It was in a small room over a dingy and uninviting-looking _café_ in Gerrard Street, Soho—to which our headquarters had been transferred, in order to elude the vigilance of the spies of the Embassy—that there was arranged one of the most bold and terrible plots since the assassination of Alexander II. The meeting was held hurriedly at midnight, and I attended. Paul Pétroff—who had that day returned from Petersburg—presided, and Tersinski, Irteneff, Grinevitch, and Bounakoff were present. “Brothers,” exclaimed Pétroff, after we had seated ourselves and transacted some preliminary business, “our time has arrived. By the exercise of due caution we shall be enabled to strike a blow that will paralyse Europe, and remove the Tyrant and his underlings. Shall we do so?” “Yes,” we replied, with one accord. “Now that the lips of that traitress, Vera Kovalski, are sealed, we are free to act,” he continued. “The _Zemliá i Vólia_ (”Land and Liberty“) group in Petersburg have supplied us with information. The Tzar and Tzarina will leave the Winter Palace this day fortnight for Astrakhan.” He took from the papers at his elbow a large map of Russia, upon which was marked in red the route by which the Imperial party were to travel. It showed that they would go by way of Moscow, Riazan, Tambov, Atkarsk, to Saratov, and thence by steamer down the Volga. “You observe, brothers,” he said, “the train will pass over several unimportant branch lines. It is suggested by the Circle in Petersburg that a disaster should occur on one of these, as they will not be so closely watched as the trunk lines.” “What kind of a disaster?” I asked. Pétroff ran his fingers through his long, dark hair, and fixed his searching eyes upon me. “We have yet to decide,” he replied. “Besides, as it would be extremely dangerous for any member of the Petersburg group to undertake the attempt, one of us will be compelled to put the plans into execution, receiving assistance, of course, from our brothers in the capital.” “There are many ways of causing a disaster,” observed Tersinski. “A charge of dynamite under the metals, as at Moscow, might prove effective.” “Or destroy a bridge, as we did at Elizabethgrad,” suggested Bounakoff. “And wreck the pilot engine only,” remarked the President. “No, neither will do. The only way it can be done effectually is from the train itself.” “But how?” asked Grinevitch, who had been sitting thoughtful and silent. Pétroff then entered into a minute explanation, producing plans of the various lines that he had brought from Petersburg, together with a sketch of the Imperial train, and a list of the suite and ministers who would, in all probability, travel by it. We sat together until the small hours of the morning, and at length arranged every detail.