"Show him into the library, please," answered Clara, then to Poubalov—"Will you pardon me? This is the man of whom I was speaking, and I must see him."
"Pray do," responded the Russian; "my message can well wait until he has gone."
Clara at once crossed the hall into the library. The minute she was out of the room Poubalov went to the door and cautiously opened it a little way. He closed it quickly and reflected. Clara had left the door from the hall to the library wide open, and the street door would be easily in view to anybody in the library.
Poubalov went from one to another of the several windows and looked out. From one at the side of the room he saw a few yards of turf bounded by a low hedge, and beyond that the park-like grounds surrounding a large dwelling. This window was partially open.
The spy looked once more toward the hall door. He had given his hat and stick to the servant, and they had been placed somewhere in the hall. He shrugged his shoulders, pushed the window further up and stepped out.
A moment later, Louise, who was idly gazing out of the dining-room window, was considerably startled to see a man, whom in the gathering dusk she could not recognize, leap over the hedge into the adjoining grounds, and disappear behind the shrubbery.
LITIZKI BREAKS HIS APPOINTMENT.
In the brief interval that elapsed between the time when she turned from Poubalov and the moment she entered the library, Clara reflected that while her loyal heart would rebel at the story to be told by Billings, she must hear him patiently, and not permit her distrust of him to manifest itself. One can think to good purpose in even so short a time as it takes to walk across a room. Clara was fully resolved to be guided by her reason alone in dealing with Billings, and not to permit herself to doubt his story if it should prove, as was probable, that what he had to say tended to corroborate the detective's theory.
Yet, when she looked at him, all her woman's intuition rebelled. She saw a man perhaps twenty-five years old, with nothing whatever remarkable in his appearance; but in his eyes and attitude there seemed to be a consciousness of antagonism, as if he expected to be doubted, sharply cross-examined, and as if he were determined that nothing should shake his story. His sullen, dogged expression was a help to Clara in conquering her immediate aversion to him, and she began the critical interview with a move that surprised and embarrassed him.
He was sitting, holding his hat on his knees, at the farther side of the room. Clara crossed directly to him with outstretched hand, saying:
"I am Miss Hilman. You are Mr. Billings, I believe. I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you. Mr. Bowker may have told you how I hunted the city over to find you. Sit down, please; let me take your hat."
Billings had risen awkwardly as he saw that she wascoming toward him, and, quite unaware of how she managed it, he found that she had taken one of his hands in her own. In his confusion he let his hat fall, picked it up hastily, and at last sat down again, feeling still the warm clasp of Clara's hand, while with bewildered eyes he saw this self-possessed, queenly young woman place his battered hat upon a table and draw up a chair opposite to him. He had not said a word. If he had come with any set phrases for beginning his story, they were completely driven from his mind.
Clara looked at him for a moment, and he averted his eyes.
"Were you acquainted with Mr. Strobel?" she asked presently, speaking in low tones that needed no art to color with the sadness that weighed upon her heart.
"No'm, I wasn't," replied Billings, with a quick glance at her.
"I am sorry for that," said Clara, "and yet it shows how kind you are to come here and tell me about this matter. I suppose you had to come a long way."
"I live in the North End," said Billings, uneasily. "Bowker told me to come."
"The North End is a long way off," she declared, "and I thank you just the same. I suppose you may have told Mr. Bowker so carefully about this that you are tired of the matter, but I should like very much to hear you myself. Do you mind telling me just what you told him?"
"That's what I come for," and Billings seemed to be considerably relieved. "I was driving down Park Street," he began, "when I saw that the coupé just in front of me had got into trouble. I went slow because people got around thick, and, besides, I wanted to see what was the matter. As I was looking, the man in the coupé clumb out and asked me was I engaged. I told him no, and he got in. He seemed to be in a hurry."
"One moment," interposed Clara, gently. The narration struck her as distinctly parrot-like, and if it were something that he had learned to recite, she preferred to breakthe thread of his story before he had come to the important part, rather than give him the advantage of establishing a statement in smooth order. If he were telling the truth, no manner of interruption could prevent him from eventually making himself understood; if he were lying, she must involve him in contradictions. So, without premeditation, Clara said:
"You are going just a little too fast for me, and I hope you will forgive me. Every detail, you know, seems important to me. Where had you been that morning, Mr. Billings?"
"Been to a funeral, miss," he answered promptly.
"Yes, so I understood; but where?"
"Out to Mount Auburn."
"That is quite a long way from Park Street, isn't it? It must be four miles."
"Yes'm, 'bout that."
"It was about eleven o'clock, or a little after, when Mr. Strobel's coupé broke down, and you had been to Mount Auburn and had just got back. I see. Where did you leave your passengers, the persons you took to the funeral, I mean?"
With a glance of sullen resentment Billings answered:
"At their house."
"Yes, Mr. Billings," and Clara smiled as if she were not in the least annoyed, "but that isn't telling where. I didn't ask for the street and number. Why should I? It was in Cambridge, was it not?"
After the slightest perceptible hesitation, Billings answered:
"No; 'twas in the West End."
"Ah, then you had come over Beacon Hill on your way somewhere. Where were you going, Mr. Billings?"
As Billings hesitated more noticeably, she continued:
"Do you have some regular place where you wait for passengers, or do you drive about picking them up where you find them?"
"I was going to the Old Colony Depot," said Billings, huskily.
"I see. Is it customary, Mr. Billings, for cabmen to leave the curtains of their carriages closely drawn after they leave a funeral party?"
"No, 'tain't, not long, but you wouldn't have me stop in front of the house to pull 'em up, would you?"
"Certainly not. You did quite right, doubtless. When did you first see the coupé?"
"At the corner of Beacon. It turned into Park Street just ahead of me."
"Where did Mr. Strobel tell you to take him?"
"To Dr. Merrill's church, Parker Avenue, Roxbury."
Billings didn't know it, but his examiner came very near to breaking down at this point. There was nothing as yet to show that the driver was not telling the truth, although Clara had prepared a trap for him that she intended to spring a little later, and the mention of the church where she was to be married brought up such a flood of emotions that it seemed as if she would choke. Then, too, whether Billings were practicing deceit or not, it was certain that for this moment at least she was following her lover's journey correctly, and she had arrived at that critical point where the change in his intentions, or in his power to act, occurred. So, it was in a very faint voice that she told Billings to go on. He immediately resumed his parrot-like narration:
"He seemed to be in a hurry, for he spoke quick. I closed the door on him, and got into my seat as fast as I could and whipped up. I wanted to get along myself, you see, 'cause it was quite a long drive, and I had to get back to the depot."
This last sentence sounded like a fresh thought interjected on the spur of the moment, for Billings spoke it slower than the rest, and glanced inquiringly at Clara, as if to see how she took it. She noticed the difference, but simply nodded, and Billings went on.
"Nothing happened till we got to Elliot Street. Thenthe gentleman opened the door and hollered 'Driver!' I pulled up a bit and turned round to see what he wanted. 'Driver!' says he, 'I've changed my mind. Take me to the Park Square Station.' 'All right, sir,' says I, and he closed the door again. So I druv 'im to the station, and he got out and give me a dollar and went inside, and that's all there is to it."
"I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Billings," said Clara; "I suppose you went directly to the Old Colony Depot after that?"
"Yes'm. That's where I went."
He rose as if there could be nothing more for him to say, but Clara was not done with him.
"Just one more question," she said; "sit down again, please. Did you see Mr. Strobel speak or bow to anybody at the station?"
"No'm. There wasn't many people about, and he hurried inside like as if his train was just going."
"Was there anybody there whom you knew?"
"Yes'm, and you can ask him. A feller named O'Brien, who works there, was just at the door as we drew up, and he says 'Hello' to me. He'll tell you he saw me land my passenger there, for he came forward, thinking to get the gentleman's bag to carry."
"Mr. O'Brien may have noticed where Mr. Strobel went after going into the station," mused Clara.
"Yes'm, he might. You might ask him."
"Thank you; I presume I shall. Now, Mr. Billings, I want to show you in some way that I appreciate your kindness in coming here to tell me this. I have had to drive about a great deal for two days, and shall have to use a carriage to-morrow. I shall be glad to employ you."
Billings flushed and shifted about uneasily.
"I can't, miss," he muttered.
"Why not, Mr. Billings?"
The driver stole a glance at her earnest face, and saw nothing there but sad surprise.
"Why not?" Clara gave the man no help by suggesting a possible excuse.
"My carriage is engaged—that is," he blurted, "I haven't got any carriage that would be fit for you."
"What is the matter with the one in which you took Mr. Strobel?"
"It got smashed up and is being repaired. You see," and he mumbled his words so that they were almost unintelligible, "the same day a party of toughs hired it; they were kind o' swell toughs, and they got on a racket, and the carriage was damaged. 'Tain't fit to use."
"Mr. Billings!" Clara spoke with a sudden energy that startled the driver, "was Mr. Strobel in the carriage when it was damaged?"
"No'm, no'm, he wan't," stammered Billings.
The explanation suggested an entirely new thought to Clara. Before her mental vision there came swiftly a picture of her lover struggling with somebody—might it not be Poubalov?—in the carriage itself. She seemed to see a violent conflict in which seats and fixtures gave way as men's bodies fell heavily. And Ivan was overpowered, his enemies triumphed, he was motionless, unconscious—perhaps fatally injured, and they had hidden him away somewhere lest their crime come to the light!
This was wholly unlike the vision she had seen on the evening of what should have been her wedding day; it had none of the aspects of an hallucination; for as the alarming details shaped themselves in her thoughts, she was conscious that Billings sat before her, looking frightened, and that he rose again to go. In this instance she was but following the suggestions brought out by her inquiry to what might be their logical, natural conclusion.
"I am sorry you cannot drive me to-morrow," she said, recovering and withdrawing her eyes, which had been fixed in a strained stare upon Billings for a very brief period. "Before you go, tell me the names and addresses of the persons you took to the funeral, please."
"I don't remember," replied Billings, uneasily. "I shall have to look up my book; 'tain't here."
"Will you do so?" asked Clara, pleasantly, convinced now that the man was lying; "and send the names to me, please. Will you do that to-night?"
"Yes'm," replied Billings reaching for his hat.
"And what is your address?"
Billings told her, and she laid her hand gently on his arm. An idea that had occurred to her vaguely when his name was announced as she stood before Poubalov, now recurred to her in the shape of a plan. She would have Billings confront the Russian, and watch their faces narrowly for some sign of recognition, or alarm.
"Will you come into the next room a moment?" she said, "I have something to show you."
There seemed to be a shade of suspicion in his eyes, but he made no objection, and Clara conducted him to the drawing-room. It was dark. With a premonition of disappointment, Clara found a match on the mantel and lit the gas. After a hasty glance around she opened the door to the dining-room.
"Lou!" she whispered eagerly, "have you seen Mr. Poubalov?"
"No," replied Louise, coming forward and entering the parlor; "has he gone? Then it must have been he!"
"Who? What have you seen? Wait, come into the hall. Will you sit down just a minute longer, Mr. Billings? I shall be but a moment."
Billings complied, and the young ladies passed quickly into the hall, where the first thing that Clara saw were Poubalov's hat and stick lying upon a table. She turned in the utmost wonderment upon her cousin.
"All I can say," said Louise, "is that I saw a man leap over the hedge into Mr. Jordan's grounds a short time after you went into the drawing-room to meet Poubalov. I couldn't tell who it was, couldn't even see that he had no hat on. I feared he might be a tramp,but thought then that he had been frightened away, and that there was no danger."
"He was frightened away?" murmured Clara, feeling her blood run cold; "he dared not face his man Billings!"
"I supposed," continued Louise, in agitation, "that Poubalov was with you. I heard no voices, but thought perhaps that you had gone into the library with him, for a door closed once."
"Yes, when Billings came. Oh! if Litizki were only here!"
"Why! what could he do?"
"I would have him follow Billings. Oh, I could cry! it is the one opportunity for solving this mystery that we have found, and now we are going to lose it!"
Louise was greatly distressed.
"Isn't there some way that you can detain Billings," she suggested, "until Litizki arrives?"
"No. He's been trying to get away for several minutes. It is just possible that Litizki may be near. I'll go out with Billings, as if to call at a neighbor's, and if I see Litizki will put him on the track at once."
She went upstairs for her hat, lingering over the preparation in order to give Litizki all possible opportunity to keep his appointment, and when she came down again Billings was in the hall.
"I can't wait no longer," he said gruffly.
"Very well," replied Clara; "I thank you again for calling. I am going as far as the next house, and you can escort me."
Billings scowled with disagreeable surprise. At the gate he waited to see which way she would turn.
"I'm not going that way, miss," he said, and started off at a rapid pace in the opposite direction.
WHAT BECAME OF LITIZKI.
Clara retired before her uncle returned, and when at last he appeared, it was only to pack his bag and hurry away to catch the midnight train for New York.
"I may be gone a week," he told Louise, "and I may get back in two days. Telegraph me at the Travelers' Hotel, if I am wanted for anything."
Mr. Pembroke's departure was a great disappointment to Clara. She reproached herself that she had not made an opportunity to tell him about her conversation with Poubalov and Litizki; it was his right to know everything that could possibly bear upon the case, and could she have told him, she would have besought him to advise her.
She was now in a bewildering maze of doubts and uncertainties. Billings had lied to her; she was almost as sure of that as if she had already proved it; but at what part of his story the falsehood began she could only guess. There was no doubt that Ivan had taken Billings' carriage. Did he give the driver orders to go to the Park Square Station? Did Billings drive to the station? The latter question she could answer with some degree of satisfaction by inquiry of the man O'Brien, and that seemed the first thing to do; but what then?
Poubalov had called to say something, and had not only gone away without saying it, but had gone in such wise as to leave no reasonable doubt that he dared not face the driver of the closed carriage. Was it not an inevitable inference that Billings had been hired by the Russian? It was with evident difficulty that Billings had stumbled through the story as it was. Would not Poubalov, recognizing the driver's mental inferiority, have argued that ifthey were suddenly brought face to face, Billings would have betrayed their complicity by at least a start?
And Litizki, what had become of him? It was not to be thought of that he had abandoned the case. Poubalov had called at his shop during the day, unquestionably with some ulterior design. Could anything be more reasonable than to suppose that in some way the spy had frustrated the attempt of Litizki to help her?
The more she pondered the various puzzling aspects of the case, the more everything seemed to center upon Poubalov, and she shuddered with apprehension as Litizki's characterization of him recurred to her. He was, indeed, a terrible enemy.
Having in mind only the known facts in the case, and disregarding utterly all inferences and conjectures, she tried to reason along various lines, in the hope that thus a theory might be set up which should command sufficient respect to justify a new departure in her search. She began with the fact that Ivan had made every preparation for marriage—and there a new thought presented itself. He had surrendered his room; he must, therefore, have packed his belongings; had they been disturbed? This might be a matter of infinite significance, and one that she would attend to without delay.
"Louise," she said (they were at the breakfast table and her cousin was lingering over her coffee while Clara was absorbed in thought), "will you go downtown with me again to-day?"
"Of course, dear," replied Louise; "I will be ready in ten minutes."
Louise was relieved at Clara's suggestions. She had been hopelessly wondering what Clara could find to do next, and she dreaded for her cousin's health should there prove to be no active work upon which she could concentrate her faculties. She left the room to prepare for the day's jaunt, and Clara resumed her thinking.
Every preparation for marriage, and a start actually made for the church. Then an accident that somebody hadprepared. Who? There must have been somebody who had a great object to attain in preventing the marriage, or in getting possession of Ivan. Suppose it were Poubalov, what then? With the insight he himself had given her into his character, would he not do everything possible to throw her off the right track? If he had abducted Ivan, would he hesitate to abduct Litizki if he found that the little tailor was in his way?
It was vain to speculate for a reason for Poubalov's main action; that must lie in his capacity as a paid spy of a government with which Ivan, apparently, had been at one time in conflict. His subsequent actions, so far as she knew them, were all explainable on the theory that he had had to do with Ivan's disappearance.
And so her thoughts revolved around Poubalov, finding at every turn a trace of obliquity that was wholly in consonance with his character and his confessed methods.
Clara felt that her reasoning was bringing her to no definite end, although her brain teemed with courses of action that might have been possible could she have commanded the services of a corps of shrewd, faithful detectives. It is generally so with persons who have a great task to accomplish; they find themselves with more plans than resources, more brains than hands. Clara had just come to the sensible conclusion that, compelled to work substantially alone, she would undertake exactly one thing at a time, and, having chosen a line of inquiry, would follow it uninterruptedly to the end, when a servant announced that a man had called to see her.
"I couldn't catch his name, Miss Clara," said the servant, "but I'm afraid he's a beggar, he looks so forlorn and seedy."
Clara knew who it was and she sprang from her chair with more eagerness and animation than she had manifested at any time since the disastrous wedding day. She fairly ran into the drawing-room, both her hands extended, her face radiant with smiles, and completely overwhelmed poor Litizki with the warmth of her greeting.
"I was so afraid something dreadful had happened to you!" she exclaimed, "but I knew that you had not deserted me."
"Deserted you?" said Litizki huskily; "no, but I was afraid you would think so. I didn't know what Poubalov might have told you, and unless you thoroughly understand that man, that fiend, Miss Hilman, he is likely to make you believe anything."
"Then you know that he had been here! You must have recognized his hat in the hall."
"I saw it there and his stick, too, but I knew before then that he had been here. I came to tell you."
Litizki paused, the look of grateful relief that had overspread his features at first giving way to his customary depressed expression, and he fell into his habit of speaking with averted eyes, or with but occasional furtive glances at the person addressed.
"Do tell me," said Clara; "I have been very anxious about you."
Litizki thought a moment, and then asked:
"May I see Poubalov's cane?"
"To be sure," replied Clara, and she brought it to him from the hall.
Litizki took it, looked it over, felt along the top, and suddenly drew forth the handle, from which a gleaming blade depended. Clara started back with a low exclamation of alarm. Litizki touched the edge of the blade with his thumb, as a man tests a razor.
"Alexander Poubalov," he murmured gloomily, "held this over my heart once, not so long ago."
He thrust it back into its sheath, where it came to rest with an angry click, and handed the cane to Clara.
"That is the kind of man he is, Miss Hilman," he said; "I thought you might like to know."
If he had wished to impress Clara with the horrible gravity of the situation, with its frightful possibilities, he succeeded beyond measure. She held the cane, feeling that it epitomized the spy's career, and a dreadful faintnessdepressed her which she at length overcame with the utmost difficulty. Having returned the concealed weapon to the hall, she sank into a chair and asked Litizki to tell her what had happened to him during the previous evening.
"You asked me to call early," he began, "and I set out to do so. Without going into unnecessary detail, I will say that I came up the street that ends nearly in front of this house, a little after seven o'clock. The exact time doesn't matter, for you will know as nearly as you need to when I tell you that just as I was about to cross the road I saw Poubalov in front of me. He had come by another route. I wasn't surprised, for the man seems to read one's thoughts, and it was as if he had known that I was coming, and had determined to prevent me.
"I doubted whether it would be wise to call as long as he was in the neighborhood, but all doubts were set at rest when he himself went up the steps and rang. Of course it would have been the height of folly for me to enter the house then."
"You had the right to," interrupted Clara; "I had asked you to come, and I needed you very much."
Litizki looked so miserable that Clara hastened to add:
"I didn't mean to reprove or find fault, Mr. Litizki. I forgot for the moment everything except that eventually, after Poubalov had run away, I wished you were at hand!"
"I hope I made no mistake, Miss Hilman," said Litizki; "at all events I could see no other course at the time than to do what I did."
"I have no doubt you were right. Go on, please."
"I determined to wait until Poubalov went away. If I had been familiar with the house, I might have found my way to the back door and sent word to you by a servant, but I dared not venture, for I knew not from what window Poubalov might be looking. The same reason induced me to leave the street, which is clearly in view from some windows, and, moreover, I did not care to riskquestions from anybody as to why I was loitering about. So I slipped into the adjoining grounds, where there is a lot of shrubbery, and crawled under a tree whose branches hung low.
"From where I lay I could see whether anybody entered or left the house by the front door and I also saw all the windows on one side. I had been there less than a minute when somebody went up the steps and was admitted. I could not see who it was, for the evening was cloudy and it grew dark very quickly."
"It was a man named Billings," said Clara; "he drove the closed carriage which took Mr. Strobel from Park Street."
"Indeed! I wish I had known it. Well, events happened pretty quickly just then, for it seemed to me that less than another minute had passed when Poubalov appeared at one of the windows on the side of the house. He raised it, stepped out, and leaped over the hedge, not five yards from where I lay. He passed so close to me that I could have reached out from under the tree and tripped him up! I lay very still, wondering what his action could mean, for as you must know, he was bareheaded. If I had dreamed then of going to the house, I could not have done so, for he crouched down by the hedge near the street, and I could see that he had his eyes on the door and that he was waiting. I then determined to follow him wherever he should go, for of course he meditated villainy. I may have prevented him in that—— Oh! I don't know!"
Litizki fairly groaned these words, and Clara was about to utter an anxious inquiry, when he resumed:
"Don't let me disturb you, Miss Hilman; I will tell the whole wretched story. How long we lay there I don't know, but you must, for at last you, I think it was you, came out of the house and walked down to the gate to say good-night to somebody who left you there—Billings I suppose—and walked away in a direction opposite to us. You, was it you? Yes, you waited a moment, and returned to the house, whereupon Poubalov immediatelygot up, leaped over the hedge, darted across the road as noiselessly as if he were a cat, and disappeared.
"I followed as well as I could, and, as luck would have it, I soon overtook him, for he was strolling along slowly, as unconcerned as if he owned a house near by and were out for a breath of fresh air. He rambled on until he came to Washington Street, when he stopped at the curb and looked idly about for several seconds. There were many people about, and his bareheaded condition attracted attention. All the shops were open, and suddenly he darted into one of them. It was not a hat store, but when he came out, which was almost immediately, he had a hat on. I suppose he bought it for an extravagant sum off the head of some stranger. It would be like him.
"He idled about the neighborhood for as much as an hour, Miss Hilman, and I did all that I could think of to keep him in view without exposing myself. The man is a fiend with a million eyes! But wait, I'll tell you. At last he moved along, and, of course, I followed faithfully, noting every turn, that I might be able to go again by the same way if possible, or at least to the same place, wherever that might be. For in spite of my care I don't know what was his destination, if he had any. It is for this reason that I say I may have prevented him from some fresh villainy.
"At last, in a street to which I could readily return, he paused. I was across the way from him, and I slipped into a doorway, where I was wholly in the dark. I could see him, though, and for a long, long time he paced slowly back and forth, never once speaking to anybody, or looking about, or getting out of my sight. It didn't matter to me. I would have stayed on till I starved in my tracks, but eventually he crossed the street directly toward me. He could not see me, of that I am certain, but of course he had seen me—and—I am a helpless, good-for-nothing fool, Miss Hilman!"
"Why say that?" asked Clara kindly.
"Because he came straight into the doorway, put hishand lightly on my shoulder and said in that deep, scornful voice of his: 'It is enough, Nicholas Litizki. Let us now go home,' and he laughed disagreeably."
Litizki stared aside with an expression of utter self-contempt.
"I weakly said to myself that it was a ruse to get rid of me, and I followed again as he walked briskly away. He took a street car and went straight to his room in Bulfinch Place. It was past midnight, and so I came this morning, Miss Hilman."
A NEW DEPARTURE.
"What a hard and disagreeable experience," exclaimed Clara, "and so strange too! You have no occasion to reproach yourself, Mr. Litizki, with any neglect. You did all that any man could do, I am sure, and it may not prove to be unfortunate that Poubalov saw that you were watching him."
"I wish I could think so," responded the tailor, "and it is wonderfully kind of you to be so patient with my failure. Isn't there something that I can do now? I can do no work until this matter is settled, and it is torture to remain idle."
"I know how true that is," sighed Clara; "yes, there is something I think you can do. If Poubalov had not called last evening, and so changed all our plans, I should have asked you to follow Billings when he left the house. I have little faith in him, Mr. Litizki, and it seems to me that on leaving here last night he must have gone directly to report to his accomplice, or employer. Are you sure that Poubalov spoke to nobody?"
"If he did, it was no more than a passing word. He seemed to know no one."
Clara had to stop and think, for Litizki's story tended to upset her theories concerning Poubalov's exit and his relations with Billings. Could it be possible, after all, that Billings had not been employed by the spy, and that the latter, therefore, had had nothing to do with Ivan's disappearance? Perhaps Poubalov worked through still another accomplice, and, suspecting possible treachery, had been at the pains of secretly following Billings, to learn whether he and the unknown other were faithful.
This seemed rather a wild supposition, for it would not be like Poubalov to admit others into his secret operations.
Had he followed Billings? There was no doubt in Clara's mind that this was what he started to do when he leaped over the hedge and ran to the side of the road opposite to where Billings was walking. Had Poubalov lost Billings in the darkness, and, observing Litizki's pursuit, purposely dodged hither and thither, to discomfit the tailor?
From every question Clara turned more puzzled than before. It must be that she was on the wrong track, else a reasonable answer could be found, a reasonable explanation suggested for every act. Perhaps she was wrong in obstinately connecting Poubalov with the first act in the tragedy, the disappearance of Ivan; but if so, could his conduct even then be explained?
"Mr. Litizki," said Clara, at length, "I want to know all that can possibly be learned about this man Billings. He gave me his address. Will you undertake to look him up? Unless he is very closely in league with Poubalov, he will not know who you are, and for that matter it probably won't be necessary for you to meet him. Eventually you might have to follow him somewhere, but at the start you might learn a great deal from his neighbors."
"I'll do it, Miss Hilman; but I promise you now that every step I take will be dogged by Poubalov."
"Well, never mind. You will be on your guard against him—and yet, I do not want you to expose yourself to danger," and Clara shuddered as she thought of the long dagger concealed in Poubalov's cane.
"Bah!" returned Litizki, "I care nothing for the danger. My only fear is that the villain will overreach me in anything I may attempt. I am no match for him in skill and cunning, Miss Hilman."
Litizki was woefully dejected. Never did man so long to be possessed of genius, or even talent, and the tailor was painfully aware of his own deficiencies.
"You underestimate yourself," said Clara; "you see that I have confidence in you, else I would not ask you to undertake the investigation. Will you begin at once?"
"Gladly. You cannot imagine how much courage your good words give me. If I dared to cherish a hope of any kind, it would be that I should accomplish something that would justify your good opinion."
"You have already done so, and will do more, have no doubt of it! I am going downtown myself. Suppose you go to the address Billings gave me, make such inquiries there as seem advisable, and, if you see nothing to command your immediate attention, come and tell me what you have found. I shall be at Mrs. White's. If you come after I go, you will find some word from me as to where to go next."
She gave him Billings' address, saw him to the door with a cheering smile, and then turned to Louise, who had been ready to start for several minutes.
"He had what was to him a dismal story to tell," said Clara, "and I knew he would rather tell it to me alone."
"I supposed so," returned Louise, "and so I took pains not to interrupt you. I wish I could think a quarter as well as you do, dear. I don't feel as if I were the least use."
"Don't be silly, Lou," and Clara embraced her cousin affectionately; "if I could think as well as you imagine I do, we should be out of the difficulty in a day. What do you suppose I should do without you?"
Louise was profoundly convinced that Clara would do exactly as she had been doing all along, but she didn't say so. She would have sympathized acutely with Litizki's self-abasement had she known how earnestly he had striven to be of use, and how utterly he had seemed to fail.
They went first to the Park Square Station, Clara, as usual, deeply absorbed in studying the strange problems that confronted her. The impression she had received this morning that Poubalov might not have been associateddirectly with Ivan's taking off, grew upon her. How readily he had abandoned the suggestion of elopement! Abandon? he had ignored it utterly. Not once in her conversation with him had he put that forth as an explanation worthy of investigation. Could it have been his subtle purpose to interest her in a line of inquiry that should lead directly away from that? A shiver passed over her frame, and Louise inquired anxiously what was the matter?
"New theories keep occurring to me," responded Clara gravely, "and each one is a shock worse than the one that preceded it. Let me tell you this one. Suppose that Lizzie White," Clara spoke with difficulty, every word seemingly dragged forth by a violent effort, "suppose she were in some way Poubalov's agent; I will not, cannot think that Ivan went away with her, but might it not be possible that this remarkable man, who has such mastery over ordinary minds, had made her an accomplice? Don't you see the cleverness of the plan? If Ivan was forced to go to New York, Lizzie's departure for that city the same day is immediately assumed by everybody to mean that they eloped, and probably all in Boston who think of the matter at all, suppose that they have been married. Ivan may be a prisoner in New York, and Lizzie may be under Poubalov's pay, or influence, the latter more likely, to act, not as his jailer, but as a mask for his presence there.
"Poubalov has some object to attain in keeping him thus guarded, to torture some political secret from him, perhaps. Now what better could he do than divert suspicion in my mind from Lizzie to those whom he calls Nihilists, or even upon himself? He saw at first glance that I would not tolerate the thought of an elopement as among the possibilities, so he had no need to disarm me of suspicion in that direction. Has not everything he has done been done with a view to keeping me in Boston? What does he care how much poor Litizki dogs his steps, so long as the victim of his intrigue and villainy is hundreds of miles away? His one fear in Boston is that Billings, whom hehired to help in the abduction, may confess something. Therefore he tried to dog Billings' steps last night, and whether he succeeded I do not know."
Much of this was Greek to Louise, and she said so, adding: "What I do understand is that you feel now as if it would be necessary to go to New York."
"I think so. We will see."
"Clara," said Louise, "you will not think that I have suspected Ivan of faithlessness, I am sure; but it has seemed to me that unless he returned soon, you would have to go to Lizzie White. You cannot leave any possible explanation unsought. I could not conjecture that she and Poubalov might be concerned together as you have, but I did feel as if you ought to look her up."
"I am glad you think so," responded Clara, "for I was afraid you would oppose my going."
At the station Clara readily found the Mr. O'Brien to whom Billings had referred for corroboration of a part of his story.
"Yes'm," he said in reply to her questions, "I know the Billings you speak of. I saw him here last Monday. Has he been up to anything crooked?"
"I don't know," said Clara; "it may help to settle that if you will tell me what were the circumstances of his call here."
O'Brien hesitated.
"I don't want to get tangled up in any police business," he declared; "Billings was said to be the man who drove the gent that skipped on his wedding day early this week."
"Yes," said Clara; "I am Miss Hilman, and I was to be married to the gentleman."
"Sho!" exclaimed O'Brien, sympathetically, "that must have been a pretty tough blow," and he scratched his head thoughtfully.
"My inquiry," continued Clara, "has nothing to do with the police. They have abandoned the investigation, I believe.I am trying simply to satisfy myself, and surely you won't refuse to help."
"No, I won't," replied O'Brien; "but what I can say won't do you no good. This was how it was. I had to go out to the front of the depot for something, and just as I got there, Billings drove up a closed carriage. I thought he nodded as if he wanted me, so I stepped forward. He pulled up further on than where carriages generally stop, and was in a place all by himself. I was the only one near. 'Hello,' says I, 'how long you been driving?' 'Mind your own business,' says he, and he whipped up and drove off. While I was speaking to him a man had got out of the carriage and gone into the depot. I didn't see him to know him, didn't pay any attention to him, for he went quickly, and I was wondering about Billings."
"He says you came forward to get his passenger's baggage."
"'Tain't so. That ain't my line of work."
"Didn't the passenger pay his fare?"
"Not there. He went straight into the depot."
"Why did you ask Billings that question?"
"'Cause I didn't know he'd got into the cab business. He used to be a porter."
Clara thanked O'Brien, said she might call again if any other questions occurred to her, and the young ladies went on to Ashburton Place. Billings had lied, but it might have been Ivan, nevertheless, who went into the station from the closed carriage.
Mrs. White's greeting was marked by constraint, and she sat in distressed silence for a moment after Clara and Louise entered. At length she said:
"People will talk so! I'm sure you've been very good and brave, Miss Hilman, but what is one to think?"
"I don't know what you mean, Mrs. White."
"Well, don't you see, lots of my friends have called, seeing Lizzie's name in the papers, and Mr. Strobel's, and they will have it that they eloped."
"Do you think so?" asked Clara, and in spite of her effort her tone was cold.
"I don't know what to think," replied the landlady, plaintively.
"You may think what you please," said Clara, her pride mastering her diplomacy for the moment; "I am going to New York to see your daughter. I called to say that you might write to her freely so far as any wish of mine is concerned, and to ask if I could take a look at Mr. Strobel's room."
"Certainly," answered Mrs. White, uncomfortably. She longed to ask the imperious young lady a host of questions, but she was restrained by Clara's hauteur.
The young ladies went up to Ivan's room, and found there his trunk as he had left it, apparently, and everything in just such condition as would be expected if a man were about to move and were going to send for his effects later.
When they went down again they found Litizki talking with Mrs. White.
"So you are going to New York to-day?" he said with some appearance of disappointment.
"Yes," replied Clara, "but I don't care to have that information go further. Will you be careful, Mrs. White? Forgive me if I seemed harsh just now. I shall say nothing unkind to your daughter, and I believe less than ever that she eloped with Mr. Strobel. What have you found?" she asked, turning to Litizki.
"Billings doesn't live at that address," he replied, "although he used to. He hasn't been about there for some time, and no one in the neighborhood knew he was a cab-driver."
"Very well," said Clara. "There is nothing more to do in that direction for the present. I shall return from New York on Saturday morning, probably. I should like to see you then, if possible."
"Yes, Miss Hilman. What train are you to take? I might have something to report to you at the last minute."
Clara reflected and answered:
"I shall have to go home first. I don't see how I can go earlier than by the three o'clock New England train. Will you be there?"
Litizki said he would, and after some further conversation with Mrs. White the young ladies returned to Roxbury. Louise did not prepare to go to New York, the extra expense this journey involved deterring her, for Mr. Pembroke was not one who reveled in great wealth. It was decided to apprise him of Clara's coming by telegraph, so that she would not be without escort in the city.
Litizki was at the train as he promised to be, and assisted Clara to her seat in the drawing-room car. He lingered until the starting signal had been given and then said "good-by" and jumped off; but instead of remaining in the depot, he ran forward and boarded the ordinary smoking-car.
LOUISE RECEIVES A CALLER.
Mr. Pembroke met Clara at the train when it arrived in the Grand Central Depot promptly at nine o'clock. He was plainly anxious, almost agitated.
"Tell me, child," he exclaimed, "why you have come?"
"I couldn't be satisfied," she replied, "without setting at rest the rumors that connect Ivan's name with Lizzie White."
"Oh," said her uncle, apparently relieved, "is that all?"
"All, uncle? Why, no, not if I find anything that leads me to believe that Ivan is in New York. In that case I shall search for him here. What did you think I had come for?"
"I had nothing in mind except anxiety. When I received your telegram, I feared something had happened. I couldn't tell what. I have been so occupied with business matters recently that I haven't been able to keep up with you, you know."
"I'm so sorry to give you more trouble and anxiety," said Clara, with the sincerest contrition, "but I felt as if I must come on."
"Let us go straight to the hotel," said Mr. Pembroke; "I suppose there's nothing you want to do to-night?"
They had been standing on a station platform as they talked, and not far away was Litizki, watching, trying to listen, and wondering who the gentleman could be whom Clara greeted so affectionately. He knew nothing about her relationships, and supposed that Mr. Pembroke was her father. He followed them and saw them enter a hack, and he managed to get near enough to overhear Mr. Pembroke say "Travelers' Hotel" to the driver. Not contentwith knowing the hotel, however, Litizki ran along the sidewalk, keeping the vehicle in view all the way, and he did not turn aside content until he saw by the departure of the hack empty that Clara and her escort were both in the hotel. Then he felt that she would be safe through the night, for he was possessed of the idea that the powerful Poubalov would follow her, and he feared that she would come to harm at his hands.
Mr. Pembroke had said little on the way from the depot to the hotel, but when they were in the quiet of Clara's room, he remarked:
"I suppose, my dear, that this coming to see Lizzie White is the last step you will take in this matter, isn't it?"
"I cannot tell yet, uncle," she replied; "I do not see why it should be, but, of course, I know so many things connected with the case that I have had no opportunity to tell you—things that I want to tell. I have needed somebody's advice, so much, and I could not intrude on you when you are so busy. I would not even now but that I think you ought to know as much as I do of what has happened."
An expression of pain crossed Mr. Pembroke's features, and he responded uneasily:
"Of course I want to help you, Clara, and I am more regretful than I can possibly express that my business has been in such shape."
"Are you seriously alarmed about it, uncle?"
"I was, but I think we shall pull through all right now. Let us talk of your affairs. I would like to suggest, with all sympathy, Clara, that the world in general, while it would admire your loyalty if it understood it, would yet do so in a pitying way that would be eminently distasteful to you if on your own part you understood the world. You see, you are regarded, no matter how unjustly, as deserted. You have a remarkably clear head, and you must see what I mean without putting me to the necessity of using disagreeable terms."
Clara flushed. She felt at that moment the full force of the calamity that had overtaken her. While she was actively at work building up theories, investigating clews, and examining those who might throw light on the matter, her grief had been measurably lightened. The thought that she was working, however doubtfully, toward an end, had enabled her to keep her emotions in control. Her uncle's words, which were evidently but the preface to an appeal to give up the struggle, reopened her wounds. It was as if he had torn away the foundations of that structure of the mind by which she had supported her heart. With difficulty she restrained her tears, and responded:
"It would be better, uncle, to use plain language. Then there would be no possible chance of a misunderstanding. I know how I am looked upon, as deserted by my lover, perhaps not for another woman, but at all events deserted by him. The world will say that it would comport better with womanly dignity to suffer in silence and solitude, and that it is unmaidenly to pursue the man."
"You use harsher language than I would have used had I spoken without consideration of your feelings," interposed her uncle, nervously. His niece's faculty for manifesting occasionally an imperious will, and of firmly maintaining her own way without regard to general opinion, had always been a bit of a terror to him. It was difficult for him to reconcile it with her affectionate disposition, her real consideration for the sufferings of others. He could not see that in this matter, without the faintest trace of egotism, she unconsciously measured her own suffering as infinitely greater than that of anybody else who was related to the case, and that she as unconsciously asserted her right to minister to that suffering in the way best calculated to alleviate it. Such characters as hers, under the pressure of great trouble, elevate self-interest to the very heights of nobility.
"I ask no consideration for my feelings," said Clara, almost coldly; "it seems to me that real consideration would credit me not only with dignified motives but with an intelligentbasis for my conduct. Uncle dear," and she suddenly crossed to him and put her arms about his neck, "let me take that back. I didn't mean it. I wouldn't for the world say an unkind word to you, but you see I feel my lonely position so keenly. I do what I think is right, but there is no one to uphold me."
Mr. Pembroke disengaged her arms, and again the expression of pain flitted across his face.
"I am doing as well as I can under the circumstances," he said huskily, "not only to show you my deep sympathy, but to guide you also. For your own interests, I must point out one possibility of your interview to-morrow. I shall place no obstacle in the way of your seeing Lizzie White, but I caution you, without knowing more about her than that she left a good home, that she may take a most unfriendly attitude. If there is anything unseemly in the meeting, I know that it will arise from her. No one can tell me that she lacks your native refinement; it must be so; a woman such as she is at heart may make a dreadful scene, whether she be interested in Ivan or not. To be concerned in such a scene, my dear child, would be a stigma from which even your goodness could not escape. Clara, there is nothing so scandalous as a quarrel between women when a man is in question."
"You wish me not to see her," said Clara, faintly.
Mr. Pembroke rose and paced up and down in extreme agitation for several minutes, while Clara sat with a dreadful weight upon her heart; for she not only loved her uncle, and wished earnestly to be guided by him if possible, but she also realized that his warning was a wise one. She had herself, with all her thought, scarcely considered how she should approach Lizzie White. So certain was she that Ivan had not eloped with her, that the interview itself had not appealed to her as more than a friendly discussion of facts and rumors as to which both would be in accord. But there was her theory that Lizzie might be an accomplice of Poubalov's. What attitude might she nottake, therefore, in order to carry out her part in the spy's design?
"I would say yes," declared Mr. Pembroke at length, "for that is my wish, but I do not, cannot say it. Go to this Lizzie White to-morrow, Clara. You will know how to speak with her better than I can tell you. I will myself go to the house with you, but you shall have your meeting all alone if you so desire. Of course you do."
"Then, uncle," said Clara, "let me tell you of the strange things that have occurred since I began to search for Ivan. I am sure you will feel, when you know all, that I am justified in my general course, however much I may have been mistaken in details."
Mr. Pembroke listened with the closest attention to the narrative. He was deeply moved by it, and when she had finished he said brokenly:
"There is great villainy at work here."
Then he leaned his head upon his hand, shielding his eyes from hers as she eagerly sought, not so much commendation of her persistence as suggestion as to what to do, or some theory upon which to explain the many mysteries that centered upon the disappearance of Ivan.
"I wonder," he mused at last, "if this could have been accident?"
"Accident, uncle!" exclaimed Clara, with just a touch of impatience; "don't you see that if it had been accident, we should have known of it? Think: in a busy street of a city no accident could have occurred by which Ivan could be incapacitated without some report of it coming to the authorities. Even if Ivan had not been taken to a hospital in the usual way, but had fallen into the hands of private persons, it is not possible that with all the stir that was made by his disappearance, police or reporters should not have found some trace of him."
"True, true," said Mr. Pembroke, vacantly; "I was thinking—you see it is hard to master all these strange details at once. I marvel at your courage."
"Courage! What else could I do?" asked Clara.
"Nothing with your character, nothing else. You have done right, Clara. I am very tired. Let us talk further of this in the morning."
Mr. Pembroke was not disposed to talk in the morning, however, and Clara was engrossed with a long letter from Louise that had been mailed on the train leaving Boston at midnight.
"Poubalov," she wrote, "was at the house when I returned from seeing you off. If the man were capable of expressing emotion, I should say that he was disappointed at not seeing you; but whatever he felt, he masked it under his grand assumption of dignity and courtesy. He had called, he said, to make his apologies for his extraordinary leave-taking of the evening before, and also, he added with ponderous humor, to recover his property. I got his hat and cane for him, and what do you think! he had brought a lovely basket of flowers for you, to plead his apologies, as he put it. There was no refusing such an offering, dear, and I am enjoying their fragrance and rich colors as I write. I hope this will reach you in time to be of use if Poubalov's call can be of use to you in New York. I thought it my duty to report it. I felt how immeasurably superior you are to me intellectually—I won't draw other comparisons lest they be odious to one of us—for I was utterly at a loss to draw him out. He didn't present his excuses to me, and how he managed to evade doing so I can't quite see now as I think it over, for he remained several minutes, talking with apparent candor. The man himself is as great a mystery as anything connected with your trouble. All I can say is that with one hat on his head, and his other hat and his cane in his hand, he eventually took his departure, promising to call again. There is one thing I managed not to do, though it was quite plain, even to me, that he was trying to find out. I didn't tell him where you were. Of course I had to say that you were not at home, and in answer to direct questions that I did not expect you before Saturday, but I didn't even hint at New York or Lizzie White, and he made no allusion to either.Did I do right? I hope so, for I have felt so often what a shame it is that I cannot be of more help to you. I believe in Ivan as you do, dear, and my heart and thoughts are with you."
They were at breakfast in the great dining-room of the hotel when Clara read this letter, and she furtively kissed the paper that conveyed such loyal sympathy to her. As she replaced the letter in the envelope, she was surprised to see the old man Dexter hobbling across the room. There was an ugly scowl upon his face as he bowed to her, and Mr. Pembroke rose from his chair with an expression little less than fierce.
"Another time, Dexter," he exclaimed under his breath, taking the old man by the arm and wheeling him around. As Mr. Pembroke walked him away, Clara heard Dexter croak:
"What is she here for, Mat Pembroke?"
When her uncle returned, his face was still dark and he said:
"Business necessities, Clara, that sometimes compel a man to tolerate disagreeable persons. I wouldn't have him near you, however."
"He is disagreeable, surely," responded Clara, "but I could have borne with him for your sake, uncle."
The subject seemed intensely disagreeable to Mr. Pembroke, and nothing further was said about it.
After breakfast Mr. Pembroke inquired the number of the house on Second Avenue from which Lizzie White had written, and they set out to find it.
"I shall have to leave you, Clara," said her uncle, "as soon as I am sure you have found the right place. I will call for you or I will put a carriage at your disposal."
"There is no telling how long I shall be," returned Clara, "and I don't see why you should need to inconvenience yourself. I have acquired more self-dependence during the last three or four days than I ever had before, and I think you can trust me to take care of myself. But I should think it would be well to have a carriage at command;and, uncle, all the expense I have been to thus far has come from my allowance. You will let me pay for a carriage, won't you?"
"If you prefer to," said Mr. Pembroke, "and we will engage one in the vicinity of the house as we can reach the place readily by a cross-town line of cars."
So they proceeded by street-car, and when they alighted in Second Avenue they were but a short distance from the desired number. Mr. Pembroke signaled to a passing hack and instructed the driver to wait near the house to which they were going. Then they continued their way on foot.
Just before they came to the steps leading up to the door their attention was attracted by the noise of a man running behind them, and then a voice panting, "Miss Hilman! Miss Hilman!"
They turned about quickly, and, to her unspeakable surprise, Clara saw that it was Litizki. His sallow face was flushed with the exertion of his long run, for he had chased them afoot from the hotel. He could hardly speak for lack of breath when he came up to them, but he did manage to gasp:
"I've seen him, Miss Hilman, this morning!"