Carpers Understanding the Law 7th Edition

McKinsey
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3
THE COURT SYSTEM
GENERAL COMMENTS

This chapter introduces the student to the U.S. court system, emphasizing the role of courts as a
forum for peaceful resolution of disputes in our society. A civil tort claim is the example used throughout
the chapter to illustrate concepts of civil procedure. Highlights include discussion of the adversary system,
jurisdiction, small-claims court, civil procedure, jury selection, and the nature and use of juries.

The case of Trustees of Columbia University v. Jacobsen presents a stimulating college-life fact
situation that students should be able to relate. Moreover, the case invites discussion of many civil
procedure topics, and provides a lead into the next chapter by discussing the right and merit of Jacobsen
acting in pro se.

We discuss the doctrine of jury abrogation or jury nullification, a topic usually omitted from texts
of this nature. A Morals and Ethics feature explores the facts of the very interesting case of United
States v. Anthony Edwards. The case should stimulate an enlightening discussion of juries and the differences
in the power of juries and judges in civil versus criminal trials. One of our reviewers suggested we use
the O.J. Simpson case to illustrate jury nullification. Instead, we suggest you can use that case to query
as to whether that is what the students think happened. There is enough information on the Simpson cases
to provoke discussion and research. For additional information about jury nullification from a non-law
source, see R. Wiener, K. Habert, G. Shkodriani, and C. Staebler’s “The Social Psychology of Jury
Nullification: Predicting When Jurors Disobey the Law,” Journal of Social Psychology, 1991, pg.
1317. In November 2002, the South Dakota electorate defeated an initiative which would have amended a
section of the criminal code to allow an accused at trial to argue the merits, validity, and applicability
of the law, including the sentencing laws. The initiative was defeated 22% yes to 78% no.

CHAPTER SUGGESTIONS

1. Speculation about the change in the role of courts over the last hundred years can lead to a
provocative and fun discussion. Rural versus urban courts, local courts versus increased
centralization, printed book cases versus cases available on the Internet, and federal versus state
2 Chapter Three
jurisdiction are just a few of the potential comparisons you might explore with your students. A
discussion of diversity jurisdiction can spark a good discussion about federal versus state courts, the
role of dollar limits, the importance of procedural rules in courts, and many other topics.

2. As discussed in the chapter, significant differences exist in the methods used for selecting and
qualifying jurors. A good project for a class member would be to contact the local jury
commissioner, or another appropriate official at the courthouse, discuss the methods used in your
community for jury selection, and report back to the class. Questions to be researched could
include: How are prospective jurors selected? What reasons excuse a person from service?
What fees are paid for service? Do most local employers keep their workers on the payroll
while they are absent on jury duty? The potential exists for an excellent follow-up class
discussion. Now that lawyers and judges are included in most jury pools, are they actually
selected? Did high profile cases such as those of the Menendez brothers, the McMartin family
members, and O. J. Simpson popularize the notion of jury reform? Given that it has been several
years since these trials took place, has pressure for jury reform abated? For a worthwhile report,
have an interested student study and present to the class changes in the use of, and attitudes about,
juries in the United Kingdom during the past 75 years.

3. Have one or more students prepare an outline of the court system in your state. Compare it with the
system illustrated in the text. If you prefer you could require more detail. The students may, for
example, determine the jurisdiction of each trial court. Students could incorporate additional
information (e.g., selection, terms, and salary ranges of judges) into the chart. Many states provide
this information on a website. Have them consult it. Have recent changes in judicial structure in
some states been the result of attempts to improve the system or reduce its costs? Are local courts
close to population centers disappearing in favor of centralized courts? Is that good or bad?

4. Have your students visit a local court and report their observations to the class. They should spend
at least an entire morning or afternoon session, and preferably a full day, there. Have them ask a
court clerk, an attorney friend, or a judge to suggest when and where to visit. Have them answer
“How do proceedings differ from the typical television or motion picture presentation of a trial”? If
possible, court visits should be prearranged to coincide with interesting judicial activity. For
example, arraignments can be routine and boring because charges are couched in terms of violation
of state statute, whereas preliminary hearings include evidence and are more exciting and
informative. Divorce court and criminal court matters are probably more appropriate than a brief
observation of a segment of a long, civil jury trial. Bailiffs and other court personnel are usually
very helpful in identifying which cases on a particular day are interesting.

5. In some locations, you will have access to a local law school. Many law schools have trial advocacy
programs where students present and argue cases before mock juries. If such a program exists in
your area, contact the law school and volunteer your students as mock jurors. From personal
experience, we know the response from students who participate in such proceedings is very
positive and enthusiastic.

6. Have your students find out the current maximum amount of money for which a plaintiff may file a
suit in the small-claims court in your state. Are lawyers allowed to represent parties in your small-
claims courts? If unsuccessful in their desired outcome, can both the plaintiff and defendant appeal?
What determines whether or not the cases observed should have been brought into court? Talk to
someone in a county or state department of consumer affairs about the advisability of using the
small-claims court in your area.

7. An interesting question for class discussion concerns the mechanics of determining whether or not a
 The Court System 3 3
party is exercising peremptory challenges in a legally permissible manner.

8. Current events make a discussion of the differences between civil and criminal trials relative to
burden of proof, number of jurors, and juror voting (unanimity or three-fourths) especially timely and
relevant.

8. Many videos fit well in this chapter. Although most are created along topical lines, viewing at
this time allows consideration of procedure and advocacy issues. Discovery can be a good topic
leading to the next chapter’s discussion of attorneys and ADR. Topics can include the abusive
use of discovery, failure to comply with discovery orders, the cost of discovery, and situations
where discovery provided essential information for the other party. There was a terrific 14-
minute video segment of a “60 Minutes” news program on stalling and refusal to cooperate by
Wal-Mart concerning a variety of lawsuits brought against them. The video used to be available
through CBS News but we could not find it in a recent search. The legal issues in this video
included discovery and sanctions, duty to protect customers in parking lots from possible
criminal violence, and safety locks on air rifles displayed in the store. This is an interesting video
if you can find it.

9. Check on line to see if other companies are involved in major discovery issues. Very often the
problems discussed related to discovery can be revisited in discussion about contracts, trots or
product liability. The movie Class Action demonstrates discovery abuse and the importance of
discovery, Hollywood style and of course, it is available.

10. In 2003, various legislative efforts begun to split up the rather large Ninth Circuit as of this date
they have been unsuccessful. It would be interesting for students, particularly if they are in the
Ninth Circuit, to investigate these different efforts, the proposed reasons and the probable real
reasons. It is, of course, a political question rather than a legal one, but it does impact the legal
system directly.

11. Discuss the implications of getting jurisdiction over vendors who sell over the internet. During the
life of this text, one can expect continued development of the tests and standards for jurisdiction of
remote sellers and buyers.

FOR CRITICAL ANALYSIS

Trustees of Columbia University v. Jacobsen

1. There was no trial in the case. Columbia filed a motion for summary judgment, which later was
granted. The summary judgment motion is similar to a motion to dismiss. It is filed before trial and
typically is accompanied by affidavits containing uncontested facts. The essence of the motion, like
the motion to dismiss, is that uncontested facts completely negate any legal claim for damages.

2. An appearance pro se is an appearance and participation in court procedures by a party who is

acting on his or her own behalf without an attorney. The reason Jacobsen lost appears unrelated to
his pro se representation. An interesting question is whether or not an attorney would have pursued
the matter. Additional discussion of pro se or in propria persona representation is included in
Chapter 4.

3. The plaintiff in the lawsuit was Columbia University. The University was attempting to collect on
unpaid notes that had been presented for tuition. The defendant was trying to avoid payment of his
back tuition and fees, and was also seeking money damages for alleged misrepresentations by the
 4 Chapter Three
university.

4. The waiver of some of the amount due was an attempt by Columbia University to keep the claim
within the jurisdictional limits of the court where the case was originally filed. You might discuss
this rather common tactic used to keep relatively minor money matters in small claims court.

5. Neither side presented evidence, although affidavits and exhibits supposedly were submitted with
the motion for summary judgment. The court’s use of these documents was based either on the
submissions or reference to them in the various pleadings.

ANSWERS TO QUESTIONS AND PROBLEMS

1. a. A major purpose of small-claims court is to provide a fair dispute resolution process with a
minimum of formal procedures and rules of evidence. Typically, if one party had the assistance
of counsel, the other party would also desire assistance. If attorneys are involved, the process is
neither simple nor economical.
b. The proceedings in The People’s Court and Judge Judy are arbitrations. Producers of these
types of programs read court filings in local and neighboring counties. Such documents are, of
course, public and available to anyone. The producers contact the plaintiffs and defendants and
persuade them to have their disputes heard by the program’s judge, who actually serves as an
arbitrator. The claimants agree to be bound by the judge’s “award” (decision) and to waive their
right to a court trial. The process looks like a court proceeding because arbitration procedures
can resemble court proceedings if the parties agree. The producers agree to provide a fund to
pay damages, and to the extent damages are not awarded to one party, the fund is shared
equally by both. Small-claims court judges seldom rule from the bench and they generally are
not as caustic as “television judges.”
The programs do teach some rules of law, although “television judges’” rulings may not
conform to the law of any particular state. They do make people aware of small-claims courts.
Some critics believe these programs lead to an increase in litigation. Parties may be induced to
go to court rather than to negotiate settlements. Parties also may become more theatrical and
expect judges to rule from the bench, and even to lecture the other party. Parties don’t like to be
lectured to, but then they seldom expect to lose.
A previous author of this chapter, Donald Carper, acted as a pro tem small claims court
judge. He offered these comments
“It was good training for my eventual work as an arbitrator. A good discussion can be
had of the use of pro tem judges by the court system and the advantages and disadvantages of
pro tem judges from the plaintiff and defendants point of view. My rule of thumb based on my
observations is permanent judges were more consistent. The stronger my case the more likely I
would recommend a party insist on a permanent judge. Even though parties are told they
have a right to a permanent judge, I doubt very much that they understand it when the choice
is given. I suspect there are no answers to this discussion, but it is an interesting exploration
question from both the citizens’ perspective and the government’s. All the rights and
protections in the world are worthless if unobtainable because they are either too expensive or
complicated. There is a right answer to the question, of course, but we are taking it along with
the formulas for Coke and the Colonel’s secret herbs and spices to our graves.” Check and see
if your state has a consumer website for its small claims court.

2. The question is concerned with subject matter jurisdiction, or which courts have the power to hear a
case. Whichever court has the power to hear the case, the plaintiff, Jake, then has to get jurisdiction
over Callie, probably by personal service.
 The Court System 5 5
a. Yes. The federal District Court in Colorado is a federal trial court and the fact situation is
appropriate for diversity jurisdiction. Callie can get jurisdiction in federal court because of
diversity of citizenship, if the amount in controversy exceeds $75,000. Here it is $77,000
($22,000 + 40,000 + 15,000 = $77,000), and the parties are citizens of different states (Callie is
from Alabama and Jake is from Arizona). The federal district court would have concurrent
jurisdiction (both state and federal courts having the subject matter jurisdiction over the case)
with the Colorado State court. Note: If Callie decided to sue in Colorado state court then Jake,
as a citizen of another state, would have an absolute right to “remove” the case to the federal
court.
b. Yes. Jake can generally bring an action in the state where the defendant resides. Callie is
subject to in personam jurisdiction. This would not be a good choice, because all the evidence
is in Colorado and the plaintiff and witnesses would need to travel to Alabama to pursue the
action.
c. Yes. Jake can use Colorado’s long-arm statute to obtain jurisdiction over the nonresident
defendant. Driving a motor vehicle in a state implies agreement to accept service if a lawsuit
arising from such driving. For most plaintiffs, under the stated circumstances, this would be the
best court choice.
d. No. Although it is a federal trial court, its jurisdiction is limited to the District of Columbia. The
proper venue (appropriate place within a jurisdiction) in the federal court system would be in
Colorado.
e. Lawsuits begin in trial courts, not appellate courts. Therefore, irrespective of any other concern,
the appellate court does not have power to serve as the court of first impression.

3. The class should discuss this question.

4. A defendant on trial for assault and battery, like all persons accused of a crime, has a significant
interest in receiving a fair trial. During jury selection the attorneys (and sometimes the judge) are
allowed to conduct voir dire (questioning of prospective jurors) to determine the qualifications of
members of the jury panel to sit on a particular jury. Properly used, voir dire questions determine
whether or not each prospective juror has the capacity, disposition, and desired neutrality to fairly
consider the evidence at trial.
The defendant is accused of battering someone who would not stop playing death metal music.
The defendant is certain to be concerned about anyone who appears to be especially sympathetic to
members of this so-called culture. A person with “spiked green hair” and a “nose ring” may well
have a strong predisposition toward death metal artists that would make him or her biased against
the defendant. Defense counsel’s strategy should be to ask questions during voir dire to reveal any
potential juror’s bias. If successful in exposing bias, counsel would then ask the judge to dismiss the
juror “for cause.” A potential juror will be dismissed for cause if bias or potential bias exists against
the defendant to such extent that it could influence the juror’s vote.
If unsuccessful in convincing the judge to dismiss the juror for cause, counsel would use a
peremptory challenge. Each party to a lawsuit has a specified number of peremptory challenges
that can be used to excuse prospective jurors without explaining the reason for the dismissal.

This problem is a good critical thinking exercise as it takes what the student has learned about the
legal rules and asks that they apply it justifying their choices.

5. a. Jury nullification is the power of a jury in a criminal trial to disregard the law and
unanimously find the defendant innocent, although there is compelling evidence to support a
verdict of guilty. Although a judge can set aside a guilty verdict in a criminal case, the judge
cannot reverse a finding of innocence. A judge can order a mistrial upon a showing of jury
misconduct, but refusing to find the accused guilty is not juror misconduct. “The jury has the
Another document from Scribd.com that is
random and unrelated content:
instead of ending sorrow, they will, as they have ever done, increase it
manifold.
However, these men thought differently, and Peter Treskin’s vanity was
gratified, his ambition found a channel, his fiery disposition a means of
satisfying it; and as he never played second fiddle to anyone, he was
raised to a height, from which he commanded.
In other words, he became the head of a vast conspiracy which had for
its object the destruction of the rulers who then ruled. In short, Peter, at
the head of a mob, so to speak, opposed himself to the constituted forces
of law and order.
It is true those forces were not what they might, and perhaps ought to,
have been. They were stern, in many ways oppressive, in some respects
unjust, and often ungenerous; but Peter Treskin’s methods were not
calculated to change them.
It was astonishing, however, how he was enabled to enlist clever and
intellectual men of all sorts and conditions under his banner, which,
figuratively speaking, was inscribed with one word of ghastly import—
Revolution!
‘Well, friends, how does the work go on?’ he asked, as he entered the
room, wiped his perspiring forehead with his handkerchief, and then,
with a quick, nervous touch, rolled a cigarette and lit it.
‘We’ve nearly finished,’ answered one of the two men. ‘By to-morrow
night the machine will be ready.’
‘Good! excellent! bravo!’ said Treskin. ‘And you, Professor?’
‘My part is also nearly completed. It has been a dangerous operation, but
will be successful.’
The man who spoke was Professor Smolski, a clever chemist, whose
researches and knowledge, if properly applied, might have been of
immense benefit to the world, and have earned him a niche in the gallery
of worthies. But he had ranged himself on the side of the malcontents,
and for the sake of his craze he was willing to sacrifice the prospects of
fame, if not fortune, and to run the almost certain risk of a shameful
death. Truly human nature is a mystery.
The other two men were brothers—Jews, Isaac and Jacob Eisenmann.
They were born in Russia, but their parents had fled from Germany to
avoid persecution, though, in flying from the hornets, they had
encountered the wasps; that is to say, they had found no peace in Russia.
They had been oppressed, persecuted, harried, and their offspring had
vowed vengeance. Isaac and Jacob were sworn foes of the Government.
They were clever mechanics, and their cleverness was used to build up a
destructive instrument of death, contrived with devilish ingenuity and
diabolical cunning.
These men represented a large party, which included women as well as
men; but Treskin was the head, the leading light, the impelling spirit. His
influence, his restless energy, his ambition, his vanity, made him one of
the most dangerous men in all Russia. He seemed able by some
extraordinary power he possessed of swerving men from the paths of
rectitude into the tortuous ways of crime. He led women like lambs to
the slaughter; he bent even strong men to his will.
Strangely enough, however, up to the time that he is brought under the
reader’s notice, he had managed to escape falling under suspicion. It is
difficult to say what this immunity was due to; possibly some superior
cunning, some extraordinary cautiousness. But whatever it was, Peter
was not wanting in courage, and was quite ready to take his share of risk.
His co-conspirators now proceeded to explain to him the result of their
labours and their ingenuity. The empty recess at the end of the
mechanical box was to be filled with a novel preparation containing a
latent explosive power of immense force. This latent power, however,
could only be aroused into activity by the combination of a chemical
fluid, and in order to bring this about, the mechanism had been arranged
with wonderful precision and cleverness. Professor Smolski had
produced the necessary fluid, and the two Jews had, between them,
constructed the machinery. At the end of the rod or shaft already
described a glass tube, hermetically sealed, would be attached by fitting
into a socket. As the rod was advanced by the revolving notched wheel,
which could be set to do its work in one hour or forty-eight, the glass
tube would ultimately be thrust through the hole in the partition, where,
coming in contact with an opposing rigid bar of iron, it would break, and
then instantly something like a cataclysm would follow.
This, of course, only describes the machine in rough outline, and that is
all that is intended to be done. Those who are curious to learn the details
of the strange instrument of death and destruction will find drawings of it
preserved in the police archives of St. Petersburg. It was, at the time, the
most perfect and certain thing of its kind that man’s devilishness had
been able to create. And in some respects it is doubtful if it has been
improved upon up to the present day.
Four o’clock was striking when Peter Treskin stole forth from that
reeking den of evil designs, and made his way into the sweet, fresh air.
Overhead the stars burned with an effulgency only seen in a Northern
climate. Peace and silence reigned in the sleeping city. The clear,
pellucid waters of the Neva glistened and glinted as they flowed to the
sea, emblematic of the Stream of Time, which silently but surely sweeps
all men into the great ocean of eternity, and obliterates even their
memory.
Man’s life is a little thing indeed when compared with the
stupendousness of Time and Eternity. The bright stars shine, the rivers
roll for ever; but man is born to-day; to-morrow he is dust and forgotten.
No such feeling or sentiment, however, stirred Peter Treskin’s emotion as
he hurried along to his lodgings. He was elated, nevertheless, and full of
a fierce, wicked joy, for his designs seemed to be going well. He had that
night seen the completion, or almost the completion, of an instrument of
destruction which was calculated and intended to strike terror into the
hearts of tyrants, and he even believed that the hour was at hand when
constituted power and authority, as it then existed, would be shattered
into the dust, and from its ruins a new order of things would arise, in
which he would figure as a supreme ruler.
Fools have dreamed these dreams before, and awakened with the curses
of their fellow-men ringing in their ears; and then, having died a
shameful death, have been thrust, unhonoured and unwept, into a
nameless grave. But Treskin was not disturbed by any gloomy
forebodings, and having reached his lodgings, he hurried to bed.

The scene shifts once more, and shows us Kronstadt, a busy, thriving
seaport, arsenal, and naval and military town, at the head of the Gulf of
Finland, exactly thirty-one miles west from St. Petersburg. The town is
built on an island, and is so strongly fortified that it is called the ‘Malta
of the Baltic.’ The greater portion of the Imperial navy assembles here,
and there are armour and appliances, not only for repairing vessels, but
building men-of-war. There are three great harbours. Two are used
exclusively for the Imperial ships, and the third is a general harbour
capable of accommodating seven hundred vessels. In the winter no trade
with the outer world is carried on, owing to the ice; but during the
summer months the flags of various nationalities may be seen, but by far
the largest number of foreign vessels visiting Kronstadt sail under the
British flag.
At this place, one summer afternoon, a man and woman arrived, and
made their way to a tavern near the entrance to the general harbour. The
woman was young, good-looking, very dark, but her features wore a
careworn expression, and she seemed to glance about her with a nervous
fear, as though she was in dread of something. The man was of middle
height; he had an iron-gray beard and iron-gray hair. Judging from his
grayness, he was advanced in years; but his step was firm, his eyes,
which were very dark, were the eyes of youth—they were restless and
full of fire. He carried a leather hand-bag, which he deposited on a chair
beside him as he and the woman seated themselves at a table outside of
the tavern and ordered refreshment, which was served by the tavern-
keeper himself. The stranger got into conversation with the landlord, and
asked him many questions.
‘Where is the Little Father’s yacht, the North Star, lying?’ he asked.
‘Out there, moored to that big buoy. You will see she has the Imperial
flag flying.’ As he spoke, the landlord pointed to the outside of the
harbour, where a large steam-yacht, painted white, was moored. A thin
film of smoke was issuing from her funnels, and a little wreath of steam
from her steam-pipes. ‘She has been outside into the roadstead this
morning to adjust her compasses. I see a bargeload of stores has just
gone off to her.’
‘At what hour will the Imperial party arrive to-morrow?’
‘They are timed, I understand, to be here at nine o’clock,’ said the
landlord.
‘The Czar is a stickler for punctuality, isn’t he?’ asked the stranger.
‘Yes. I understand he is seldom behind time if he can help it. Well, his
Majesty will have a good trip, I hope. The weather promises to be fine.
God protect him!’
‘She is a fine yacht, is the North Star, I suppose?’
‘Splendid! Magnificent! I once had the honour of going on board by the
courtesy of one of the officers, who gave me an order. But she was laid
up then, and partly dismantled. Now would be the time to see her, when
she is all ready for the Little Father’s reception. But that is impossible.
No one not connected with the vessel would be allowed on board.’
The stranger smiled, as he remarked:
‘I am not connected with the vessel, and yet I am going on board.’
‘You are!’ cried the host in astonishment. ‘Impossible!’
‘By no means impossible. I have official business.’
‘Oh, well, of course, that’s another thing. Well, I envy you.’
When the landlord had gone about his affairs, the girl said to her
companion, speaking in low tones:
‘You are a fool to talk about your intentions in that way. You are simply
directing attention to yourself.’
‘Tut! hold your tongue! What does it matter? There is nothing to fear
from this thick-headed publican.’
‘But you ought to be more careful—you ought indeed,’ urged the girl
tearfully. ‘You are far too reckless. Remember the tremendous risks you
are running—we are running—for if you sacrifice yourself you sacrifice
me too.’
‘Are you beginning to funk?’ asked the man irritably.
‘No. But there is no reason why the risks should be made greater than
they are. We have a great task to accomplish, and every possible caution
should be exercised.’
‘Well, now what have I done that is wrong?’ demanded the man angrily.
‘You told the landlord you were going on board the yacht. It was foolish
to do that. You drew attention to yourself.’
‘Possibly you are right—possibly you are right,’ her companion returned
thoughtfully. ‘It was a little bit of vanity on my part, but it slipped out.
However, all will be well. Our plans are so well laid it is impossible for
them to miscarry.’
‘Nothing is impossible; nothing should be counted upon as certain until
it is accomplished,’ the girl said.
‘You are a nice sort of Job’s comforter. Do, for goodness’ sake, keep
quiet!’ answered the man snappishly. He was evidently in a highly
nervous state, and very irritable. ‘Well, I must go. Be sure, now, that you
don’t stir from here until I return.’
‘I understand,’ said the girl. ‘But, remember, the suspense will be awful.
Don’t be away from me a minute longer than you can help.’
He promised that he would not. Then, taking up his hand-bag, he
embraced his companion and went out. Making his way down to the
quay, he hired a boat, and instructed the boatman to row him to the
Imperial yacht.
On reaching the vessel, he was challenged by the sentry on duty at the
gangway, and he replied that he had come on official business, and had a
Government order. Whereupon he was allowed to get on to the lower
grating of the steps, where an officer came to him, and he produced a
Government document, stamped with the official seal, and setting forth
that his name was Ivan Orloff, that he was one of the naval clockmakers,
and had been sent down to adjust all the clocks on board the North Star
preparatory to the Czar’s arrival. Such an order could not be gainsaid, so
he was admitted on board, but an armed sailor was told off to accompany
him about the ship, and show him where the various clocks were
situated. There were a good many clocks, as every officer had one in his
cabin.
The man came at last to the Czar’s suite of apartments in the newly-
constructed deckhouse. The sailor paused at the entrance to cross himself
before a sacred picture that hung on the bulkhead, but Orloff pushed on,
and, passing beneath costly and magnificent curtains, he reached the
Czar’s sleeping-cabin, which was a dream of splendour. With quick,
hurried movements he took from his bag an oblong box, turned a handle
on an index dial, and placed the box beneath the royal bed. He scarcely
had time to recover his position, and get to a chest of drawers on which
stood a superb clock, when the sailor entered, and said gruffly:
‘You ought to have waited for me.’
‘I’m in a hurry, friend,’ said Orloff. ‘I want to get my work finished and
return to St. Petersburg to-night.’
As he lifted the glass shade off the clock, his hands trembled and his face
was as white as marble, but the sailor did not notice it.
Half an hour later Orloff had completed his task, and took his departure,
and landing once more on the quay, he made his way to the tavern and
joined the girl.
‘Have you succeeded?’ she asked anxiously.
‘Yes. But a sailor kept guard over me, and I was afraid the plan would
have miscarried; I racked my brains trying to find an excuse for freeing
myself from him. But fortune favoured me. He stopped to mumble a
prayer before an ikon, and I seized the opportunity to get into the Tsar’s
bed-chamber, where I planted the machine. It is set for thirty-three hours,
and will go off to-morrow night when the Tsar has retired to his couch.’
The girl looked frightened, and said nervously:
‘Well, let us leave here, and get back without a moment’s delay.’
‘Don’t worry yourself, my child; there is plenty of time. I am going to
dine first.’
He ordered dinner for two and half a bottle of vodka beforehand by way
of an appetizer, and, having drunk pretty freely, he and the girl strolled
out while the dinner was being prepared.
It was a glorious evening. The sun was setting. The heavens were dyed
with crimson fire. In the clear atmosphere the masts and rigging of the
vessels stood out with a sharpness of definition that was remarkable.
There was no wind. The water of the gulf was motionless.
Suddenly there was a tremendous shock as if a great gun had been fired,
and in a few moments a cry arose from a hundred throats that something
had happened on board the Imperial yacht. The air about her was filled
with splinters of wood. Men could be seen running along her decks in a
state of great excitement, and she appeared to be heeling over to the
starboard side. ‘Her boilers have burst,’ cried the people, as they rushed
pell-mell to the quay, while from all parts of the harbour boats were
hurriedly making their way to the North Star, as it was thought that she
was foundering.

THE SECOND ACT—THE UNRAVELLING

OF THE PLOT.

When the explosion on board the Imperial yacht occurred, Orloff and the
girl were strolling along one of the quays which commanded a full view
of the harbour, and, attracted by the tremendous report, they turned their
eyes seaward to behold a dense column of vapourish smoke rising
upwards, and wreckage of all kinds filling the air. The girl staggered, and
reeled against her companion, and he, clapping his hand suddenly to his
forehead, exclaimed:
‘My God! what have I done? The machine has gone off before its time. I
must have set the index wrong.’
The excitement both on shore and in the harbour was tremendous,
otherwise Orloff and the woman would surely have drawn attention to
themselves by the terror and nervousness they displayed.
‘We are lost! we are lost!’ wailed the woman.
At this the man seemed to suddenly recover his self-possession.
‘Peace, fool!’ he muttered savagely between his teeth. ‘We are not lost.’
He glanced round him anxiously for some moments; then, seeing a boat
containing a solitary boatman about to put off from the quay, he said
hurriedly to his companion, ‘Stop here for a little while; I will return
shortly.’
She was so dazed and stupefied that she made no attempt to stop him,
and he hurried away, rushed down a flight of stone steps, and hailed the
boatman.
After a few words of haggling and bargaining, Orloff sprang into the
little craft and the boatman rowed rapidly out towards the North Star.
The girl waited and waited in a fever of anxiety and impatience. She
paced the quay—up and down, up and down. To and fro she went. Her
face was as white as bleached marble. Her dark flashing eyes bespoke
the fear she felt. Her hands opened and shut spasmodically from the
extreme nervous tension she felt.
All the light of day faded out of the sky. A blood-red streak did linger in
the western sky for a time, but was suddenly extinguished by the black
robe of Night. The girl still paced the quay, but Orloff did not return. She
heard the gossip of people as they returned to the shore from the harbour,
and from this she gathered that the Imperial yacht had been partially
destroyed, and many lives had been lost. The prevailing opinion was that
the mischief was due to the bursting of a boiler.
Unable longer to endure her misery, the girl went back to the tavern. The
landlord came to her, and asked if she had been off to the wreck.
‘No,’ she answered. ‘My husband has gone. It’s an awful business, isn’t
it? They say the boiler of the steamer blew up, and that there have been
many lives lost.’
‘I heard that half the crew are killed,’ said the landlord. ‘God be praised
that the accident occurred before our Little Father arrived! It’s a
Providential escape.’
‘Yes,’ answered the girl sullenly.
The landlord asked her if she would have dinner, as it was all ready. She
replied that she would wait for her husband. She drank some vodka,
however, to steady her nerves, and smoked a cigarette.
Presently she went forth again, and paced the quay, going back to the
tavern after a time to learn that Orloff had not returned. It was then a
little after nine. And as the last train to St. Petersburg started at half-past
nine, she settled the bill at the tavern, and, taking the leather bag with
her, hurried to the station and got back to town. She was full of nervous
apprehension, and puzzled to account for the strange disappearance of
Orloff. Had he deserted her? Had he been apprehended? The suspense
was horrible. It almost drove her mad.

When the news of the disaster on board the Czar’s yacht reached St.
Petersburg, the consternation was tremendous, and a special train filled
with Government officials, including Michael Danevitch, started at once
for Kronstadt to investigate the affair on the spot.
Several bodies had been recovered and brought on shore. They were laid
out in a shed on the quay. The shed was lighted by oil-lamps, and their
feeble glimmer revealed a ghastly sight. The bodies were all more or less
mutilated. Some were unrecognisable. There were nine altogether,
including the chief officer and the chief engineer.
The captain arrived with the Government officials. He had been in town,
and was to have travelled down the next day in the Emperor’s suite.
In mustering his ship’s company, he found that twenty-three were
missing altogether. Nine of that number were lying in the shed. The rest
were being searched for by boats. Several were recovered, but some
drifted out with the currents and were seen no more.
Investigations soon proved that the destruction was not due to the
bursting of a boiler. The boilers were intact. The cause of the disaster,
therefore, was a mystery, until somebody on board, having recovered his
presence of mind after the dreadful shock, referred to the visit of the
Government clock-winder.
That sounded suspicious. As far as the officials knew, no one had been
sent down to wind the clocks. But still, as the fellow had come furnished
with Government-stamped credentials, it was probably all right.
Owing, however, to some strange oversight or stupid blunder, nothing
could be ascertained then, as no one was at the telegraph-office in St.
Petersburg to receive messages, and so the night wore itself out, and
many hours’ start was given to Orloff and his co-conspirators.
During this time Danevitch was not idle. He knew, perhaps better than
anyone else, how the Emperor was encompassed round about with
enemies who sought his destruction, and the wily detective smelt treason
in the air.
Although it was night, Kronstadt kept awake, for people were too excited
to sleep, and a messenger was despatched to St. Petersburg on an engine,
whose driver was ordered to cover the distance in an hour—a fast run for
Russia. The messenger was furnished with a description of Orloff—at
this time it was not known that a woman had been with him; it will be
remembered she did not go on board—and was told to lose not a moment
in circulating that description.
Then Danevitch began inquiries on his own account in Kronstadt. From
the survivors on board the yacht he ascertained at what time Orloff went
on board; an hour and a half before he presented himself a train had
arrived from St. Petersburg.
He had probably arrived by that train. The boatman who took him off to
the yacht was found. He said the supposed clock-winder carried a black
bag with him both going and coming.
After his return to the shore only two trains left for St. Petersburg. By
neither of those trains did he travel, so far as could be ascertained.
The sailor who had been told off to accompany Orloff over the vessel
was amongst the missing; but it was gathered that when the clock-winder
had gone the sailor mentioned to some of his companions that he had
been much annoyed by the stranger rushing forward to the Emperor’s
bed-chamber, while he (the sailor) was mumbling a prayer before an
ikon (sacred picture) which hung at the entrance.
When he got into the room, he noticed that the stranger was pale and
flurried, as if he had received a shock. Those who heard the story
thought the sailor’s imagination had run away with him, and so no
importance or significance was attached to what he said.
The destructive force of the explosion on board the North Star had been
tremendous. Not only had the whole of the Czar’s rooms been
completely destroyed, but a large section of the ship’s decks and
bulwarks had been shattered, and one of her plates started, so that the
water came in so fast that the pumps had to be kept going, while
preparations were made to tow her into the docks, for her own engines
being damaged, they would not work.
Soon after six in the morning, the engine that had been sent to the capital
returned and brought some more officials. They stated that, from
inquiries made, no one by the name of Orloff had been sent down to
regulate the clocks on board the Czar’s yacht.
All the clocks on board the Imperial fleet were kept in order by contract,
and no special warrant had been supplied to anybody of the name of
Orloff.
This information made it clear that a dastardly conspiracy was at work,
and it was easy to surmise that the explosion on board the yacht was
premature. The intention evidently was that it should take place after the
Czar had embarked; but the cowardly wretches, by some blundering, had
allowed their mine to go off too soon, and though many innocent people
had been sacrificed, and immense damage done to valuable property, the
life of the Emperor had been spared.
It was not long before Danevitch found out that the man calling himself
Orloff, and a female companion, had put up at a tavern near the quay,
and the landlord gave all the information he could.
He stated that Orloff told him he was going on board the vessel, and
started off for that purpose, leaving the woman behind him. He returned
later, and ordered dinner, and then he and the woman went off again for a
stroll.
After the explosion the woman returned alone, and hurried away by
herself, taking the black bag with her, to catch the last train.
This was instructive, but it was also puzzling. It was established that the
woman did go up by the last train, but not Orloff. What had become of
him?
Danevitch took measures to have every outlet from Kronstadt watched.
Then he set off for St. Petersburg. In reasoning the matter out, it was
clear to him that several, perhaps many, persons had had a hand in the
conspiracy.
The infernal machine carried on board the North Star by the man calling
himself Orloff was hardly likely to be the work of one man. Any way, a
woman was mixed up in the business.
The official document that Orloff had presented was written on
Government paper, and it bore the Government seal. The officer of the
North Star who had examined it before admitting the pseudo-clock-
regulator, and who was amongst those who escaped without hurt from
the explosion, testified to that.
Such being the case, and the order being written on what was known as
‘Admiralty’ paper, it followed that it must have been stolen from the
Admiralty office. It struck Danevitch that the thief was probably a
female employé in the Admiralty Palace, and that it was she who
accompanied Orloff to Kronstadt.
This was a mere surmise, but it seemed feasible, and with Danevitch all
theories were worth testing. Whoever it was, in the hurry of leaving the
tavern at that town she had left behind her a glove.
It was a black silk-thread glove, ornamented at the back with sprigs
worked in white silk. With this glove in his possession, Danevitch
proceeded to the Admiralty Palace. But as soon as he arrived he learnt
that Miss Catherine Snell had made a statement about Anna Plevski
having visited Room 12 and requested to look at the plans of the North
Star.
Anna was at once confronted with Danevitch. Asked where she had been
the night before, she replied indignantly, ‘At home, of course.’
Did she know a person named Orloff? No, she did not. Why did she go
to Catherine Snell and ask her to show her the plans of the North Star?
Simply to gratify her curiosity, nothing else. She was next asked if she
had worn gloves the day previous. She replied that she had. What sort
were they? Kid gloves, she answered. Had she those gloves with her?
No; she had left them at home, and had come to the office that morning
without gloves.
After a few more inquiries she was allowed to return to her duties, but
was kept under strict surveillance, while poor Catherine Snell was
suspended for dereliction of duty.
In the meantime Danevitch proceeded to Anna’s lodgings, and a search
there brought to light the fellow to the glove left in the tavern at
Kronstadt. It had been thrown carelessly by the girl on the top of a chest
of drawers. This glove was a damning piece of evidence that Anna had
accompanied Orloff to Kronstadt the day before, and that established, it
was a logical deduction that she had stolen the stamped paper on which
he had written, or caused to be written, the order which had gained him
admission on board of the North Star. All this, of course, was plain
sailing. Catherine Snell’s statement had made matters easy so far. But
there was a good deal more to be learnt, a great deal to be sifted before
the truth would be revealed.
When a person in Russia is suspected of crime, the law gives the police
tremendous power, and there are few of the formalities to be gone
through such as are peculiar to our own country; and in this instance
Danevitch was in a position to do almost absolutely whatever he thought
fit and proper to do.
The finding of the glove carried conviction to his mind that Anna Plevski
was mixed up in this new plot for the destruction of the Emperor. So,
without any ceremony, he proceeded to rummage her boxes and drawers
for further evidence. The want of keys did not deter him; chisels and
hammers answered the same purpose. His search was rewarded with a
bundle of letters. These were hastily scanned; they were all, apparently,
innocent enough; the majority of them were love letters. A few of these
were signed ‘Peter Treskin’; the rest simply bore the initial ‘P.’ There
was nothing in any of these letters calculated to cause suspicion, with the
exception of the following somewhat obscure passage in a letter written
a few days before the explosion:
‘The time is at hand when your faith and love will be put to a great test.
The serious business we have in hand is reaching a critical stage, and
success depends on our courage, coolness, and determination. You and I
must henceforth walk hand-in-hand to that supreme happiness for which
we have both toiled. We love each other. We must unite our destinies in a
bond that can only be severed by death.’
Having learnt so much, Danevitch once more confronted Anna. She
confessed she had a lover named Peter Treskin; they had quarrelled,
however, and he had gone away; but she knew not where he had gone to,
and she did not care if she never saw him again.
‘Perhaps you will be able to remember things better in a dungeon,’
suggested Danevitch, as he arrested Anna, and handed her over to the
care of a gendarme.
She turned deathly white, but otherwise appeared calm and collected,
and declared that she was the victim of a gross outrage, for which
everyone concerned would be made to suffer.
Danevitch’s next move was to go to Treskin’s lodgings. He found that
gentleman had been absent for three days. Here also a search was made
for compromising papers. A good many letters from Anna Plevski were
brought to light. They all breathed the most ardent love and devotion for
the man; and the writer declared that she could not live a day without
him, that for his sake she was prepared to peril her soul. But there were
other letters—love letters—written to Treskin by a woman who signed
herself Lydia Zagarin. This person not only betrayed by her writing that
she was desperately, madly in love with Treskin also, but from her
statements and expressions it was obvious that he had carried on an
intrigue with her, and was as much in love with her as she was with him.
She wrote from a place called Werro, in the Baltic provinces. Danevitch
took possession of these letters, and continued his search, during which
he came across a slip of paper which bore the printed heading, ‘The
Technical School of Chemistry, St. Petersburg.’ On it was written this
line: ‘Yes, I think I shall succeed.—S .’
Apparently there was not much in this, but what there was was quite
enough for Danevitch under the circumstances, and he had Professor
Smolski arrested. It was a summary proceeding, but in times of
excitement in Russia anyone may be arrested who may possibly turn out
to be a guilty person. It is not necessary that there should be a shadow of
a shade of evidence of guilt in the first instance; it is enough that there is
a possibility of the police being right. But if they are wrong what does it
matter? The person is released, and the police are not blamed. Danevitch,
however, did not often go wrong in this respect; and in this instance,
Smolski being a Professor in the Technical School of Chemistry, there
were probabilities that he might be able to afford some valuable
information respecting Treskin.
Smolski was one of those extraordinary types of men who, having
conceived a certain thing to be right, are willing to risk fame, fortune,
life itself, for the sake of their opinions. Smolski was undoubtedly a
gentle, high-minded man; nevertheless he believed that the ruler of his
country was a tyrant; that his countrymen were little better than slaves,
whose social and political rights were ignored; that the ordinary means—
such as are familiar to more liberally-governed countries—being useless
to direct attention to their wrongs, violent measures were justified, and
the removal of the tyrant would be acceptable in God’s sight. Holding
these views—and though he was a family man and one respected and
honoured—Smolski had allied himself with a band of arch-conspirators,
whose head was Peter Treskin. He was calm, dignified, and collected
under his arrest, and when he was interrogated, in accordance with
Russian law, by a judge of instruction, he frankly admitted that he had
been concerned in an attempt to bring about a better form of government;
but he steadfastly refused to denounce any of his accomplices. He could
die bravely, as became a man, but no one should say he was a traitor.
All this would have been admirable in a nobler cause; as it was, he
simply proved that he had allowed his extreme views to blind him to the
difference between legitimate constitutional agitation and crime—crime
that, whether committed in the name of politics or not, was murder, and
an outrage against God’s ordinance. Smolski, in common with most men,
neglected the safe rule that letters should be destroyed when they are
calculated to compromise one’s honour or betray one’s friends. And thus
it came about that when the Professor’s papers were examined, not only
were Isaac and Jacob Eisenmann brought into the police net, but many
others; and in a diary he had kept there was a record of his experiments
with the deadly compound which was destined to blow the monarch of
the Empire into eternity, but which, owing to an accident or a blunder,
had failed in its object so far as the Czar was concerned, though it had
cruelly cut short the lives of many hard-working and worthy men. Under
any circumstances, even if the Czar had been involved in the destructive
influences of the infernal machine, many others must have perished with
him. Such conspirators never hesitate to destroy nine hundred and
ninety-nine inoffensive people if they can only reach the thousandth
against whom they have a grievance.
Piece by piece the whole story as set forth in the first part of this
chronicle was put together, and the plot laid bare; but though many had
been brought under the iron grip of the law, the arch-conspirator, to
whose ruling spirit and genius the plot was due, was still at large, and no
trace of him was at that time forthcoming; but Danevitch did not despair
of hunting him down, of bringing him to his doom. And no one whose
mind was not distorted could say his life was not forfeited. His whole
career had been one of plotting and deceit. His commanding presence
and masterful mind had given him such an influence over many of those
with whom he came in contact—especially women—that he had proved
himself more than ordinarily dangerous, while his reckless and cowardly
wickedness in carrying the infernal machine on board the Czar’s yacht,
and thereby causing the sudden and cruel death of something like two
dozen people, stamped him at once as a being against whom every
honest man’s hand should be raised.
In the meantime, while Danevitch was trying to get a clue to Treskin’s
whereabouts, his co-conspirators—they might truly be described as his
dupes—were tried, found guilty, condemned, and executed. Smolski, the
two Eisenmanns, and four others, were ignominiously hanged in the
presence of an enormous crowd. Smolski met his end with a perfect
resignation, a calm indifference. He firmly believed he was suffering in a
good cause. He died with the words ‘Khrista radi’ (For Christ’s sake)
upon his lips. He posed as a martyr.
Anna Plevski had been cast for Siberia, but before starting upon the
terrible journey, the prospects of which were more appalling than death,
she would have to spend many months in a noisome dungeon in the
Russian Bastile, Schlusselburgh, in Lake Ladoga.
But a circumstance presently arose which altered her fate. Danevitch had
kept his eye on Lydia Zagarin, of Werro. He found she was the daughter
of a retired ship-master, who had purchased a little property in the small
and pleasantly-situated town of Werro. He was a widower. Lydia was his
only daughter. On her father’s death she would succeed to a modest
fortune. Treskin had borrowed money from her, and it was probable that
he had singled her out from his many female acquaintances as one to
whom he would adhere on account of her money. Four months after the
fateful day when the Czar’s yacht was partially destroyed and many
people were killed, Treskin wrote to this young woman, renewing his
protestations of regard for her, and asking her to send him money, and to
join him with a view to his marrying her. He gave his address at Point de
Galle, Ceylon, where, according to his own account, he had started in
business as a merchant. He stated that, though he had taken no active
part in the destruction of the North Star, he happened to be in Kronstadt
on the night of the crime, and as he knew he was suspected of being
mixed up in revolutionary movements, he deemed it advisable to go
abroad; and so he had bribed a boatman to convey him to a Swedish
schooner which was on the point of leaving the Kronstadt harbour on the
night of the explosion, and he bribed the captain of the schooner to
convey him to the coast of Sweden. By this means he escaped. From
Sweden he travelled to England; from England to Ceylon, where he had
a cousin engaged on a coffee plantation.
This letter came into the hands of Danevitch before it reached Lydia.
How that was managed need not be stated; but Danevitch now believed
he saw his way to capture Treskin. He knew, of course, that, as a political
refugee, claiming the protection of the British flag, he could not be taken
in the ordinary way. The British flag has over and over again been
disgraced by the protection it has afforded to wretches of Treskin’s type,
and it was so in this instance. To obtain his extradition was next to
impossible. He was a wholesale murderer, but claimed sanctuary in the
name of politics, and he found this sanctuary under the British flag.
Danevitch, however, resolved to have him, and resorted to stratagem. He
visited Anna Plevski in her dungeon. She knew nothing at this time of
the fate of her lover, though she did know that he had not been captured.
Danevitch, by skill and artifice, aroused in her that strongest of all
female passions—jealousy. He began by telling her that Treskin had
deserted her in a cowardly and shameful manner on the night of the
crime, and did not care whether she perished or lived. Then he laid
before her Lydia Zagarin’s letters to Treskin, which had been seized at
Treskin’s lodgings, and he watched the effect on the girl as she read
them. Finally he showed her the letter sent from Ceylon.
That was the last straw. Her feelings burst from the restraint she had tried
to impose upon them, and she cursed him again and again. She declared
solemnly that she was his victim; that she was innocent and loyal until he
corrupted her, and indoctrinated her with his revolutionary ideas. He had
sworn to be true to her, and used to say they would live and die together.
On the night of the crime he had persuaded her to go with him to
Kronstadt, because he declared that he could not bear her to be out of his
sight. They had arranged that on the morrow they were to quit St.
Petersburg, and travel with all speed to Austrian soil. But not only had he
basely deceived her, but treacherously deserted her. She was furious, and
uttered bitter regrets that she could not hope to be revenged upon him.
In this frame of mind she was left for the time. A week later, however,
Danevitch once more visited her. She was still brooding on her wrongs
and her hard fate. To suffer Siberia for the sake of a man who had so
cruelly deceived her and blighted her young life was doubly hard.
‘Would she be willing, if she had the chance, to bring him to justice?’
Danevitch asked.
Her dark eyes filled with fire, and her pale face flushed, as she exclaimed
with passionate gesture that she would do it with a fierce joy in her heart,
and laugh at him exultingly as he was led to his doom.
She was told that the chance would be given to her to betray him into the
hands of justice. She would be set free on sufferance, and allowed to
proceed to Ceylon, and, provided she succeeded in her task and was
faithful to the trust reposed in her, she would, on returning to Russia,
receive a full pardon, and be supplied with a considerable sum of money
to enable her to live abroad if she desired it.
In setting her free, however, in the first instance, the Government
intended to retain a hold upon her, and to that end her youngest and
favourite brother, who was an invalid, and to whom she was devoted,
had been arrested on suspicion of being mixed up with revolutionary
movements. If she did not return within a fixed time, the brother would
be sent to the Siberian quicksilver-mines. While she was away he would
be treated with every kindness, and on her return he would be set at
liberty. His fate therefore was in her hands. If she allowed the false lover
to prevail over her she would sacrifice her brother. If, on the other hand,
she was true to her trust, she would save her brother, gratify her revenge,
and be provided for for life.
She was allowed a week in which to make up her mind; but in two days
she gave her decision. She would go to Ceylon. She would lure Treskin
to his doom. To prepare the way she wrote a letter to dictation. In it she
stated that she had been tried and found not guilty. No sooner was she
released than she had been visited by a wretch of a woman named Lydia
Zagarin, who abused her fearfully for having corresponded with Treskin,
whom she claimed. And in her mad passion she had disclosed his
whereabouts, but vowed that she hated him, knowing that he had been
false to her, and that all he wanted now was her money. Anna, however,
had no such thoughts about him. She loved him to distraction, and could
not live without him. She intended, therefore, to go to Ceylon; and she
had managed to secure some money, which she would take to him. She
was perfectly sure, she added, that he loved her, and that they would be
very happy together.
This letter was duly despatched, and a fortnight later Anna set out on her
strange mission, having first had an interview with her brother, though
she was cautioned against telling him or any living soul where she was
going to. She found him almost broken-hearted, for he declared he was
as innocent of revolutionary ideas as a babe unborn; but he knew that
when once a man fell into the hands of the police as a ‘suspect’ he had
very little to hope for. Anna endeavoured to cheer him up by saying she
would do all that mortal could do to prove his innocence; and as the
Government had failed to substantiate their charge against her, she was
sure they would not succeed in his case.

The scene changes again for the final act, and shows the beautiful island
of Ceylon and the wide, sweeping bay of Point de Galle, with its
splendid lighthouse, its great barrier reef, and its golden sands. Anna
Plevski had landed there from a P. and O. steamer, and had been met by
Treskin, who, while he declared he was delighted to see her, showed by
his manner he was annoyed.
As a matter of fact, he hoped for Lydia Zagarin, but Anna Plevski had
come to him instead. But there was another cause for his annoyance, as
Anna soon discovered. He had a native mistress; but in a little time Anna
had so far prevailed over him that he put the dusky beauty away. He had
commenced in business as a commission agent and coffee merchant; but
so far success had not attended his efforts. He had neither the energy, the
perseverance, nor the patience necessary if one would succeed in
business, so that he very eagerly inquired of Anna what money she had
brought. She told him that she had not very much with her, but in a few
weeks would receive a remittance. In the meantime there was enough to
be going on with. She thus won his confidence. Indeed, he never for a
moment suspected her mission. There was nothing whatever to arouse
his suspicions. It all seemed perfectly natural and he believed that under
the ægis of the British flag he was perfectly safe. So he would have been
if Danevitch had not played such a clever move to checkmate him.
A little more than two months passed, during which Treskin knew
nothing of the sword that swung above his head. Then Anna complained
of illness. She thought Point de Galle did not agree with her; she wanted
a change; she had been told that Colombo was a very pretty place; she
would like to see it; and as she had received a remittance of thirty pounds
they could afford the journey. He must take her there. To this he
consented, and they travelled by gharry. It was the first step towards his
doom. With the remittance came another letter to Anna giving her secret
instructions.
Colombo was duly reached. It was the best season. The days were
tranquil and brilliant. The nights were wordless poems. The third night
after their arrival Anna expressed a desire to go out in a native boat on
the water. The sea was motionless. It was like a sheet of glass. The night
was glorious; a soft land-breeze blew, laden with rich scents. The
heavens were ablaze with stars, and a dreamy languor seemed to pervade
the delicious atmosphere. Accordingly, a native boat and two stalwart
rowers were hired, and Treskin and Anna embarked. It was the second
step towards his doom.
The boatmen pulled from the land. The calm water and tranquil night
made rowing easy, and presently a little bamboo sail was hoisted, which
helped the craft along. Treskin lay back in the stern and smoked; Anna
sat beside him, and sang softly snatches of plaintive Russian airs.
When about five miles from the shore, they saw a small steamer creeping
slowly along. She came close to the boat, and an English voice hailed her
and asked if anyone in the boat spoke English.
Treskin answered. The voice then inquired if the occupant of the boat
would kindly take some letters on shore. The captain of the steamer did
not want to go into the port.
Treskin gladly consented, and he was asked to order his boatmen to pull
alongside the steamer, which proved to be a pleasure-yacht.
Without a shadow of suspicion in his mind, Treskin did so, and he was
politely invited to step on board, a ladder being lowered for that purpose.
He turned to Anna, and asked her if she would go. Of course she would.
So she preceded him up the ladder.
As soon as he was on the deck the gangway was closed, and a man in
uniform directed him to the little saloon, where some wine and biscuits
stood on the table. The engines of the steamer were started, though that
did not alarm him; but in a few minutes a stern, determined man entered
the cabin. He wore the uniform of a lieutenant of the Russian Navy, and
had a sword at his side.
‘Peter Treskin,’ he said in Russian, ‘you have been cleverly lured on
board this boat, which is owned by a Russian gentleman, and flies the
Russian flag, in order that you may be taken back to Russia to answer for
your great crime.’
Treskin’s face turned to an ashen grayness, and, springing to his feet, he
rushed to the door, but found his exit barred by armed men. In another
instant he was seized, and heavily ironed. He knew then that his fate was
sealed, and his heart turned to lead with an awful sense of despair.
Steaming as hard as she could steam, the yacht rounded Point de Galle,
and when about fifteen miles due east of Ceylon she suddenly stopped. A
Russian gunboat was lying in wait. To this gunboat the prisoner was
transferred, but Anna remained on board the yacht.
The gunboat steamed away at once, and shaped her course for Manilla,
where she coaled; and that done she proceeded under a full head of
steam for the sea of Japan and Vladivostock.
The yacht went in the other direction, making for the Gulf of Aden and
the Red Sea, and after a pleasant and uneventful voyage she sailed by
way of the Bosphorus to the Crimea. She made many calls on the way,
and at every port she touched at she was supposed to be on a pleasure
cruise, and Anna was looked upon as the owner’s wife.
As Anna Plevski entered Russia in the west, her false lover entered it in
the far east, and thence under a strong escort he was conducted through
the whole length of Siberia to St. Petersburg, a distance of something
like five thousand miles.
It is an awful journey at the best of times. In his case the awfulness was
enhanced a hundredfold, for he knew that every verst travelled placed
him nearer and nearer to his shameful doom.
He was six months on the journey, and when he reached the capital his
hair was white, his face haggard and drawn, his eyes sunken. He was an
old and withered man, while the terrible strain had affected his mind; but
as he had been pitiless to others, so no pity was shown for him. He had
brought sorrow, misery, and suffering to many a home. He had made
widows and orphans; he had maimed and killed, and he could not expect
mercy in a world which he had disgraced.

THE DÉNOUEMENT.

It is a typical Russian winter day. The sun shines from a cloudless sky.
The air is thin and transparent, the cold intense; the snow is compacted
on the ground until it is of the consistency of iron.
On the great plain outside of St. Petersburg, where the public executions
take place, a grim scaffold is erected. It is an exposed platform of rough
boards, from which spring two upright posts, topped with a cross-bar,
from which depends a rope with a noose.
It is the most primitive arrangement. The scaffold is surrounded with
troops, horse and foot. There are nearly two thousand of them; but the
scaffold is raised so high that the soldiers do not obscure the view.
The plain is filled with a densely-packed crowd; but on one side a lane is
kept open, and up this lane rumbles a springless cart, guarded by
horsemen with drawn swords. In the cart, on a bed of straw, crouches a
man, bound hand and foot. His face is horrible—ghastly. It wears a stony
expression of concentrated fear.
A priest sits with the man, and holds a crucifix before his eyes. But the
eyes appear sightless, and to be starting from the head.
The cart reaches the foot of the ladder which leads to the platform. The
bound man is dragged out, for he is powerless to move. He is pushed and
dragged up the ladder, followed by the priest. As soon as he reaches the
platform and sees the noose, he utters a suppressed cry of horror, and
shrinks away.
Pitiless hands thrust him forward again, and he is placed on some steps;
the noose is adjusted round his neck. No cap is used to hide his awful
face. At a given signal the steps are drawn away, and the man swings in
the air and is slowly strangled to death. A great cheer rises from the
crowd, but it is mingled with groans.
Thus did Peter Treskin meet his doom. He lived like a coward; he died
like a coward. He had talents and abilities that, properly directed, would
have gained him high position, but he chose the wrong path, and it ended
in a dog’s death.
He well deserved his ignominious fate, and yet, even at the present day,
there are some who believe he was a martyr. But these people may be
classed amongst those who believe not, even though an angel comes
down from heaven to teach.
 THE CLUE OF THE DEAD HAND
THE STORY OF AN EDINBURGH MYSTERY

CHAPTER I.
NEW YEAR’S EVE: THE MYSTERY BEGINS.

A , weird sort of place was Corbie Hall. There was an eeriness

about it that was calculated to make one shudder. For years it had been
practically a ruin, and tenantless.
Although an old place, it was without any particular history, except a
tradition that a favourite of Queen Mary had once lived there, and
suddenly disappeared in a mysterious way. He was supposed to have
been murdered and buried secretly.
The last tenant was one Robert Crease, a wild roisterer, who had
travelled much beyond the seas, scraped money together, purchased the
Hall, surrounded himself with a number of boon companions, and turned
night into day. Corbie Hall stood just to the north of Blackford Hill, as
those who are old enough will remember.
In ‘Rab’ Crease’s time it was a lonely enough place; but he and his
brother roisterers were not affected by the solitude, and many were the
curious tales told about their orgies.
However, Rab came to grief one night. He had been into the town for
some purpose, and, staggering home in a storm of wind and rain with a
greater burden of liquor than he could comfortably carry, he missed his
way, pitched headlong into a quarry, and broke his neck.
He left the place to a person whom he described as his nephew. But the
heir could not be found, nor could his death be proved. Then litigation
had ensued, and there had been fierce wrangles; bitterness was
engendered, and bad blood made. The place, however, remained empty
and lonely year after year, until, as might have been expected, it got an
evil reputation. People said it was haunted. They shunned it. The wildest
possible stories were told about it. It fell into dilapidation. The winter
rains and snows soaked through the roof. The window-frames rotted; the
grounds became a wilderness of weeds.
At last the heir was found. His name was Raymond Balfour. He was the
only son of Crease’s only sister, who had married a ne’er-do-weel of a
fellow, who came from no one knew where, and where he went to no one
cared. He treated his wife shamefully.
Her son was born in Edinburgh, and when he was little more than a baby
she fled with him and obtained a situation of some kind in Deeside. She
managed to give her boy a decent education, and he was sent to
Edinburgh to study law.
He seemed, however, to have inherited some of his father’s bad qualities,
and fell into disgrace. His mother dying before he was quite out of his
teens, he found himself friendless and without resources.
His mother in marrying had alienated herself from her relatives, what
few she had; and when she died no one seemed anxious to own
kindredship with Raymond, whose conduct and ‘goings on’ were
described as ‘outrageous.’ So the young fellow snapped his fingers at
everyone, declared his intention of going out into the world to seek his
fortune, and disappeared.
After many years of wandering in all parts of the world, and when in
mid-life, he returned to Edinburgh, for he declared that, of all the cities
he had seen, it was the most beautiful, the most picturesque.
He was a stalwart, sunburnt, handsome fellow, though with a somewhat
moody expression and a cold, distant, reserved manner. He had heard by
mere chance of his inheritance, and, having legally established his claim,
took possession of his property.
Although nobody could learn anything at all of his affairs, it was soon
made evident that he had plenty of money. He brought with him from
India, or somewhere else, a native servant, who appeared to be devoted
to him. This servant was simply known as Chunda.
He was a strange, fragile-looking being, with restless, dreamy eyes, thin,
delicate hands, and a hairless, mobile face, that was more like the face of
a woman than a man. Yet the strong light of the eyes, and somewhat
square chin, spoke of determination and a passionate nature. When he
first came he wore his native garb, which was exceedingly picturesque;
but in a very short time he donned European clothes, and never walked
abroad without a topcoat on, even in what Edinburgh folk considered hot
weather.
When it became known that the wanderer had returned, apparently a
wealthy man, those who years before had declared his conduct to be
‘outrageous,’ and declined to own him, now showed a disposition to pay
the most servile homage.
But he would have none of them. It was his hour of triumph, and he
closed his doors against all who came to claim kinship with him.
Very soon it was made manifest that Raymond Balfour was in the way to
distinguish himself as his predecessor and kinsman, Crease, had done.
Corbie Hall was turned into a place of revel and riot, and strange, even
startling, were the stories that came into currency by the vulgar lips of
common rumour. Those whose privilege it was to be the guests at Corbie
Hall were not people who, according to Edinburgh ethics, were entitled
to be classed amongst the elect, or who were numbered within the pale of
so-called ‘respectable society.’ They belonged rather to that outer fringe
which was considered to be an ungodly Bohemia.
It was true that in their ranks were certain young men who were
supposed to be seriously pursuing their studies in order that they might
ultimately qualify for the Church, the Law, and Medicine.
But their chief sin, perhaps, was youth, which, as the years advanced,
would be overcome. Nevertheless, the frowns of the ‘superior people’
were directed to them, and they were solemnly warned that Corbie Hall
was on the highroad to perdition; that, as it had always been an unlucky
place, it would continue to be unlucky; in short, that it was accursed.
Raymond Balfour’s guests were not all of the sterner sex. Ladies
occasionally graced his board. One of them was a Maggie Stiven, who
rejoiced in being referred to as the best hated woman in Edinburgh.
She was the daughter of a baker carrying on business in the High Street;
but Maggie had quarrelled with her parents, and taken herself off to her
only brother, who kept a public-house in College Street.
He, too, had quarrelled with his people, so that he not only welcomed
Maggie, but was glad of her assistance in his business.
Maggie bore the proud reputation of being the prettiest young woman in
Edinburgh. Her age was about three-and-twenty, and it was said she had
turned the heads of half the young fellows in the town. She was generally
regarded as a heartless coquette, a silly flirt, who had brains for nothing
else but dress.
She possessed a will of her own, however, and seemed determined to
shape her course and order her life exactly as it pleased her to do.
She used to say that, if ‘the grand folk’ turned up their noses at her, she
knew how to turn up her nose at them.
When she found out that a rumour was being bandied from lip to lip,
which coupled her name with the name of Raymond Balfour—in short,
that he and she were engaged to be married—she was intensely
delighted; but, while she did not deny it, she would not admit it. It was
only in accordance with human nature that some spiteful things should
be said.
‘It’s no for his guid looks nor his moral character that Maggie Stiven’s
fastening herself on to the reprobate of Corbie Hall,’ was the sneering
comment. ‘It’s his siller she’s thinking of. She’s aye ready to sell her
body and soul for siller. Well, when he’s married on to her he’ll sune find
that it taks mair than a winsome face tae make happiness. But fules will
aye be fules, and he maun gang his ain way.’
It is pretty certain that Maggie was not affected by this sort of tittle-tattle.
She knew the power of her ‘winsome face,’ and made the most of it. She
knew also that the scathing things that were said about her came from
her own sex.
She could twist men round her little finger. They were her slaves. That is
where her triumph came in. She could make women mad, and bring men
to their knees.
Whether or not there was any truth in the rumour at this time, that she
was likely to wed the master of Corbie Hall, there was no doubt at all
that she was a frequent visitor there.
Sometimes she went with her brother, who supplied most of the liquor
consumed in the Hall—and it was a pretty good source of income to him
—and sometimes she went alone.
Scarcely a night passed that Mr. Balfour was without company; and
Maggie was often there three or four nights a week. She had even been
seen driving about with him in his dogcart.
It seemed, therefore, as if there was some justification for the surmise as
to the probable match and the ultimate wedding.
These preliminary particulars about Maggie and the new owner of
Corbie Hall will pave the way to the series of extraordinary events that
has now to be described.
It was New Year’s Eve. Raymond Balfour had then been in possession of
his property for something like nine months, and during that period had
made the most of his time.
He had gone the pace, as the saying is; and the old house, after years of
mouldiness and decay, echoed the shouts of revelry night after night.
There were wild doings there, and sedate people were shocked.
On the New Year’s Eve in question there was a pretty big party in the
Hall. During the week following Christmas, large stores of supplies had
been sent out from the town in readiness for the great feast that was to
usher in the New Year.
Some fifteen guests assembled in the house altogether, including Maggie
Stiven and four other ladies, and in order to minister to the wants of this
motley crowd, three or four special waiters were engaged to come from
Edinburgh.
The day had been an unusually stormy one. A terrific gale had lashed the
Firth, and there had been much loss of life and many wrecks. The full
force of the storm was felt in Edinburgh, and numerous accidents had
occurred through the falling of chimney-cans and pots. Windows were
blown in, hoardings swept away, and trees uprooted as if they had been
mere saplings.
The wind was accompanied by hail and snow, while the temperature was
so low that three or four homeless, starving wretches were found frozen
to death.
As darkness set in the wind abated, but snow then began to fall, and in
the course of two or three hours roads and railways were blocked, and
the streets of the city could only be traversed with the greatest difficulty.
Indeed, by seven o’clock all vehicular traffic had ceased, and benighted
wayfarers despaired of reaching their homes in safety.
The storm, the darkness, the severity of the weather, the falling snow, did
not affect the spirits nor the physical comfort of the guests assembled at
Corbie Hall.
To the south of Edinburgh the snow seemed to fall heavier than it did in
the city itself. In exposed places it lay in immense drifts, but everywhere
it was so deep that the country roads were obliterated, landmarks wiped
out, and hedges buried.
In the lonely region of Blackford Hill, Corbie Hall was the only place
that gave forth any signs of human life. Light and warmth were there,
and the lights streaming from the windows must have shone forth as
beacons of hope to anyone in the neighbourhood who might by chance
have been battling with the storm and struggling to a place of safety.
But no one was likely to be abroad on such a night; and the guests at the
Hall, when they saw the turn the weather had taken, knew that they
would be storm-stayed at the Hall until the full light of day returned. But
that prospect did not concern them.
They were there to see the old year out and the new one in; and so long
as the ‘meal and the malt’ did not fail they would be in no hurry to go.
From all the evidence that was collected, they were a wild party, and did
full justice to the stock of eatables and drinkables—especially the
drinkables—that were so lavishly supplied by the host.
When twelve o’clock struck there was a scene of wild uproar, and
everyone who was sober enough to do so toasted his neighbour. During
the whole of the evening Balfour had openly displayed great partiality
for Maggie Stiven.
He insisted on her sitting next to him, and he paid her marked attention.
When the company staggered to their feet to usher in the new year,
Raymond Balfour flung his arms suddenly round her neck, and, kissing
her with great warmth, he droned out a stanza of a love-ditty, and then in
husky tones exclaimed:
‘Maggie Stiven’s the bonniest lass that ever lived, and I’m going to
marry her.’
About half-past one only a few of the roisterers were left at the table.
The others had succumbed to the too-seductive influences of the wine
and whisky, and had ceased to take any further interest in the
proceedings. Suddenly there resounded through the house a shrill,
piercing scream. It was a scream that seemed to indicate intense horror
and great agony.
Consternation and silence fell upon all who heard it. In a few moments
Raymond Balfour rose to his feet and said:
‘Don’t be alarmed. Sit still. I’ll go and see what’s the matter.’
He left the room with unsteady gait, and nobody showed any disposition
to follow him. Something like a superstitious awe had taken possession
of the revellers, and they conversed with each other subduedly.
Amongst them was a tough, bronzed seafaring man, named Jasper Jarvis.
He was captain of the barque Bonnie Scotland, which had arrived at
Leith a few weeks before from the Gold Coast with a cargo of palm-oil
and ivory.
Jarvis, who seems to have been quite in his sober senses, got up, threw
an extra log on the fire, and in order to put heart into his companions,
began to troll out a nautical ditty; but it had not the inspiriting effect that
he expected, and somebody timidly suggested that he should go in search
of the host.
To this he readily assented, but before he could get from his seat, Maggie
Stiven jumped up and exclaimed:
‘You people all stay here. I’ll go and look for Raymond.’
Captain Jarvis offered no objection, and no one else interposed, so
Maggie hurriedly left the room. From this point the narrative of what
followed can best be told in the skipper’s own words.
THE STATEMENT OF CAPTAIN JASPER JARVIS.
When Maggie had gone we were six all told. The four ladies had
previously gone to bed. Two out of the six were so muddled that they
seemed incapable of understanding anything that was going on.
The other three appeared to be under the spell of fear. They huddled
together round the fire, and all became silent.
It is curious that they should have been so affected by the scream; and
yet, perhaps, it wasn’t, for somehow or other it didn’t seem natural at all.
But the fact is, we had all been so jolly and happy, and the cry broke in
upon us so suddenly, that it impressed us more than it would have done
otherwise.
And then another thing was, it was difficult to tell whether it was a
woman or a man who had screamed. It was too shrill for a man’s cry, and
yet it wasn’t like the scream of a woman.
When Maggie Stiven had been gone about ten minutes—it seemed much
longer than that to us—Rab Thomson, who was one of three men who
sat by the fire, looked at me with white face, and said: