It was about half past two in the morning when I emerged from the
house. The air was exhilaratingly cold, and the storm was nearly past.
The clouds which had hovered over the city all the preceding day and
night were still in evidence, however, so that the streets between the
widely separated lamps were dark and lonely. The distance I had to go
was something more than a mile, and I had traversed more than half of
it and was in the act of turning a corner when directly beside me, and
quite near, I saw a flash, was conscious of a loud report, and felt
that I had received a sharp and telling blow on my head.
When I was again conscious of my surroundings I was in my own rooms,
while beside the couch upon which I had been placed were my valet, a
physician, and my faithful coadjutor, Tom Coyle.
"Hello, Tom; what's up?" I asked, feebly.
"Faith, you'd have been up higher than you care to go just yet, Dannie,
if I hadn't been drivin' wan av me own cabs this night, owin' to the
sudden death av wan av me min," he replied. "The doctor says the bullet
didn't hurt ye much, but ye'd have been froze stiff if I hadn't found
ye whin I did."
"Tell me about it," I commanded.
"Divil a bit there is to tell, more than I've already said. I was goin'
to the princess' afther me fare, whin I heard a shot. I wint where I
heard the sound and found you. That's all I know."
"Where did the bullet strike me?"
"Foreninst yer head, Dannie. Ye'll have a bald spot there, I'm
thinkin'. But it only broke the skin an' hit ye a welt that made ye see
stars this cloudy night. Now I'm goin'. Maybe I'll have a report for
you whin I come back. There's snow enough. The blackguard ought to have
left some tracks."
There is a spot on the back of the head where a very light blow will
bring about insensibility, and it was exactly on that spot that the
bullet had struck me, taking off a little hair and skin, but otherwise
doing no damage; but I could not help connecting the attempt on my life
with the experiences of the night; in other words, with the woman whose
guest I had been and whose secrets I had overheard. I had cherished a
feeling of the utmost charity for her until that moment, but the
"accident" changed all that, for I had not a doubt in my mind that it
was by her order that somebody had made the attempt to assassinate me.
After a few hours' sleep I felt as well as ever, and before the time to
make my call upon the princess I paid a visit to Jean Morét. I had
neglected to say that the only letter he had sent away since his
imprisonment was one to his mother, from whom he had received a reply
addressed through one of my agents, and in explanation of his
reluctance to send more, he had said: "It is better that the world
should think me dead." Concerning the woman for whose sake he became a
nihilist, he never spoke. But the experiences I had passed through at
the home of the princess, the preceding night, made me wise concerning
the identity of the woman who had influenced him. Indeed I had had it
from her own lips that she had played with this man, even as she had
hoodwinked the prince. What the relations between her and Morét might
have been, in what manner they had been brought together in the past,
and by what transformation of individuality he had dared to raise his
eyes to a princess, I could not even conjecture. There was no doubt,
however, that she had used him for one of the marionettes in her puppet
show; and now he, poor devil, because of it, was safer in a prison
cell, and no doubt happier, too, than he would have been at liberty.