By July 14th, 1918, rescue was very close for the Tsar and his family. Headed by two superbly trained and led Czech regiments, the White Russian army had almost surrounded the town. In their cream stucco two-storey house on Voznesenky Avenue, the Imperial family could hear the constant crump of artillery, hourly getting nearer. It was audible, too, in Room Three of the Hotel America which was the Cheka headquarters and where Yurovsky sat in permanent emergency session with three other members of the Ural Soviet. Alexander Beloborodov, the chairman of the Soviet and the man who had received the Tsar, his family and the treasures in April, nearly always controlled the meetings. His deputy, Alexei Chutskayev, had dealt with the British enquiries over the Tsar’s fate and was frequently asked his opinion about foreign concern for the family, particularly for the German-born Tsarina, Alexandra. The fourth man, Chaya Goloshckokin was the regional commissar for war who had just returned from Moscow after meetings with Lenin and Trotsky about what to do with their royal prisoners.

On July 16th, Tsar Nicholas, just fifty, and his haemophiliac son, Alexei, just fourteen, were shot and bayoneted to death. In the early-morning darkness, the Tsarina and her four daughters were taken from Ipatiev house to a railway station on the outskirts of the town and put aboard a shuttered carriage which took them two hundred miles north-west of Ekaterinburg, to the provincial capital of Perm, where they were kept isolated from everyone, their presence never confirmed officially.

As their train left Ekaterinburg, it passed the royal baggage waggons. Some of the locks were already visibly smashed in the scramble to loot the Imperial family possessions which, because of the speed of the Bolshevik retreat, had had to be left behind.

The White Russian officer, who half guessed its importance and believed the Tsar still to be alive, paid three loaves of bread and a packet of salt to retrieve the stamp collection from a disappointed peasant who had thought the album contained bank notes. A Swedish consular official, at the time as ignorant as the officer of the fate of the Tsar, smuggled the stamps to the Latvian port of Riga, for their eventual return to their rightful owner.