 CHAPTER XIV OF THE ZAR SPY Initially the danger was apparent, and instead of driving back to the hotel, I called out to the man to take me to the Moscow railway station in order to put the spy off the scent. I knew he would follow me, but as he was on foot and no Dorosky in sight, I should be able to reach the station before he could, and there elude him. Over the stones we rattled, leaving the lurking agent standing in the deep shadow, but on turning back I saw him dash across the road to a by-street, where in all probability he had a conveyance in waiting. Then after we had crossed the Neva, I countermanded my order to the man, saying, don't go right up to the station, turn into the Lytinoi prospect to the left, and put me down there, drive quickly, and I'll pay double fare. He whipped his horses and we turned into the maze of the dark, ill-lit and narrow streets that lies between the Vasnesensky and the Nevsky, turning and winding until we emerged at last into the main thoroughfare again, and then at last we turned into the street I had indicated, a wide road of handsome buildings where I knew I was certain to be able to instantly get another Dorosky. I flung the man his money, alighted, and two minutes later was driving on towards the Alexander Bridge, traveling in a circle back to the hotel. Time after time I glanced behind but saw nothing of the barren spy who had evidently gone to the station with all speed expecting that I was leaving the capital. I found Elma in her room, ready dressed to go out, wearing a long traveling cloak, and in her hand was a small dressing-case. She was pale and full of anxiety until I showed her the slip of paper which Otto Kampf had given me with the address written upon it, and then together we hurried forth. The house to which we drove was, we discovered, a large one facing the Fantanka Canal, one of the best quarters of the town, and on descending I asked the liberated Dvarnik for Madame Zirloff, the name which the Red Priest had written, you mean the Princess Zirloff, remarked the man through his red beard, whom shall I say desires to see her? Take that, I said, handing to him the piece of paper which, beside the address, bore a curious cipher mark like three triangles joined. He closed the door, leaving us in the wide carpeted hall, the statuary in which showed us that it was a richly furnished place, and when a few minutes later he returned, he conducted us upstairs to a fine gillet salon where an elderly gray-haired lady in black stood gravely to receive us. Allow me to present Mademoiselle Elma Heath, Princess. I said, speaking in French and bowing, and afterwards telling her my own name. Our hostess welcomed my love in a graceful speech, but I said Mademoiselle unfortunately suffers a terrible affliction. She is deaf and dumb. Ah, how very, very sad, she exclaimed sympathetically. Poor girl, poor girl, and she placed her hand tenderly upon Elma's shoulder and looked into her eyes. Then turning to me, she said, so the red priest has sent you both to me. You are in danger of arrest, I suppose. You wish me to conceal you here. I would only ask sanctuary for Mademoiselle, was my reply. For myself I have no fear. I am English and therefore not a member of the party. The Mademoiselle fears arrest? There is an order signed for her banishment to Sakhelian, I said. She was imprisoned at Kajana, the fortress away in Finland, but I succeeded in liberating her. She has actually been in Kajana, guessed the princess. Ah, we have all heard sufficient of the horrors of that place, and you liberated her. Why, she is the only person who has ever escaped from that living tomb to which Oberg sends his victims. I believe so, princess, and may I take it and ensure that the reason you risked your life for her is because you love her? Pardon me for suggesting this. You have guessed correctly, I answered. Then, knowing that Elma could not hear, I added, I love her, but we are not lovers. I have not told her of my affection. Hers is a long and strange story, and she will perhaps tell you something of it in writing. Well, exclaimed the gray-haired lady smiling, leading my love across the luxurious room, the atmosphere of which was filled with the scent of flowers, and taking off her cloak with her own hands, you are safe here, my poor child. If spives have not followed you, then you shall remain my guest as long as you desire. I am sure it is very good of you, princess, I said gratefully. Ms. Heath is the victim of a vile and dastardly conspiracy. When I tell you that she has been afflicted, as she is by her enemies, that an operation was performed upon her in Italy while she was unconscious, you will readily see in what deadly peril she is. What, she cried, have your enemies actually done this? Horrible. She will perhaps tell you of the strange romance that surrounds her, a mystery which I have not yet been able to fathom. She is a Russian subject, although she has been educated in England. Baron Oberk himself is, I believe, her worst and most bitter enemy. Ah, the strangler, she explained with a quick flash in her dark eyes. But his end is near. The movement is active in Helsingfors. At any moment now we may strike our blow for freedom. She was an enthusiastic revolutionist, I could see, unsuspected, however, by the police on account of her high position in Petersburg society. It was she who, as I afterwards discovered, had furnished the large sums of money to comp for the continuation of the revolutionary propaganda, and indeed secretly devoted the greater part of her revenues from her vast estates in Samara and Kazan to the Nile's cause. Her husband himself, an enthusiast of freedom, although of the high nobility, had been killed by a pall from his horse six years before, and since that time she had retired from society and lived there quietly, making the revolutionary movement her sole occupation. The authorities believed that her retirement was due to the painful loss she had sustained, and had no suspicion that it was her money that enabled the mysterious red priest to slowly but surely complete the plot for the general uprising. She compelled me to remove my coat, and tea was served by a charter footman whose family she explained had been serves of the Zirloffs for three centuries, and then Elma exchanged confidences with her by means of paper and pencil. Who is this man, Martin Woodruff, of whom she speaks, asked the princess presently, turning to me. I have met him twice, only twice, I replied, and under strange circumstances, then continuing, I told her something concerning the incidents of the yacht, Lola. He may be in love with her and desires to force her into marriage, she suggested, expressing amazement at the curious narrative I had related. I think not for several reasons. One is because I know she holds some secret concerning him, and another because he is engaged to an English girl named Muriel Lythcourt. Lythcourt. Lythcourt, repeated the princess, knitting her brows with a puzzled air. Do you happen to know her father's name? Philip Lythcourt. And has he actually been living in Scotland? Yes, I answered in quick anxiety. He rented a chute called Ranak near Dumfries. A mysterious incident occurred on his estate, a double murder, or murder and suicide, which is not quite clear. But shortly afterwards there appeared one evening at the house, a man named Chatter, Hilton Chatter, and the whole family at once fled and disappeared. Princess Zurlamp sat with her lips pressed close together, looking straight at the silent girl before her. Elma had removed her hat and cloak, and now sat in a deep, easy chair of yellow silk with a lamp light shining on her chestnut hair, settled and calm as though already thoroughly at home. I smiled to myself as I thought of the chagrin of Woodruff when he returned to find his victim missing. Your Highness evidently knows the Lythcourts, I hazarded, after a brief silence. I have heard of them, was her unsatisfactory reply. I go to England sometimes. When the prince was alive we were often at clerages for the season. The prince was, for five years, military adage at the embassy under distal, you know. What I know of the Lythcourts is not to their credit. But you tell me that there was a mysterious incident before their flight. Explain it to me. At that moment the long white doors of the handsome salon were thrown open by the faithful Charter servitor, and there entered a man whose hair fell over the collar of his heavy overcoat, but whom, in an instant, I recognized as Otto Kampf. Both Elma and I sprang to our feet while advancing to the princess he bent and gallantly kissed the hand she held forth to him. Then he shook hands with Elma, and acknowledging my own greetings took off his coat and threw it upon a chair with the air of an accustomed visitor. I come, princess, in order to explain to you, he said. Mademoiselle fears rearrest, and the only house in Petersburg that the police never suspect is this. Therefore I send her to you, knowing that with your generosity you will help her in her distress. It is all arranged, was Her Highness's response. She will remain here, poor girl, until it is safe for her to get out of Russia. Then after some further conversation, and after my well-beloved had made signs of heartfelt gratitude to the man known from end to end of the Russian Empire as the Red Priest, the princess turned to me, saying, I would much like to know what occurred before the Leithcourts left Scotland. The Leithcourts exclaimed Kampf in utter surprise. Do you know the Leithcourts and the English officer, Dernford? I looked into his eyes and abject amazement. What connection could Jack Dernford of the Marines have with the adventurer Philip Leithcourts? I however recollected Jack's word when I had described the visit of the Lola to Legorn, and further I recollected that very shortly he would be back in London from his term of Mediterranean service. Well, I said after a pause, I happened to know Captain Dernford very well, but I had no idea that he was friendly with Leithcourts. The Red Priest smiled, stroking his white beard. Explain to Her Highness what she desires to know, and I will tell you. My eyes met Elmas, and I saw how intensely eager and interested she was, watching the movement of my lips and trying to make out what words I uttered. Well, I said, a mysterious tragedy occurred on the edge of a wood near the house rented by Leithcourts, a tragedy which has puzzled the police to this day. An Italian named Santini and his wife were found murdered. Santini gasped prompt, starting up. But surely he is not dead. No, that's the curious part of the affair. The man who was killed was a man disguised to represent the Italian, while the woman was actually the waiter's wife herself. I happened to know the man Santini well, for both he and his wife were for some years in my employ. The princess and the director of the Russian Revolutionary Movement exchanged quick glances. It was as though Her Highness implored Kampf to reveal to me the truth, while he on his part was averse to doing so. And upon whom does suspicion rest, asked Her Highness. As far as I can make out, the police have no clue whatever, except one. At the spot was found a tiny miniature cross of one of the Russian orders of chivalry, the cross of Saint Anne. There is no suspicion upon Leithcourts, she asked with some undue anxiety, I thought. No? Did he entertain any guests at the shooting box? A good many. No foreigners among them? I never met any. They seemed all people from London, a smart set for the most part. Then why did the Leithcourts disappear so suddenly? Because of the appearance of the man Chatter, I replied. It is evident that they feared him, for they took every precaution against being followed. In fact, they fled, leading a big party of friends in the house. The man Woodruff, now at the Hotel de Paris, is a friend of Leithcourts as well as of Chatter. He was not a guest of Leithcourts, when this man representing Santini was assassinated, as comp, again stroking his beard. No, as soon as Woodruff recognized me as a visitor, he left. For Hamburg, he was afraid to face you because of the ransacking of the British Councilsate at Legoren, remarked the Princess, who at the same moment took Elma's hand tenderly in her own and looked at her. Then turning to me, she said, What you have told us tonight, Mr. Gregg, throws a new light upon certain incidents that have hitherto puzzled us. The mystery of it all is a great and inscrutable one. The mystery of this poor unfortunate girl greatest of all. But both of us will endeavor to help you to elucidate it. We will help poor Elma to crush her enemies, these cowardly villains who had maimed her. Ah, Princess, I cried, if you will only help and protect her, you will be doing an act of mercy to a defenseless woman. I love her. I admit it. I have done my utmost. I have striven to solve the dark mystery. But up to the present I have been unsuccessful, and have only remained, even till today, the victim of circumstance. Let her stay with me, the kindly woman answered, smiling tenderly upon my love. She will be safe here, and in the meantime, we will endeavor to discover the real and actual truth. And in response I took the Princess's hand and pressed it fervently. Although that striking white-headed man and the rather stiff formal woman in black were the leaders of the great and all-powerful movement in Russia, known through the civilized world as the terror, yet they were nevertheless our friends. They had pledged themselves to help us thwart our enemies. I scribbled a few hasty words upon paper and handed it to Elma, and per answer she smiled contentedly, looking into my eyes with an expression of trust, devotion, and love. End of Chapter 14 Recording by Tom Weiss Chapter 15 of The Czar's Spy This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tom Weiss The Czar's Spy by William Le Cue Chapter 15 Just Off the Strand A week had gone by. The Nord Express had brought me post-haste across Europe from Petersburg to Calais, and I was again in London. I had left Elma in the care of Princess Zirloff, who I knew would conceal her from the horde of police agents now in search of her. The mystery had so increased until now it had become absolutely bewildering. The more I had tried to probe it, the more inexplicable had I found it. My brain was a whirl as I sat in the wagon, lip rushing across those wide, never-ending planes that lie between the Russian capital and Berlin and the green valleys between the Rhinelands and the sea. The maze of mystery rendered me utterly incapable of grasping one solid, tangible fact. So closely interwoven was each incident of the strange life-drama in which, through mere chance, I was now playing a leading part. I was aware of one fact only, that I loved Elma with all my soul, even though I knew not whom she really was, or her strange life story. Her sweet face, with those soft brown eyes, so tender and intense, stood out ever before me, sleeping or waking. Each moment as the express rushed south increased the distance between us. Yet was I not on my way back to England with a clear and distinct purpose? I snatched at any clue, however small, with desperate eagerness, as a drowning man clutches at a straw. The spy from a bow had seen me on the railway platform on my departure from Petersburg. He had overheard me buy a ticket for London, and, previous to stepping into the train, I had smiled at him in glad triumph. My journey was too long a one for him to follow, and I knew that I had at last outwitted him. He had expected to see Elma with me, no doubt, and his disappointment was plainly marked. But of Woodruff I had neither seen nor heard anything. It was a cold but dry November night in London, and I sat dining with Jack Dernford at a small table in the big well-lit room of the Junior United Service Club. Easy going and merry, as of old, my friend was bubbling over with good spirits. Delighted to be back again in town after three years sailing up and down the Mediterranean from Jib. To Smyrna, maneuvering always, yet with never a chance of a fight, his well-shaven face bore the mark of the Southern Sons, and the backs of his hands were tanned by the heat and the sea. He was indeed as smart an officer as any at the Junior, for the Marines are proverbial for their neatness, and his men on board the bulwark had received many a pleasing compliment from the Admiral. Glad to be back, he exclaimed as he helped himself to a peg. I should rather think so, old chap. You know how awfully wearying the life becomes out there. Lots going on down at Palermo, Malta, Monte Carlo, or over at Algiers, and yet we can never get a chance of it. We're always in sight of the gay places and never land. I don't blame the youngsters for getting off from Legorne for two days over here in town when they can. Three years is a bigger slice out of a fellow's life than anyone would suppose. But by the way, I saw Hutchinson the other day. We put into Spitzia, and he came out to see the Admiral, got dispatches from him, I think. He seems as gay as ever. He'd lunched at mess and said how sorry he was you've deserted Legorne. I haven't exactly deserted it, I said. But I really don't love it like he does. No, a year or two of the Mediterranean Blue is quite sufficient to last any fellow of his lifetime. I shouldn't live in Legorne if I had my choice. I prefer somewhere up in the mountains beyond pizza or outside Florence, where you can have a good time in winter. Then a silence fell between us, and I sat eating on until the end of the meal, wondering how to broach the question I so desired to put to him. I shall try if I can get on the recruiting services at home for a bit, he said presently. There's an appointment up at Glasgow vacant, and I shall try for it. It'll be better at any rate than China or the Pacific. I was just about to turn the conversation to the visit of the mysterious Lola to Legorne when two men he knew entered the dining room and, recognizing him, came across to give him a welcome home. One of the newcomers was Major Bartlett, whom I at once recollected as having been a guest of life courts of at Renwick, and the other a younger man whom Dernford introduced to me as Captain Hanbury. Oh, Major, I cried rising and grasping his hand. I haven't seen you since Scotland, and the extraordinary ending to your house party. No, he left. It was an amazing affair, wasn't it? After the life courts left, it was like pandemonium let loose. The guests collared everything they could lay their hands upon. It's a wonder to me that this graceful affair didn't get into the papers. But where's life court now, I asked anxiously. Haven't the ghost of an idea, replied the Major, standing astride with his hands in his pockets? Young pageant of ours told me the other day that he saw Muriel driving in the Terminus Road at Eastport, but she didn't notice him. They were a query-shot, those life courts, he added. Hello, what are you saying about the life courts, Charlie? exclaimed Dernford, turning quickly from Hanbury. I know some people of that name, Philip Life Court, who has a daughter named Muriel. Well, they sound much the same, but if you know them, my dear old chap, I really don't envy you, your friends, declared the Major with a laugh. Why not? Well, Greg will tell you, he said. He knows perhaps more than I do. But, he added, they may not, of course, be the same people. I first met them yachting over an Algiers, Jack said, and then again at Malta, where they seemed to have quite a lot of friends. They had a steam yacht, the Iris, and were often up and down the Mediterranean. Must be the same people, declared the Major. Life Court spoke once or twice of his yacht, but we all put it down as a nonexistent vessel, because he was always drawing the long bow about his adventures. And how did you first come to know him, I asked of the Major eagerly. Oh, I don't know. Somebody brought him to mess and we struck up an acquaintance across the table. He seemed like a good chap, and when he asked me to shoot, I accepted. On arrival up at Rannock, however, one thing struck me as jolly strange, and that was that among the people I was asked to meet was one of the very worst black legs about town. He called himself Martin Woodruff up there, although I'd known him at the old Corinthian club as Dick Archer. He was believed then to be one of a clever gang of international thieves. When I first met him, he gave me the name of Hornby, I said. It was in Legorn where he was on board a yacht called the Lola, of which he represented himself as owner. He left Rannock very suddenly, remarked Bartlett. We understood that he was engaged to marry Muriel. If so, I'm sorry for her, poor girl. What? cried Dernford, starting up. That man to marry Muriel Lifecourt? Yes, I said. Why? But his countenance had turned pale, and he gave no answer to my question. If these Lifecourts are really friends of yours, Dernford, old fellow, I'm sorry I've said anything against them, the major explained, in an apologetic tone. Only the end of my visit was so abrupt and so extraordinary, in the company such a mixed one, that, well, to tell you the truth, the people are a mysterious lot altogether. Perhaps our Lifecourts are not the same as those Jack knows, I remarked, in order to escape from a rather difficult situation, whereupon Dernford, as though eager to conceal his surprise, said with a forced laugh. Oh, probably not, and receded himself at table. Then the major quickly changed the topic of conversation, and afterwards he and his friend passed along to their table and sat down to eat. I could not help noticing that Jack Dernford was upset at what he had learned, yet I hesitated just then to put any question to him. I resolved to approach the subject later, so as to allow him time to question me if he wished to do so. After smoking an hour, we went across to the Empire, where we spent the evening in the Grand Circle, meeting many men we knew and having a rather pleasant time among old acquaintances. If a man who had lived the club life of London returns from abroad, he can always run across someone he knows in the circle of the Empire about ten o'clock at night. Jack was, however, not his old self that he had been before dinner. His brow was now heavy and thoughtful, and he appeared deeply immersed in some intricate problem, for his eyes were fixed vacantly when opportunity was afforded him to think, and he appeared to desire to avoid his friends rather than to greet them. After the theatre, I induced him to come round to the Cecil, and in the wicker chair in the big portico before the entrance we sat to smoke our final cigars. It is a favorite spot of mine when in London, or at afternoon when the string band plays and the Americans and other cosmopolitan drink tea, there is a continual coming and going, a little panorama of life that, to a student of men like myself, is intensely interesting. And at night it is just as amusing to sit there in the shadow and watch the people returning from the theatres or dances, and to speculate as to whom and what they are. At that one little corner of London, just off the strand, you see more variety of men and women than perhaps at any other spot. All grades pass before you, from the pushful American commercial man interested in a patent medicine, to the proud Indian Rajah with his turban suit, from the variety actress to the daughter of a peer, or the wife of a millionaire court butcher doing Europe. You thin a bit down in the mouth tonight, Jack, I said presently after we had been watching the cabs coming up, depositing the homecoming revelers from the Savoy or the Carleton. Yes, he sighed, and surely I have enough to cause me, after what I've heard from Bartlett. What? Did the fact he told us convey any bad news to you, I inquired with pretendent increments. Yes, he said hoarsely after a brief pause. Then he added, Bartlett said you could tell me what happened up in Scotland, where Leithcourt had shooting. Tell me everything he added with the air of a man in whom all hope is dead. Well, I began. The Leithcourt's took Rannock Castle close to my uncle's place near Dumfries. I got to know them, of course, and often shot with his party. One day, however, I was amazed to notice in one of the rooms the photograph of a lady, the exact counterpart of that picture which I recollect, I told you when in Legorn I had found torn up on board the Lola. You recollect what I narrated about my strange adventure, don't you? I remember every word was his answer. Go on, what did you do? Nothing, I held my tongue. But when I discovered that the fellow who called himself Woodruff, the man who had represented himself as the owner of the Lola, and who no doubt had had a hand in breaking open hutchets and safe in the council it was engaged to Muriel, I became full of suspicion. Well, Woodruff, after meeting me, disappeared, went to Hamburg, they said, on business. Then other things occurred. A man and a woman were found murdered up in the wood about a mile and a half from the castle. The man was made up to represent my man Olinto. I believe you've seen him in Legorn. What, they've killed Olinto, he gasped starting from his chair. No, the fellow was made up very much like him. But his wife, Armita, was killed. They killed the woman and believed they had also killed her husband, he said bitterly through his teeth. And I saw that his strong hands grasped the arms of his chair firmly and Martin Woodruff is engaged to Muriel Lifecourt. Are you certain of this? Yes, quite certain. And there is no suspicion as to who is the assassin of the woman Santini and this mysterious man who posed as her husband. None whatever. For some time Jack Dernford smoked in silence, and I could just distinguish his white hard face in faint light, for it was now late and the big electric lamps had been turned out and we were in semi-darkness. That fellow shall never marry Muriel, he declared in a fierce hoarse voice. What you have just told me reveals the truth. Did you meet Chatter? He appeared suddenly at Rannock, and the Lifecourts fled precipitately and had not since been heard of. Ah, no wonder, he remarked with a dry laugh. No wonder. But look here, Gordon, I'm not going to stand by and let that scoundrel Woodruff marry Muriel. You love her perhaps, I hazarded. Yes, I do love her, he admitted, and by heavens, he cried, I will tell the truth and crush the whole of their ingenious plot. Have you met Elma Heath, he asked. Yes, I said in quick anxiety. Then listen, he said, in a low, earnest voice. Listen, and I'll tell you something. There is a greater mystery surrounding that yacht, the Lola, than you have ever imagined, my dear old chap, declared Jack Dernford, looking me straight in the face. What you told me about it on the quarter-deck that day outside Legorn, I was half a mind to tell you what I knew. Only one fact prevented me, my disinclination to reveal my own secrets. I loved Muriel Lifecourts, yet afloat as I was, I could never see her. I could not obtain from her own lips the explanation I desired. Yet I would not prejudge her, no, and I won't now, he added with a fierce resolution. I love her, he went on, and she reciprocates my love. Ours is a secret engagement made in Malta two years ago, and yet you tell me that she has pledged herself to that fellow Woodruff, the man known here in London, as Dick Archer. I can't believe it. I really can't, old fellow. She could never write to me, as she has done, urging patience and secrecy until my return, unless, of course, she desired to gain time, I suggested. But my friend was silent, his brows were deep-knit. Woodruff is at the present moment in Petersburg, I said. I've just come back from there. In St. Petersburg, he gasped surprise. Then he is with that villainous official, Baron Ober, the Governor-General of Finland. No, Ober is living shut up in his palace at Helsingfors, fearing to go out, lest he be assassinated, was my answer. And Elma, what has become of her? She is in hiding in Petersburg, awaiting such time as I can get her safely out of Russia. And then continuing, I explained how she had been maimed and rendered deaf and dumb. What, he cried fiercely, have they actually done that to the poor girl? Then they feared that she should reveal the nature of their plot, for she had seen and heard. Seen and heard what? Be patient. We will elucidate this mystery, and the motive of this terrible inflection upon her. Muriel wrote to me, saying that poor Elma, her friend, had disappeared, and she feared that some evil had also happened to her. So Ober had sent her to his fortress, his own private Bastille, the place to which, on pretended charges of conspiracy against Russia, he sends those who squirt him to a living tomb. I have seen him, and I have defied him, I said. You have? Men alive. Be careful, he's not a fellow who sticks at trifles, said Jack warningly. I don't fear, I replied. Elma's enemies are also mine. Then I take it, old fellow, that, notwithstanding her affliction, you are actually in love with her. I intend to rescue and to marry her, I answered quite frankly. But first we must tear aside this veil of mystery, and asserting all the facts concerning her, he said. At present I only know one or two very vague details. The Baron is certainly not her uncle, as he represents himself to be, but it seems certain that she is the daughter of Anglo-Russian parents, and was born in Russia and brought to England when she was a child. But from whom do you expect I can obtain the true facts concerning her, and the reason of the Baron's desire to keep her silent? Ah, he said, twisting his moustache thoughtfully. That's just the question. For a solution of the problem we must first fathom the motive of the life courts, and the reason they fled in fear before that man chatter. That Muriel is innocent of any complicity in their plot, whatever it may be, I feel convinced. She may be the victim of that black-legged Woodruff, who as Bartlett has told you, is one of the most expert swindlers in London, and who has already done two terms of penal servitude. But what was the motive in breaking open the council's safe, if not to obtain the foreign office or admiralty ciphers? Perhaps they wanted to steal them and sell them to a foreign government. No, that was not their object. I've thought over it many, many times since you told me, and I feel convinced that Woodruff is too shrewd a fellow not to have known, that no council goes away on leave and allows his ciphers to remain behind. When he leaves his post, he always deposits those precious books, either at the foreign office here, or with his council general, or with a council at another port. They'd surely ascertain all that before they made the raid, you bet. The affair was a risky one, and Dick Archer is known as a man of many precautions. But he is on extremely friendly terms with Elma. It was he who succeeded in finding her in Finland and taking her beyond Ober's sphere of influence to Petersburg, then it is certainly only an affected friendship with some sinister motive underlying it. She wrote a letter from her island prison to an old school fellow named Lydia Morton, asking her to see Woodruff at his rooms in Cork Street and tell him that through all she was suffering she had kept her promise to him, and that the secret was still safe. Exactly, and now the fellow fears that as you are so actively searching out the truth, she may yield to your demands and explain. He therefore intends to silence her. What? To kill her you mean? I guessed in quick apprehension. Well, he might do so in order to save himself, you see, Jack replied, adding, he certainly would have no compunction if he thought that it would not be brought home to him. Only he no doubt fears you, because you have found her and are in love with her. I admitted the force of his argument, but recollected that my dear one was safe in concealment, and that the princess was our friend, even though I as an Englishman had no sympathy with the doctrine of the bomb and the night. I tried to get from him all that he knew concerning Elma, but he seemed for some curious reason, disinclined to tell. All I could gather was that Leithcourt was in league with Chatter and Woodruff, and that Muriel had acted as an entirely innocent agent. What the conspiracy was, or what was its motive, I could not discern. I was as far off the solution of the problem as ever. We must find Muriel, he declared, when I pressed him to tell me everything he knew. There are facts you have told me which negative my own theories, and only from her can we obtain the real truth. But surely you know where she is. She writes to you, I said. The last letter, which I received at Gibb ten days ago, was from the Hotel Bristol at Watson in the Tyrol, yet Bartlett says she has been seen down at Eastboard. But you have an address where you always write to her, I suppose? Yes, a secret one. I have written and made an appointment, but she has not kept it. She has been prevented, of course. She may be with her parents and unable to come to London. You did not know that they had fled and were in hiding. Of course not. What I've heard here tonight is news to me, amazing news. And does it not convey to you the truth? It does. A ghastly truth concerning Elma Heath, he answered in a low voice, as though speaking to himself. Tell me, what? I'm dying, Jack, to know everything concerning her. Who is that fellow Oberg? Her enemy. She, by mere accident, learned his secret and Woodruff's, and they now both live in deadly fear of her. And for that reason she was taken to Sienna, where some villainous Italian doctor was bribed to render her deaf and dumb? He nodded in the affirmative. But chatter. I know very little concerning him. He may have conspired with them, or he may be innocent. It seems as though he were antagonistic to their schemes, if Leithcourt and his family really fled from him. And yet he was on board the Lola. Indeed, he may have helped to commit the burglary at the consulate, I said. Quite likely, he answered, but our first object must be to rediscover Muriel. Padgett says she is an eastboard. If she is there, we shall easily find her. They publish visitors' lists in the papers, don't they? Like they do at Hastings. Then he added, visitors' lists are most annoying when you find your name printed in them when you are supposed officially to be somewhere else. I was had once like that by the Bournemouth papers, when I was supposed to be on duty over at Queenstown. I narrowly escaped a terrible weekend. Shall we go to Eastbourne, I suggested eagerly. I'll go there with you in the morning. Or would it not be best to send an urgent wire to the address where I always write? She would then reply here, no doubt. If she's in Eastbourne, there may be reasons why she cannot come up to town. If her people are in hiding, of course she won't come. But she'll make an appointment with me, no doubt. Very well, send a wire, I said, and make it urgent. It will then be forwarded. But as regards Alinto, would you like to see him? He might tell you more than he has told me. No, by no means. He must not know that I have returned to London, declared my friend quickly. You had better not see him, you understand? Then his interests are, well, not exactly our own? No. But why don't you tell me more about Alma, I urged, for I was eager to learn all he knew. Come, do tell me, I implored. I've told you practically everything, my dear old fellow, was his response. The revelation of the true facts of the affair can be made only by Muriel. I tell you, we must find her. Yes, we must, at all hazards, I said. Let's go across to the telegraph office opposite Charing Cross. It's always open. And we rose and walked out along the strand, now nearly deserted, and dispatched an urgent message to Muriel at an address in Hurlingham Road, Fulham. Afterwards, we stood outside on the curb, still talking, I, loathed apart from him, when there passed by in the shadow two men in dark overcoats, who crossed the road behind us to the front of Charing Cross station, and then continued on towards Trafligar Square. As the light of the street lamp fell upon them, I thought I'd recognize the face of one as that of a person I had seen before, yet I was not at all certain, and my failure to remember whom the passerby resembled prevented me from saying anything further to Jack then. A fellow I know has just gone by, I think. We seem to be meeting hosts of friends tonight, he laughed. After all, old chap, it does one good to come back to our dear, dirty old town again. We abuse it when we are here, and talk of the life in Paris and Vienna and Brussels, but when we are away there is no place on earth so dear to us, or is home. But there, he laughed, I'm actually growing romantic, ah, if we could only find Muriel. But we must tomorrow. Tata, I should go around to the club and sleep, for I haven't fixed on any diggings yet. Come in at ten tomorrow, and we will decide upon some plan. One thing is plainly certain. Elma must at once be got out of Russia. She's in deadly peril at her life there. Yes, I said. And will you help me? With all my heart, old fellow, answered my friend, warmly grasping my hand. And then we parted, he strolling along towards the National Gallery on his way back to the Junior, while I returned to the Cecil alone. CHAPTER XVI Captain Dernford I inquired of the Hall Porter of the Club next morning. Not here, sir. But he slept here last night, I remark. I have an appointment with him. The man consulted the big book before him and answered, Captain Dernford went out at nine twenty-seven last night, sir, but has not returned. Strange, I thought, but although I waited in the club nearly an hour, he did not put in an appearance. I called again at noon and he had not come in and again at two o'clock, but he had not even then made his appearance. Then I began to be anxious. I returned at the hotel, resolved to wait for a few hours longer. He might have altered his mind and gone to Eastbourne in search of Muriel, yet had he done so, he would surely have telegraphed to me. About four o'clock, as I was passing through the big hall of the hotel, I heard a voice behind me uttering greeting in Italian, and turning in surprise, found Olinto, dressed in his best suit of black, standing, hat in hand. In an instant I recollected what Jack had told me and regarded him with some suspicion. Signore commandentore, he said in a low voice, as though fearing to be overhead, may I be permitted to speak in private with you. Certainly, I said, and I took him in the lift up to my room. I have come to warn you, Signore. He said when I had given him a seat, your enemies mean harm to you. And who are they, pray, I asked, biting my lips. The same, I suppose, who prepared that ingenious trap in Lambeth. I am not here to reveal to you who they are, Signore. Only to warn you to have a care of yourself, was the Italian's reply. Look here, Olinto. I exclaimed, determinately. I've had enough of this confounded mystery. Tell me the truth regarding the assassination of your poor wife up in Scotland. Ah, Signore, he answered sadly in a changed voice. I do not know. It was a plot. Someone represented me, but he was killed also. They believed they had struck me down, he added, with a bitter laugh. Poor Armeida's body was found concealed behind a rock on the opposite side of the wood. I saw it. Ah, he cried, shuddering. Then you are ignorant of the identity of your wife's assassin. Entirely. Tell me one thing, I said. Did Armeida possess any trinket in the form of a little enamel cross, like a miniature cross of Cavalier? Yes, I gave it to her. I found it on the floor at the mansion house, where I was engaged as odd waiter for a banquet. I know I ought to have given it up to the Lord Mayor's servants, but it was such a pretty little thing that I was tempted to keep it. It probably had fallen from the coat of one of the Diplomatus dining there. I was silent. The faint suspicion that Oberg had been at that spot was now entirely removed. The only clue I had was satisfactorily accounted for. Why do you ask, Signore, come and entour, he added. Because the cross was found at the spot and was believed to have been dropped by the assassin, I said. The police had it seemed succeeding in discovering the unfortunate woman, after all, and had found that she was his wife. You know a man named Leithcourt? I asked a few moments later. Now tell the truth. In this affair, Olinto, our interests are mutual. Are they not? He nodded after a moment's hesitation. And you know also a man named Archer, who is sometimes known as Hornby or Woodruff, as well as a friend of his called Chatter. See, Signore, he said, I have met them all to my regret. And have you ever met a Russian, a certain Baron Oberg, and his niece, Elma Heath? His niece? She isn't his niece. Then who is she, I demanded. How do I know? I have seen her once or twice. But she's dead, isn't she? She knew the secret of those men, and they intended to kill her. I tried to prevent them taking her away on the yacht, and I would have gone to the police. Only, I dare not. Why? Well, because my own hands are not quite clean, he answered after a pause. His eyes fixed upon mine the while. I knew they intended to silence her, but I was powerless to save her, poor young lady. They took her on board Lythcourt's yacht, the Iris, and they sailed for the Mediterranean, I believe. Then the name and appearance of the yacht was altered on the voyage, and it became the Lola, I said. No doubt, he smiled. The Iris was a steamer of many names, and had, I believe, been painted nearly all the colors of the rainbow at various times. It was a mysterious vessel, but she exists no more. They scuttled her somewhere up in the Baltic, I've heard. And who is this Oberg, I inquired, urging him to reveal to me all he knew concerning him. He stands in great fear of the poor young lady, I believe, for it was at his instigation that Lythcourt and his friends took her on that fatal yachting cruise. And what was your connection with them? Well, I was Lythcourt's servant, was his reply. I was steward on the Iris for a year, until I suppose they thought that I began to see too much, and then I was placed in a position ashore. And what did you see? More than I care to tell, senor. If they were arrested, I should be arrested, too, you see. But I mean to solve this mystery, I said fiercely, for I was in no trifling mood. I'll fathom it if it costs me my life. If the senor solves it himself, then I cannot be charged with revealing the truth, was the man's diplomatic reply. But I fear that they are far too wary. Our Mida has lost her life. Surely that is sufficient incentive for you to bring them all to justice. Of course, but if the law falls upon them, it will also fall upon me. I explained the terrible affliction to which my love had been subjected by those heartless brutes, whereupon he cried enthusiastically. Then she is not dead. She can tell us everything. But cannot you tell us? No, not all. The secret she knows has never been revealed. They feared she might be incautious, and for that reason Oberg made the villainous suggestion of the yachting trip. She was to be drowned. Accidentally, of course. She is in Petersburg now. I left her a week ago. In Russia, a senor, for her sake, don't allow the young lady to remain there. The baron is all-powerful. He does what he wishes in Russia, and the more merciless he is to the people he governs, the greater rewards he receives from the Tsar. I have never been in Russia, but surely it must be a strange country, senor. Well, I said sitting upon the edge of the bed and looking at him. Are you prepared to denounce them if I bring the signorita heath here to England? But what is the use if we have no clear proof, was his evasive reply. I could see plainly that he feared being himself implicated in some extraordinary plot, the exact nature of which he so steadfastly refused to reveal to me. We talked on for fully half an hour, and from his conversation I gathered that he was well acquainted with Elma. Ah, senor, she was such a pleasant and kind-hearted young lady. I always felt very sorry for her. She was in deadly fear of them. Because they were thieves, I hazarded. Ah, worse. But why did they induce you to entice me to that house in Lambeth? Why did they so evidently desire that I should be killed? By accident he interrupted correcting me, always by accident, and he smiled grimly. Surely you know their secret motive, I remarked. At the time I did not, he declared. I acted on their instructions, being compelled to, for they holds my future in their hands. Therefore I could not disobey. You knew too much, therefore you were marked down for death, just as you are now. And who is it who is now seeking my life, I inquired gravely. I only returned from Russia yesterday. Your movements are well known, answered the young Italian. You cannot be too careful. Woodruff has been in Russia with you. Has he not? I replied in the affirmative, whereupon he said, I thought so, but was not quite sure. And chatter, I inquired. Where is he? In London. And the lithe courts? He shrugged his shoulders with a gesture of ignorance, adding, the signorita Muriel returned to London from Eastbourne this morning. Where can I find her, I inquired eagerly. It is of the utmost importance that I should see her. She is with a relation, a cousin I think, at Bassett Road, Notting Hill. The house is called Homewood. You have seen her? No, I heard she had returned. And her father is still in hiding from chatter. He is still in hiding, but chatter is his best friend. That is curious, I remark, recollecting the hurried departure for Rannock. They've made it up, I suppose. They never quarreled to my knowledge. Then why did the lithe court leave Scotland so hurriedly on chatter's arrival? You know all about the affair, of course. He nodded, saying with a grim smile. Yes, I know. The party up there must have been a very interesting one. If the police could have made a raid on the place, they would have found, among the guests, certain persons long wanted. But the arrival of chatter and the flight of lithe court had an ulterior object. chatter had never been lithe court's enemy. But I can't understand that, I said. Why should lithe court have attacked chatter, rendered him unconscious, and shut him up in the cupboard in the library? Was it lithe court who did that, he asked dubiously. I think not. It was another of the guests who was chatter's bitterest enemy. But Philip lithe court took advantage of the fracas in order to make believe that he had fled because of chatter's arrival. Ah, he added, you haven't any idea of their ruses. They are amazing. So it seems, I said, nevertheless only half convinced that the Italian was telling me the truth. If it was really as he had said, that the arrival of chatter and the flight was merely a blind, then the mystery was again deepened. Then who was the man who attacked chatter, I asked. Only chatter himself knows. It was one of the guests that is quite evident. And you say that the flight had been prearranged, I remarked. Yes, with a distinctive motive, he said. Then after a pause he added with a strange, earnest look in his dark eyes. Pardon me, senor comandentor. If I presume to suggest something, will you not? Certainly, what do you suggest? That you should remain here in this hotel and not venture out. Per fear of something unfortunate happening to me, I laughed. I'm really not afraid, Olinto, I added. You know I carry this, and I drew out my revolver from my hip pocket. I know, senor, he said anxiously. But you might not be afforded opportunity for using it. When they lay a trap, they bait it well. I know. They're a set of the most ingenious scoundrels in London. It is very evident. Yet I don't fear them in the least, I declared. I must rescue the senorita heath. But, senor, have a care for yourself, cried the Italian, laying his hand upon my arm. You are a marked man. Ah, do I not know, he explained breathlessly. If you go out, you may run right into, well, the fatal accident. Never fear, Olinto, I said reassuringly. I shall keep my eyes well open. Here in London, once life is safer than anywhere else in the world, perhaps certainly safer than in some places I could name in your own country, eh? At which he grinned. The next moment he grew serious again and said, I only warn a senor that if he goes out, it is at his own peril. Then let it be so, I laughed, feeling self-confident that no one could lead me into any trap. I was neither a foreigner nor a country cousin. I knew London too well. He was silent and shook his head. Then, after telling me that he was still at the same restaurant in Westbourne Grove, he took his departure, warning me once more not to go forth. Half an hour later, disregarding his words, I strode out into the Strand and again walked round to the junior. The short wintry day had ended, the gas lamps were lit, and the darkness of night was gradually creeping on. Jack had not been to the club, and I began now to grow thoroughly uneasy. He had parted for me at the corner of the Strand with only a five minutes walk before him, and yet he had apparently disappeared. My first impulse was to drive to Notting Hill to inquire of Muriel if she had news of him, but somehow the Italian's warning words made me wonder if he had met with foul play. I suddenly recollected those two men who had passed by as we had talked and how that the features of one had seemed strangely familiar. Therefore, I took a cab to the police station down at Whitehall, and made inquiry of the inspector on duty in the Big Bear office with its flaring gas jets in wire globes. He heard me to the end, then turning back the book of occurrences before him, glanced through the ruled entries. I should think this is the gentleman, sir, he said, and he read to me the entry as follows. PC 4628 reports that at 2.07 a.m., while on duty outside the National Gallery, he heard a revolver shot, followed by a man's cry. He ran to the corner of Suffolk Street, where he found a gentleman lying upon the pavement suffering from a serious shot wound in the chest, and quite unconscious. He obtained the assistance of PCs 218A and 343A, and the gentleman who was not identified was taken to the Charing Cross Hospital, where the house surgeon expressed a doubt whether he could live. Neither PCs recollect having noticed any suspicious-looking person in the vicinity, John Percival, inspector. I waited for no more, but rushed round to the hospital in the cab, and was five minutes later taken along the ward where I identified poor Jack lying in bed, white-faced and unconscious. The doctor was here a quarter of an hour ago, whispered the sister, and he fears he is sinking. He has uttered no words, I asked anxiously, made no statement. None. He has never regained consciousness, and I fear, sir, he never will. It is a case of deliberate murder, the police told me early this morning. I clenched my fists and swore a fierce revenge for that dastardly act, and as I stood beside the narrow bed, I realized that what Olinto had said regarding my own peril was the actual truth. I was a marked man. Was I never to penetrate that inscrutable and ever-increasing mystery? End of Chapter 16 Recording by Tom Weiss Chapter 17 of The Czar's Spy This leverbox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tom Weiss The Czar's Spy by William Le Cue Chapter 17 The Truth Above the Lola Throughout the long night I called many times at the hospital, but the reply was always the same. Jack had not regained consciousness, and the doctor regarded his case as hopeless. In the morning I drove in hot haste to Bassett Road, Notting Hill, and at the address Olinto had given me found Muriel. When she entered the room with folding doors into which I had been shown, I saw that she was pale and apprehensive, for we had not met since her flight, and she was no doubt at a loss for an explanation. But I did not press her for one. I merely told her that the Italian Santini had given me her address and that I came as bearer of unfortunate news. What is it? she gasped quickly. It concerns Captain Dernford, I replied. He has been injured in the street and is in Charing Cross Hospital. Ah, she cried. I see. You do not explain the truth. By your face I can tell there is something more. He's dead. Tell me the worst. No, Miss Lifecourt, I said gravely. Not dead. But the doctor's fear that he may not recover. His wound is dangerous. He has been shot by some unknown person. Shot, she echoed, bursting into tears. Then they have followed him after all. They have deceived me, and now as they intend to take him from me, I will myself protect him. You, Mr. Gregg, have been in peril of your life that I know. But Jack's enemies are yours, and they shall not go unpunished. May I see him? I fear not, but we will ask at the hospital. And after the exchange of some further explanations, we took a handsome back to Charing Cross. At first the sister refused to allow Muriel to see the patient, but she implored so earnestly that at last she consented, and the distressed girl in the black coat and hat crept on tiptoe to the bedside. He was conscious for a quarter of an hour or so, whispered the nurse who sat there. He asked after some lady named Muriel. The girl at my side burst into low sobbing. Tell him, she said, that Muriel is here, that she has seen him, and is waiting for him to recover. We were not allowed to linger there, and on leaving the hospital I took her back to Notting Hill, promising to keep her well informed of Jack's condition. He had returned to consciousness, therefore there was now a faint hope for his recovery. Day succeeded day, and although I was not allowed to visit my friend, I was told that he was very slowly progressing. I idled at the hotel's Cecil, longing daily for some news of Elma. Only once did a letter come from her, a brief well-written note from which it appeared that she was quite well and happy, although she longed to be able to go out. The princess was very kind indeed to her, and she added was making secret arrangements for her escape across the Russian frontier into Germany. I knew what that meant. Use was to be made of certain Russian officials who were secretly allied with the revolutionists in order to secure her safe conduct beyond the power of that order of exile of the tyrant De Plav. I wrote to her undercover to the princess, but there had been no time yet for a reply. I saw Muriel many times, but never once did she refer to Ranak or their sudden departure. Her only thought was of the man she loved. I always believed that you were engaged to Mr. Woodruff, I said one day, when I called to tell her of Jack's latest bulletin. It is true that he asked me to marry him, she responded, but there were reasons why I did not accept. Reasons connected with his past, eh? She smiled and then said, I'm Mr. Gray. It is all a strange and very tragic story. I must see Jack. When do you think they will allow me to go to him? I explained that the doctor feared to cause the patient any undue excitement, but that in two or three days there was hope of her being allowed to visit him. Several times the police made inquiry of me, but I could tell them nothing. I could not for the life of me recollect where I had before seen the face of that man who had passed in the darkness. One afternoon ten days after the attempt upon Jack, I was allowed to sit by his bedside and question him. Ah, Gordon, old fellow, he said faintly, I've had a narrow escape by Joe. After I left you I walked quickly on towards the club, when all of a sudden two scoundrels sprang out of Suffolk Street and one of them fired a revolver full at me. Then I knew no more. But who were the men? Did you recognize them? No, not at all. That's the worst of it. But Muriel knows who they were, I said. Ah, yes, bring her here, won't you? The poor fellow implored. I'm dying to see her once again. Then I told him how she had looked upon him while unconscious and how I had taken the daily bulletin to her. For an hour I talked with him, urging him to get well soon, so that we could unite in probing the mystery and bringing to justice those responsible for the Dastardly Act. Muriel knows, and if she loves you she will no doubt assist us, I said. Oh, she does love me, Gordon, I know that, said the prostrate man, smiling contentedly, and when I left I promised to bring her there on the morrow. This I did, but having conducted her to the bed at the end of the ward I discreetly withdrew. What she said to him I am not, of course, aware. All I know is that an hour later when I returned I found them the happiest pair possible to conceive, and I clearly saw that Jack's trust in her was not ill-placed. But what an elma! No further word had come from her, and I began to grow uneasy. The days went on. I wrote twice, but no reply was forthcoming. At last I could bear the suspense no longer, and began to contemplate returning to Russia. Jack, when at last discharged from the hospital, came across to the Cecil and lived with me in preference to the junior. He was very weak at first, and I looked after him, while every day Muriel came and ate with us, brightening our lives by her smart and merry chatter. She knew that I loved elma, and was also aware of the exciting events in Russia, Jack having told her of them during their long drives in Handsome's when he went out with her to take the air. One day I received a brief note from the princess in Petersburg, urging me to remain patient and saying elma was quite safe and well. There were reasons, however, why she was unable to write, she added. What were they, I wondered? Yet I could only wait until I received word to travel back to Russia and fetch her home. The princess had promised to arrange everything. December came, and we still remained on at the hotel. Once Olinto had written me repeating his warning, but I did not heed it, I somehow distrusted the fellow. Jack, now thoroughly recovered, called almost daily at Basset Road, and would often bring Muriel to the Cecil to tea or to luncheon. Often I inquired the whereabouts of her father and of Hilton Chatter, but she declared herself in entire ignorance and believed they were abroad. One afternoon shortly before Christmas, as we were idling in the American bar of the hotel, my friend told me that Muriel had invited us to tea at her cousin's that afternoon. And accordingly we went there in company. The drawing room into which we were ushered was familiar to me, as the apartment wherein I had told Muriel of the attempt upon her lover's life. As we sat together, Muriel, a smart figure in a pale blue gown, poured tea for us and chatted more merrily, I thought, than ever before. She seemed quick and nervous and yet full of happiness, as she should indeed have been. Per Jack Dernpert was one of the best fellows in the world and his restoration to health little short of miraculous. Gordon, he said to me with a sudden seriousness when tea had ended, and we had placed down our cups. I want to tell you something. Something I've been longing always to tell you, and now I have got dear Muriel's consent. I want to tell you about her father and his friends. And about Elma too, I said in quick eagerness, yes, tell me everything. No, not everything, for I don't know it myself. But what I know I will explain as briefly as I can and leave you to form your own conclusions. It is, he went on, a strange, most amazing story. When I myself became first cognizant of the mystery, I was on board the flagship, the renowned, under Admiral Sir John Fisher. We were lying in Malta when there arrived the English yacht, Iris, owned by Mr. Philip Leithport, and among those on board cruising for pleasure were Mr. Martin Woodruff, Mr. Hilton Chatter, and the owner's wife and daughter, Muriel. Muriel and I met first at a tennis party and afterwards frequently at various houses in Malta, or anyone who goes there and entertains is soon entertained in return. A mutual attachment sprang up between Muriel and myself, he said, placing his hand tenderly upon hers and smiling. And we often met in secret and took long walks until, quite suddenly, Leithport said it was necessary to sail for Smyrna to pick up some friends who had been traveling in Palestine. The night they sailed, a great consternation was caused on the island by the news that the safe in the Admiral's superintendent's office had been opened by expert safebreakers and certain most important secret documents sold in. Well, I asked, much interested. Again, two months later, when the villa of the Prince of Montevachy at Palermo was broken into and the whole of the famous jewels of the princess sold in, it was a very strange fact that the iris was at the moment in that port. But it was not until the third occasion, when the yacht was at Vifanze and our squadric training at Toulon, I got four days leave to go along the Rivera that my suspicions were aroused, for at the very hour when I was dining at the London house at Nice with Muriel and a school fellow of hers, Elma Heath, who was spending the winter there with a lady who was Barron Oberg's cousin, that a great robbery was committed in one of the big hotels up at Chamez, the wife of an American millionaire losing jewels valued at 30,000 pounds. Then the robbery is coincident with the visit of the yacht aroused my strong suspicion. I remarked the nature of those documents sold in from Malta and recognized that they could only be of service to a foreign government. Then came the Legorne incident of which you told me. The yacht's name had been changed to the Lola and she had been repainted. I made searching inquiry and found that on the evening she was purposely run aground in order to strike up a friendship at the consulate, a Russian gunboat was lying in the vicinity. The council's safe was rifled and the scheme certainly was to transfer anything obtained from it to the Russian gunboat. But what was in the safe, I asked. Fortunately nothing, but you see they knew that our squadron was due in Legorne and that some extremely important dispatches were on the way to the Admiral. Secret orders based upon the decision of the British cabinet as to the vexed question of Russian ships passing the Dark Nails. They expected that they would be lodged in the safe until the arrival of the squadron, as they always are. They were, however, bitterly disappointed because the dispatches had not arrived. And then? Well, the only Russian who appeared to have any connection with them was Baron Ober, the Governor-General of Finland, whose habit it was to spend part of the winter in the Mediterranean. From Elma Heast's conversation at dinner that evening at Nice, I gathered that she and her uncle had been guests on the iris on several occasions, although I must say that Muriel was extremely reticent regarding all that concerned the yacht. Of course, she said quickly, now that I have told you the truth, Jack, don't you think it was only natural? Most certainly, dear, he answered still holding her hand. Yours was not a secret that you could very well tell to me until you could thoroughly trust me, especially as your father had been implicated in the theft of those documents from Malta. The truth is, he said, turning to me, Philip Leithcourt has all along been the cat's paw of Baron Ober. A few years ago he was a well-known moneylender in the city, and in that capacity met the Baron, who being in disgrace required alone. He was also in the habit of having certain shady transactions with that daring gang of continental thieves of whom Dick Archer and Hilton Chatter were leaders. For this reason he purchased a yacht for their use, so that they might not only use it for the purpose of storing the stolen goods, but for the purpose of sailing from place to place under the guise of wealthy Englishmen traveling for pleasure. Upon that vessel indeed was stored thousands and thousands of pounds worth of jewels and objects of value, the proceeds of many great robberies in England, France, and Belgium. Sometimes they traveled for the purpose of disposing of the jewels in various inland towns where the gems, having been recut, were not recognized, while at other times Chatter and Archer, assisted by McIntosh the captain and Olinto Santini the steward, sailed for a port, landed, committed a robbery, and then sailed away again, quite unsuspected as rich Englishmen. And the crew, I asked after a pause. They were, of course, well paid and were kept in ignorance of what the supposed owner and his friends did assure. But Oberg's connection with it, I asked, surprised at those revelations. Ah, exclaimed Muriel, the ingenuity of that crafty villain is fiendish. Before he got into the czar's favor, he owed my father a large sum, and then sought how to evade repayment. By means of his spies he discovered the real purpose of the cruises of the iris, for I was often taken on board with a maid in order to allay any suspicion that might arise if only men were cruising. Then he not only compelled my father to cancel the debt, but he impressed the vessel, and those who owned it had navigated it into the secret service of Russia. A dozen times did we make attempts to obtain secret papers from Italian, French, and English dockyards, but only once in the case of Malta, and once it too long did we succeed. Ah, Mr. Gregg, she had it, you do not know all the anxiety I suffered, how at every hour we were in danger of betrayal or capture, and of the hundred narrow escapes we have had of custom house officers rummaging the yacht for contraband. You will no doubt recollect the sensation caused by the theft of the jewels of the Princess Wilhelmine of Schomburg from the ladies made in the Rapide between Kahn and Léar, the robbery from the Marseille Browns of the credit-line, and the great Hall of Plate from the Chateau of Bardin, the Paris Millionaire, close to Arakon. Yes, I said, for they were all robberies of which I had read in the newspapers a couple of years before. Well, she said, they were all committed by Archer or Woodruff and his gang, with accomplices of sure, of course, and never once did it seem that any suspicion fell upon us. While the police were frantically searching hither and thither, we used to weigh anchor and calmly steam away with our booty on board. We had with us an old Dutch lapidary, and one of the cabins was fitted as a workshop, where he altered the appearance of the stones and prepared them ready for sale, while the gold was melted in a crucible, and put ashore to be sent to Agents in Hamburg. But that night in Legoren, I said, what happened to poor Elma? I do not know, was Muriel's reply. We were both on board together, and standing at the crack of the door watched you sitting at dinner that evening. Elma told me that she believed that there was a plot against your life, but why she would not tell me? She evidently knew of the proposed rifling of the safe at the Councilit. Oberk himself was also on board, locked in his own cabin. Elma must have overheard some conversation between the Baron and one of the others, for she was in great fear the whole time, lest they might injure you. Yet it seemed, after all, as though their idea was the same as always, to worm themselves into your confidence. The instant, however, you went ashore, Chatter, Woodruff, whom you called Hornby, and Macintosh, the captain, who, by the way, was an old ticket of Leaveman, went ashore and, of course, broke into the Councilit. Then as soon as they returned, Elma came to my cabin, awoke me, and said that the Baron was taking her ashore, and that they were to travel over land back to London. She was ready dressed to go, therefore I kissed her, and promising to meet her soon, we parted. That was the last I saw of her. What happened to her afterwards, only she alone can tell us. But she is not the Baron's niece, I said. No, there is some mystery, declared Muriel. She holds some secret which he fears she may divulge, but of what nature I am in ignorance. Then you say that your father has never taken any active part in the robberies, I remark. No, he commenced by lending money and amassed a considerable fortune. Then Aphara seized him, as it does so many men, and coming into contact with Archer and his friends, he saw that the idea of the yacht was a safe and profitable one. Therefore he purchased the vessel and ran it at the disposition of the thieves, and subsequently under compulsion in the Secret Service of Russia, as I have already described to you. The profits were colossal. In one year my father's share was eighty thousand pounds. And where is your father now? I asked. Ah, she exclaimed sadly, her face pale and haggard. I have heard that the vessel was scuttled somewhere in the Baltic. That is true. Oberg's purpose having been served, he demanded half the property on board, or he would give notice to the Russian naval authorities that the pirate yacht was afloat. He attempted to blackmail my father, as he had already done so many times, but his scheme was frustrated. My father, because of his inhuman treatment of poor Alma, defied him when it appears that Oberg, who was in Helsingfors, telegraphed to the admiral of the Russian fleet in the Baltic. The crew from the iris were at once landed at Riga, and only Macintosh and my father put to sea again. Ah, my father was desperate, for he knew the merciless character of that man whose victim he had been for so long. They watched the Russian cruiser bearing down upon them when, just as it drew near, they got off in a boat and blew up the yacht, which sank in three minutes with its ill-obtained wealth on board. And your father? She was silent, and I saw tears standing in her eyes. There was a tragedy, Jack explained in a low horse voice. He and the captain did not, unfortunately, get sufficiently far from the yacht when they blew her up, and they went down with her. And I looked in silence at Muriel, who stood with her head bent, and her white face covered with her hands. Almost at the same time, there was a low tap at the door, and the servant maid announced, Mr. Santini, miss. Ah, exclaimed Jack quickly, as a linto entered the room. Then you had my note. We have asked you here to reveal to us this dastardly plot, which seemed to have been formed against Mr. Gregg and myself. As you know, I've had a narrow escape. A no-signor and a senor comedentor is also threatened. By whom? By those who killed my poor wife, and who intended also to silence me, was his answer. The same who compelled you to take me to that house where the fatal chair was prepared, eh? It was Archer who, fearing that you came to London in search of them, devised that devilish contrivance he said in his broken English. Then continuing, he went on fiercely. Now that I have discovered why my poor Armita was killed, I will tell the truth, and not spare them. Since you left Scotland, senor, I have been up in Dumfries, and have discovered several facts which prove that, for some reason, known only to myself, Lifecourt while at Rannock wrote to both Armita and myself separately, making an appointment to see us at the same time at that spot on the edge of the wood, as he had some secret commission to entrust to us. The letter addressed to me apparently fell into someone else's hands, probably one of the secret agents of Baron Oberg, who were always watching Lifecourt's doings, and he, anxious to learn what was intended, made himself up to look like me, and kept the appointment in my place. Armita, having received the letter unknown to me, went up to Scotland, and was also there at the appointed time. What actually transpired can only be surmised, yet it seems that Lifecourt was in the habit of going up to that spot, and loitering there in the evening in order to meet Chatter in secret as the letter was in hiding in a small hotel in Dumfries. Therefore, those who formed the plot must have endeavored to throw suspicion upon Lifecourt. It is plain, however, as both myself and Armita knew the gang, it was to their interest to get rid of us, because the suspicions of the police had at last become aroused. Poor Armita was therefore deliberately enticed there to her death, while the inquisitive man whom the assassin took to be, myself, was also struck down. By whom? Not by Chatter, or he was in London on that night. Then by Woodruff, Dernford said, without a doubt, it was almost cleverly thought out. It was to his advantage alone to close our lips, because in that same fatal chair in Lambeth, old Jacob Moser, the Jew bullion broker of Hattengarden, met his death, a most dastardly crime, with which none of his friends were associated, and of which we alone held knowledge. He therefore wrote to us as though from Lifecourt, calling us up to Ranak, in order to strike the blows in the darkness, he added, in his peculiar Italian manner. Besides, he feared we would tell the Signore the truth. You have not told the police? I dare not, Signore. Surely, the less the police know about this matter, the better. Otherwise, the Signore the Lifecourt must suffer for her father's avarice and ill-doing. Yes, cried Jack anxiously. That's right, old Linto. The police must know nothing. The reprisals we must make ourselves. But who was it who shot me in Suffolk Street? The same man, Martin Woodruff. Then the assassin is back from Russia? He followed closely behind the Signore commandantor, Markov, a clever secret agent of Baron Oberg's came with him. Then, for the first time, I recollected that the man I had recognized in the Strand was a fellow I had seen lounging in the anti-room of the palace of the Governor-General of Finland. The pair, fearing that I should reveal what I knew, were undoubtedly in London to take my life in secret. Now that Lifecourt was dead, Woodruff had united forces with Oberg, and intended to silence me because they feared that Elma, besides escaping them, had also revealed her secret. I trust that the Signora Lifecourt has explained the story of the yacht and its crew, O Linto remarked, and has also shown you how I was implicated. You will therefore discern the reason why I have hitherto feared to give you any explanation. Yes, I said. Miss Lifecourt has told me a great deal, but not everything. I cannot yet gather for what reason she and her father fled from Ranak. Then I will tell you, said Muriel quickly. My father suspected Woodruff of being the assassin in Ranak Wood, for he knew that he had broken away from the original compact and had now allied himself with Oberg. Yet it was also my father's object to appear in fear of them because he was only awaiting an opportunity to lay plans for poor Elma's rescue from Finland. Therefore one evening Woodruff called, and my father encountered him in the avenue, and admitted him with his own latch-key by one of the side doors of the castle. Afterwards, taking him up to the study, he knew that he had come to try and make terms for Oberg. Therefore he saw that he must fly at once to Newcastle, where the iris was lying, get on board, and sail away. With some excuse he left him in the study and then warned my mother and myself to prepare to leave. But while we were packing it appeared that Chatter, who had followed, was shown into the study by the butler, or rather he entered there himself, being well acquainted with the house. Thus the two men, now bitter enemies, met. A fierce quarrel must have ensued, and Chatter was poisoned and concealed. Woodruff of course, believing he had killed him. My father entered the study again, and seeing only Woodruff there did not know what had occurred. Some words probably arose when my father again turned and left. Then we fled to Carlyle and on to Newcastle, and next morning were on board the yacht out in the North Sea, afterwards landing at Rotterdam. Those, she added, are briefly the facts as my poor father related them to me. And what a poor Alma, and of her secret! When I wonder, shall I see her, I cried in despair. You will see her now, senor, answered Olinto. A servant of the Princess Zerloff brought her to London this afternoon, and I have just conveyed her from the station. She is in the next room in ignorance, however, that you are here. And without another word I fled forward joyfully and threw open the folding doors which separated me from my silent love. Silent yes, but she could, nevertheless, tell her storily, surely the strangest that any woman has ever lived to tell.