“Oh!  And where am I going?”

“Back to Kanaja.  This order consigns you to confinement there as a dangerous political conspirator, as one who has threatened me—­it consigns you to the cells below the lake—­for life!”

I laughed aloud, and my hand sought my wallet wherein was that all-powerful document—­the order of the Emperor which gave me, as an imperial guest, immunity from arrest.  I would produce it as my trump-card.

Next second, however, I held my breath, and I think I must have turned pale.  My pocket was empty!  My wallet had been stolen!  Entirely and helplessly I had fallen into the hands of the tyrant of the Czar.

His own personal interest would be to consign me to a living tomb in that grim fortress of Kajana, the horrors of which were unspeakable.  I had seen enough during my inspection of the Russian prisons as a journalist to know that there, in strangled Finland, I should not be treated with the same consideration or humanity as in Petersburg or Warsaw.  The Governor-General consigned me to Kajana as a “political,” which was synonymous with a sentence of death in those damp, dark oubliettes beneath the water-dungeons every whit as awful as those of the Paris Bastile.

We faced each other, and I looked straight into his gray, bony face, and answered in a tone of defiance: 

“You are Governor-General, it is true, but you will, I think, reflect before you consign me, an Englishman, to prison without trial.  I know full well that the English are hated by Russia, yet I assure you that in London we entertain no love for your nation or its methods.”

“Yes,” he laughed, “you are quite right.  Russia has no use for an effete ally such as England is.”

“Effete or powerful, my country is still able to present an ultimatum when diplomacy requires it,” I said.  “Therefore I have no fear.  Send me to prison, and I tell you that the responsibility rests upon yourself.”  And folding my arms I kept my eyes intently upon his, so that he should not see that I wavered.

“As for the responsibility, I certainly do not fear that, m’sieur,” he said.

“But the exposure that will result—­are you prepared to face that?” I asked.  “Perhaps you are not aware that others beside myself—­one other, indeed, who is a diplomatist—­is aware of my journey here?  If I do not return, your Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Petersburg will be pressed for a reason.”

“Which they will not give.”

“Then if they do not, the truth will be out,” I said laughing harshly, for I saw how determined he had become to hold me prisoner.  “Come, call up your myrmidon and send me to Kajana.  It will be the first step towards your own downfall.”

“We shall see,” he growled.

“Ah! you surely do not think that I, after ten years’ service in the British diplomatic service, would dare to come to Finland upon this quest—­would dare to face the rotten and corrupt officialdom which Russia has placed within this country—­without first taking some adequate precaution?  No, Baron.  Therefore I defy you, and I leave Helsingfors to-night.”