesty, how can this be? Where are you bound.'

'Ekaterinburg,' the Tsar said.

'No, you're not\ Too damned dangerous,' Dutov roared. 'Come with me. I've men to keep you safe.' He had, too. And nothing in his way. I am certain now that had Nicholas gone with Dutov that night he could have ridden off to safety.

But he would not. 'Thank you. General, but no.'

'Great God, why not? You could go to your death in Ekaterinburg, Sir!'

Nicholas's quiet voice seemed all dignity beside Dutov's roaring. 'My children are in Tobolsk, General. I cannot depart and leave them."

'Sir, they won't harm children!" Dutov insisted. 'But you and the Tsarina are another matter. Come with me!'

But he would not. Instead he said to Dutov, 'Once my family is united I will be glad of any help you can offer. But as you see - at the moment. General, I am helpless.'

Shortly thereafter Dutov withdrew with his band of marauders. Without robbing us, either! It was a still night, and very dark, and now unutterably lonely in the great spaces of Siberia. I shuddered suddenly in the chill, signed to the driver to restart the train, and climbed aboard. I was standing in the unlit corridor of the Tsar's carnage when the door opened and a head emerged, said 'Oh!' as though startled and then asked hesitantly, 'Commissar Yakovlev?' I needed no telling whose voice this was. Very quietly she said, 'May I talk to you?'

The second part of Dikeston's narrative ended there. Instructions as to the means of obtaining Part Three were appended in an envelope, paperclipped to the last page. In his panelled office at 6, Athelsgate in the City of London, as Sir Horace Malory picked up a silver paper-knife and slit the envelope, he found his hands were trembling . . .