The Keepers of the People

209He stopped short to glare at them with suspicious eyes, and they watched him curiously: his face was a dirty white and slimy; he seemed to be unable to swallow, and there was a little trickle at the right lip-corner. Then his eyes seemed to grow dim, and as he rubbed at them, he went on dully, his voice now rising shrill, and now falling to a growl. “Yes — yes — the East is my field. And I will tell you a secret — a secret you English would give your ears to know. There is a new country — a new El Dorado —” Ralph Falcon dropped back lightly into his chair, and his eyes gleamed to a swift, very earnest, intentness. “It is among the mountains — north of the — but no: that I shall not tell. Not even to you, my dear English friend with the wife with the emerald eyes. Ah, my God, what eyes!”

210“This good Russian is making me tired” said Lord Lisdor, and of a sudden his face went savage.

211“Nor to you, black hair and dead face! But there is a country — mile upon mile of cornland — and plains covered with cattle and starred with villages — a country rich and fertile beyond anything known — anything known!”

212“These are dreams,” said Ralph Falcon, in a quiet, very clear voice.

213“Dreams! Dreams!” shrieked the Russian in a fury. “A man has seen it! A man I can trust! My own foster-brother! He saw from a mountain-top the sun set over miles and miles of cornland. And he and I alone know it — he keeps the secret for me—”

214He got up and staggered to the brandy; filled his glass half full, and began to drink it raw, spilling it as he drank. Lord Lisdor was on the point of interfering; but a glance at Ralph Falcon’s face showed it set so earnest, so watchful, and so dangerous that he held his peace.

215“In a month I leave England,” Prince Melinsky went on in a quieter voice. “I go to my good cousin the Tsar — I ask for a brigade of Cossacks — all my own people — two batteries of mountain guns, and machine guns. We vanish into the South — we’re always vanishing into the South, we Russians, nowadays; and in a year — two years — I reach the new El Dorado. Beyond those hills — Cortes and Pizarro! Subjects! and subjects always! — beyond those hills, I Sergius Melinsky, am subject no more! Come Tsar, come Queen, Russians or English — I fight — I fight — I fight!” And his voice rose on the words to a howl.