And now,
on the verge of revolt, there had arisen a band of patriots who resented
ruin, and who had already warned his Majesty by letter that if Baron
Oberg were not removed from his post he would die.
These and other thoughts ran through my mind in the silence that
followed our heated argument, for I saw well that he was in actual fear
of me. I had led him to believe that I knew everything, and that his
future was in my hands, while he, on his part, was anxious to hold me
prisoner, and yet dared not do so.
My wallet had probably been stolen by some lurking police-spy, for
Russian agents abound everywhere in Finland, reporting conspiracies that
do not exist and denouncing the innocent as "politicals."
The Baron had halted, and was looking through one of the great windows
down upon the courtyard below where the sentries were pacing. The palace
was for him a gilded prison, for he dared not go out for a drive in one
or other of the parks or for a blow on the water across to Hogholmen or
Dagero, being compelled to remain there for months without showing
himself publicly.
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