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Updated: June 9, 2025
Foot soldiers, policemen and mounted guardsmen began firing into the crowd at the square, without sense or discretion, falling back, nevertheless, before the well-timed, deliberate advance of the mercenaries. From somewhere near the spot where Olga Platanova fell came a harsh, penetrating command: "Cut them off! Cut them off from the Castle!" It was his cue.
Hear me: you are to be held here a prisoner until our plans are consummated. You will be properly fed and cared for. You have heard Miss Platanova say that she will cook the food for you herself, but you are not to see her. Do not seek to turn her from her purpose. That you cannot do. She is pledged to it; it is irrevocable.
But there were other forces greater than a young man's love at work. The all-powerful ruler of an Empire learned of this proposed mesalliance and was horrified. Two weeks afterward the prince was called. The will of the Crown was made known to him and he obeyed. Olga Platanova was cast aside but not forgotten. He became the husband of an unloved, scrawny lady of diadems.
Those who came by way of the sewer had performed ablutions in the queer toilet room that once had been a secret vault for the storing of feudal plunder. What air there was came from the narrow ventilator that burrowed its ways up to the shop of William Spantz, or through the chimney-hole in the ceiling. Olga Platanova sat far down the side, a moody, inscrutable expression in her dark eyes.
Olga Platanova had not spoken. She was not there to talk. She was only to act on the 26th of July. She was the means to an end. "Well, fear or no fear, the Count lies awake trying to think of a way to entice him from the city before the 26th. It may be silly, madam, but Count Marlanx is a wiser man than any of us here.
Then the world will say that Olga Platanova was not a beast, but a deliverer, a creator! Let him hear!" The listener's blood was running cold. The life of Prince Robin! An assassination! "The thing that will destroy!" A bomb! God! For half an hour they argued with her, seeking to turn her from the stand she had taken; protesting to the last stage, cursing her for a sentimental fool.
We draw a veil across the picture of Olga Platanova after the bomb left her hand; no one may look upon the quivering, shattered thing that once was a living, beautiful woman. The glimpse she had of Truxton King's haggard face unnerved her. She faltered, her strength of will collapsed; she hurled the bomb in a panic of indecision. Massacre but not conquest!
Olga Platanova cried out and covered her eyes with her hands, murmuring the words "dear little boy" over and over again. She was led from the room by William Spantz. Peter Brutus stood over King, whose arms were held by two stalwart men. "Enough!" he commanded. "We spare you, not for her sake, but for the sake of the cause we serve.
How was he to know that the guard with the keys had gone upstairs when Olga brought his breakfast down? It was fate. The 23d dragged itself into the past and the 24th was following in the gloomy wake of its predecessors. Two days more! He began to feel the approach of madness! His own death was not far away. It would follow that of the Prince and of Olga Platanova, his friend.
Truxton was brought into the room a few minutes later. He was white with emotion as he faced the Committee of Ten. Before a word could be addressed to him he blurted out: "You damned cowards! Weak as I am, I would have fought for you, Miss Platanova, if I could have got through that door. Thank you for what you have done to convince these dogs!
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