CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THIRTY-SIX hours later theSea Spumelay in harbor at St. Petersburg, and Caruth had told his story to the AmericanChargé d’Affaires, who was conducting matters in the absence of the ambassador. As he stepped out of the office of theChargé, he heard his name called in wondering tones.
The accents seemed familiar, and he whirled round. Then he started in amazement and held out his hand.
“Great Scott, Bristow!” he cried. “Where on earth did you spring from?”
The reporter grinned back at him. “Seems kind of funny, doesn’t it?” he answered. “But, shucks, this is a small world nowadays, and you oughtn’t to be surprised at meeting anybody.”
Caruth disregarded the persiflage. “Well!” he declared heartily. “I don’t know any man in the world I’d rather see. Your arrival is a regular Godsend. How did it come about?”
“Most natural thing in the world. The Consolidated Press man at St. Petersburg has been wanting for a year or two to come home on a long vacation, but they never could spare him. A few weeksago, when things were quieter than they had been for some time, I asked them to send me over to relieve him. When I told them I could speak a little Russian, they agreed right away. I left New York two days after you did.”
“I didn’t know you wanted to come to Russia.”
The reporter grinned. “I didn’t know it either a month ago,” he responded. “But I got married and——”
“Married? Good for you! Accept congratulations!”
“Thank you. My wife wanted to visit Russia in a hurry, and so—here we are. But that’s enough about me. How about yourself? There’s an incendiary tale afloat about your doings. Any truth in it?”
“Too much! Come over here and sit down, and I’ll tell you the whole story.”
Rapidly, Caruth poured his tale into the reporter’s sympathetic ears. He kept nothing back, as he had done in his first talk in New York. He told about Wilkins’s arrival; explained about the letters; and sketched rapidly the organization and the departure of the expedition and the events, so far as he knew them, that had taken place at Burndo Island.
“The situation is all in a muddle,” he ended. “I suppose Wilkins got away with the gold, though I can’t imagine how he did it. And I suppose the Professor was knocked overboard and drowned. But I can’t understand what has become of the girl.”
Bristow leaned back in his chair. “If I remember correctly,” he premised slowly, “I favored you in New York with certain moralizations on the way events fit in together. I’ll add to that now that if you hunt back far enough, you can find a common cause for a good many events that at first blush seem unrelated. You don’t know it, of course, but I have a direct personal interest in this affair. You see, I have known Professor Shishkin and his daughter for several years. In fact, Miss Shishkin is now my wife.”
“What!” Caruth half rose from his seat.
“Take it easy! I don’t mean that the girl you had on board this yacht is my wife. God forbid! As a matter of fact, that lady is not Professor Shishkin’s daughter at all. She is an alleged actress, drafted from the music hall stage by the Professor and cast for the part of his daughter. Now perhaps you begin to see a glimmer of light.”
But Caruth shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he returned. “Why should Professor Shishkin palm off somebody else as his daughter? It’s all a tangle of fraud and deceit. You go on and explain, please. My brain is buzzing.”
“It’s simple enough. The nihilists had ordered the Professor to bring his daughter with him on this trip, and he didn’t want to do it. Just why he objected, I’m not sure, though I have my suspicions; but he did object most strenuously. But he didn’t dare to refuse either to go on this expedition orto take his daughter. He was half mad when I went to him and asked for Olga. To cut it short, he agreed that I might marry her if I would find a substitute who looked like her and who would go in her place. I did find such a substitute in the person of Miss Florence Lee, the lady who accompanied your expedition. She was always a cold-blooded, calculating piece, for all her mask of flippancy, and I guess she and Wilkins framed it up between them to sell out. Now do you see?”
“Yes, I see.” Caruth spoke heavily. “Why didn’t you put me on?” he asked. “If I had known, I might have prevented all this.”
“You couldn’t have prevented it. I’m absolutely certain that your expedition has been watched, almost from the first. It was madness for Miss Fitzhugh to think she could succeed. Besides, you didn’t take me into your confidence or ask my advice; and, even if you had, I should probably have been compelled to keep silence for the sake of my wife and father-in-law. For—make no mistake about this, Caruth—what I have told you must go no further. The Professor may be dead, as you suppose, but Olga is alive, and I don’t want to draw any nihilist vengeance on her. You mustn’t talk.”
“I won’t.”
“The situation is reasonably clear now, isn’t it, except about how those fellows got the gold and where they have taken it? But I guess you’d better put the gold out of your mind. Wherever it is, it isout of reach, and a good thing, too. Of course, as a matter of salvage, the finder of an abandoned wreck is entitled to the bigger part of her value. But when the finders have deliberately brought about the wreck, the ethics of the case get mixed. I think you’ll be glad some day that you missed it.”
“Perhaps! If I get the girl! Not unless. Great Scott, Bristow. I’d do worse than steal for Marie’s sake! You’ve just been married yourself, and you know how it is.”
Bristow grinned. “So it’s got to the ‘Marie’ point, now, has it? By the way, where is the lady?”
“Gone! The moment we got here, she left the ship, saying that she had been summoned before the Inner Circle—whatever that is.”
Bristow whistled softly. “I suppose you will wait for her to return?” he questioned.
“I shall. I have nothing else to wait for. The whole trip has been a flat failure, and there is nothing for me to do but to sneak back to New York with my tail between my legs. I wouldn’t mind if she would go with me, but I fear——”
His voice died gloomily away.
Bristow laughed unfeelingly. “Well,” he said, “others have failed before and will fail hereafter. You aren’t the only one. And—though you may not believe it—‘men have died and worms have eaten them, but not for love.’ Things will seem brighter after awhile. Have you found out who she is yet?”
Caruth shook his head. “I don’t care,” he answered frankly. “She told me her mother was an American, and—oh, well, she is she. That’s enough.”
“I might find out for you,” suggested the reporter. “I’ve got sources of information that most men haven’t. I’ve only been here a short while, but I’ve learned a lot about the nihilists. Forbes, my predecessor here, established relations with them and built up a wonderful news system, to which, of course, I have fallen heir.”
“Do the nihilists trust you?”
“Certainly. Revolutionists all over the world trust American newspaper men. It’s positively marvellous how the most secretive conspirator will put his life in our hands. It speaks pretty well for the profession.”
“It does.”
“I can use my pull to find out who your charmer is, if you like?”
But Caruth shook his head. “No,” he said slowly. “If she had wanted me to know, she would have told me. Thank you; but—never mind.”
“Just as you like. I’ve got to look my nihilist friends up, any way, to see if they have any news from Burndo. Their system of communication beats the government’s sometimes.”
“How can it?”
“Search me! But I know that it does. Information seems to travel faster underground than it doesin the air. The only trouble is that it’s spotty—not complete. A man may know every detail of one circumstance and be totally ignorant of another that you’d think he couldn’t help but know. But tell me once more about the Professor—when and how you last saw him. Olga will be in despair over his death. I suppose you can’t give me any hope?”
Caruth shook his head. He could give none. Everything seemed to point to the Professor having been knocked overboard and lost. If not, he must have been captured, and this seemed improbable under the circumstances. Caruth explained all this, going over the circumstances again and again.
At last the reporter nodded. “I’m afraid it’s good-night for the poor old fellow,” he concluded sadly. “It’s some comfort that he never knew that his plan failed. Yes, I guess it’s good-by.” The reporter rose. “Well, I must be off,” he finished. “I suppose you are willing that I should use my own judgment as to what I wire to New York about this scrape of yours. I’ll make things as easy as possible for you, of course.”
“Very well. I’ll leave all that to you.”