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Updated: June 9, 2025
I say, this is getting interesting!" He was beaming. "She is Olga Platanova. Her mother was married in this city twenty-five years ago to Professor Platanova of Warsaw. The Professor was executed last year for conspiracy. He was one of the leaders of a great revolutionary movement in Poland. They were virtually anarchists, as you have come to place them in America.
The man with the candle and the knife went down like a beef, floored by a blow on the jaw. The American, his eyes blazing with hope and desperation, kept onward to find himself face to face with Olga Platanova! She was staring at him with frightened eyes, her lips apart, her hands to her breast. The tableau was brief. He could not strike her down.
He cannot escape, that you know. If he were a spy I would offer no objection to your methods. He is an American gentleman, a traveller. I, Olga Platanova, say this to you. It is not a plea, not a petition; it is an ultimatum. Spare him, or the glorious cause must suffer by my defection." "Sh! Not so loud, girl! He can hear every word you say!" "Why should it matter, madam?
But there was never a thought of receding from the bloody task set down for her a task so morbid, so horrid that even the most vicious of men gloated in the satisfaction that they had not been chosen in her place. Weeks before she came to Graustark Olga Platanova had been chosen by lot to be the one to do this diabolical murder. She did not flinch, but came resolute and ready.
Now he appreciated the distinction between the Olga Platanova type and that which represented the blood of kings. There was a difference! Here was the true Patrician! The Castle suddenly loomed up before them grey and frowning, not more than three hundred yards away.
The Platanova home in Warsaw was one of the most inviting and exclusive in that great, city. The professor's enthusiasm finally carried him from the conservative paths in which he had walked; after he had passed his fiftieth year he became an avowed leader among the anarchists and revolutionists in Poland, his native state.
Like a shot the warning of Olga Platanova flashed into his brain. Here, then, was the proof that she actually knew of the peril he was in. But why should he be an object of concern to these men, whoever they were? His guard had mentioned "the old man." Good heavens, could he mean Spantz? The cold perspiration was standing on King's brow. Spantz! He recalled the wickedness in the armourer's face.
In his room at the hotel he found the second anonymous letter, unquestionably from the same source, but this time printed in crude, stilted letters. It had been stuck under the door, together with some letters that had been forwarded from Teheran. "Leave the city at once. You are in great danger. Save yourself!" This time he did not laugh. That it was from Olga Platanova he made no doubt.
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