CHAPTER XIXTHE CONFERENCE
“Howmy head aches,” groaned Dick, “and every part of my body.” He touched himself tenderly as he changed his position on the lounge.
“It is not surprising,” said Long, dryly, “after the experience you went through last night, or rather early this morning. How I wish I had been with you, instead of sitting up and chatting small talk with a stuffy dowager. Just my beastly luck!”
“You are a nice one to begrudge me such an adventure, after all the fighting you have seen,” retorted Dick. “I wish you had been with me, though. Just thinking of that fearful needle hovering over me sends my heart into my mouth.” He shuddered. “I never was so glad to see anyone in my life as de Smirnoff.”
“It was a close shave. Have you had achance to ask the Russian how he came to be there?”
“No. I was in pretty bad shape, so de Smirnoff sent me back to town with one of his assistants. We came directly here. It was good of you to square me with my chief, Chester,” looking gratefully at Long. “How did you do it?”
“After hearing your story I went to see Colonel Byrd and told him you had stumbled into an affair of state over in Anacostia which couldn’t be divulged at present. The old boy was very decent, took my word for it, and said you were not to return to work until fit to be up and doing. Then I returned here, and Mrs. Brisbane gave me a capital midday dinner. She told me you did full justice to the share she sent up to you.”
“Bless her heart! She is the salt of the earth. As poor as she is, she is always doing something for her fellow man. Only last week she sent five dollars to an indigent Southern friend, who is frightfully hard up, thinking she would buy some much-needed underclothing.She received a note yesterday from the Southerner saying that she and her daughter were so obliged for her kind assistance. It had enabled them to buy a canvasback duck, which they had wanted for a long time!”
“De Smirnoff said he would drop in this afternoon,” continued Dick. “He ought to be here at any moment now,” glancing at his watch. “I asked Mrs. Brisbane to have him shown right up.”
“Then I’ll be going.” Long started to rise.
“No, no, Chester; sit down. I particularly want you to know each other.”
A quick rap interrupted him, and Long hastened to open the door.
“Here is Count de Smirnoff,” said Mrs. Brisbane’s cheery voice from the hall. As the Russian, with innate courtesy stood aside to allow her to enter first, Dick rose and went into the hall.
“How are you, Count?” he said, cordially, and their hands met in a strong, firm clasp. “Thanks so much, Mrs. Brisbane, for taking all this trouble. Won’t you both come in?”
But Mrs. Brisbane shook her head and disappeared down the corridor. Dick ushered the Russian into his room and closed the door.
“Count de Smirnoff—my friend, General Long,” he said, quickly.
“General Long is well known to me by reputation,” exclaimed de Smirnoff. “It is a great pleasure to meet so distinguished an American.”
“I am glad of this opportunity of thanking you for what you did for my friend, Tillinghast, last night, Count,” answered Long, shaking hands warmly; while Dick busied himself putting cigars and cigarettes on the table alongside a syphon of vichy and its accompanying bottle of Scotch.
“I am a poor hand at expressing my feelings, Count,” said the latter, gravely. “I owe you a debt I can never repay.”
“If I have won your friendship, I am repaid,” replied de Smirnoff, looking with admiration at Dick’s fine, determined face.
The Slav and the Anglo-Saxon have one trait in common—neither is demonstrative. Long,seeing that both men were much embarrassed, broke the awkward pause.
“Suppose, Count, you tell us how you came to arrive at the studio at so opportune a moment for Dick.”
“May I speak of confidential matters?” asked the Russian, glancing hastily about the room.
“Yes, indeed; there is no danger of our being overheard.”
“Some months ago our Secret Service Bureau, which is probably the finest in the world, received information that the Camorra were plotting against the Grand Duke’s life,” began de Smirnoff.
“I thought it was usually the Nihilists who do that,” interposed Long.
“The hands of the Nihilists, anarchists, the Mafia, and the Camorra are all raised against law and order, General; call them what you will. At present the Camorra desire to punish the Grand Duke because he was instrumental in having certain information against their leaders given to the Italian Government.
“Russia wishes to honor the memory of that great American, Lincoln, whose friend she was; therefore, it was decided that the Grand Duke should come to this country to attend the ceremonies of the dedication of his Memorial. The moment they heard this the Camorra leaders laid their plans to assassinate his Imperial Highness. I was put on the case, and my researches brought me here.
“When I reached Washington I communicated with the Chief of your Secret Service, and he immediately coöperated with me to safeguard the Grand Duke. My agents brought me word that several Italians, disguised as fruit venders, were spending much time in Anacostia with a certain Tamaso Velati. I had my agent point out the latter to me. Despite his disguise I recognized him as a man long suspected of having secret dealing with that society. My suspicions were aroused, and I placed a watch upon his movements.
“Last night, accompanied by four of your Secret Service men, I crossed over to Anacostia. We went to a tavern near the water-front andwaited for my spy to join me there. He was very late in keeping his appointment; I was on the point of starting out after Tamaso without waiting for him, when he appeared. He told me that he had traced Tamaso to a deserted building some miles away, and had waited about until he saw several men join the Italian. Thinking some deviltry was to pay, he hastened back to warn me. He is familiar with the country about Anacostia, and so took us by a short cut direct to the studio. The Italians were so absorbed in dealing with you, Monsieur Tillinghast, they never heard our cautious approach. I saw the light shining above the broken skylight, climbed on the roof by aid of the tree, and reached the opening just in time to shoot Tamaso as he bent above you.”
Dick drew a long breath. The agonizing scene was too fresh in his mind to be pleasant.
“Take a drink,” he said, by way of relieving his feelings, and he pushed the paraphernalia towards the Russian. De Smirnoff helped himself liberally, and the others followed his example.
“What have you done with the prisoners?” questioned Long.
“Tamaso is to be buried to-morrow. I surrendered the two Italians to your Chief of the Secret Service.”
“That accounts for three men; what became of the fourth?” asked Dick.
De Smirnoff colored with vexation. “He escaped,” he said, bitterly. Dick swore softly. “It was this way,” hastily explained the Russian: “As two of my men forced open the studio door one of the masked men, who stood near a window, threw up its sash. The detective covering him fired, but missed, and before he could take aim again the prisoner had pushed open the shutter, vaulted through the window and was gone. Luck was with him; every one of our shots went astray, and though I sent men in pursuit, he made good his escape. The other two men, cowed by the death of their leader, gave us no trouble.”
“Were they Italians?” inquired Dick.
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
Dick pondered a moment. Should he takede Smirnoff into his confidence? He looked earnestly at the Russian’s face; the broad brow and clever, handsome eyes, the slightly aquiline nose, and the firm, thin-lipped mouth—he looked what he was: a keen, brilliant officer of the Secret Service, brave to a fault, secretive perhaps, but withal a gentleman. Quickly Dick made up his mind to trust him.
“Because the fourth masked man was an American,” he answered, slowly. Long, as well as de Smirnoff, glanced at him in surprise. “It was Alfred Clark.”
“Well, by gad!” muttered Long, completely taken aback.
De Smirnoff looked inquiringly at Dick.
“I went to Anacostia to cover an assignment for my paper,” the latter hastened to explain. “While I was waiting for a Washington car, Clark passed me. I never trusted the fellow, and seeing him there on such a night and at that hour made me suspect that he was up to no good. So I followed him, with what results you already know.”
“Did you overhear much of their talk?”
“Enough to know that the men were plotting to assassinate the Grand Duke at the dedication of the Lincoln Memorial. Then they spoke of the Trevor murder.”
“What did they say about it?” asked Long, as Dick stopped to strike a match.
“If I remember correctly, Clark asked some question which I did not catch, and Tamaso replied: ‘The Trevor affair is in the hands of Giovanni Savelli. But are you not his direct agent?’ In trying to hear Clark’s reply I leaned too far forward and fell through the skylight.
“Now,” went on Dick earnestly, “this fits in with a Black Hand threat the Attorney General received on Friday afternoon. He is convinced the Camorra is responsible for his wife’s murder, chiefly because he knows she lived in fear of this Giovanni Savelli. He doesn’t know why she feared him. The Black Hand letter spoke of the Fabriani Merger, but that looks to me like a blind to throw him off the trail. Can you tell me, Count, the best way to get track of this Savelli?”
De Smirnoff leaned thoughtfully back in his chair and considered the question.
“It seems to me,” he said finally, “that the person you need to put your hands on is Monsieur Clark. You heard Tamaso say that he was Savelli’s direct agent in the affair.”
Dick sat up as straight as his sore body would permit, and swore fluently. “Of course, you are right. What a blundering fool I have been.”
“You were in no condition to reason out clews last night, Monsieur,” smiled de Smirnoff, consolingly.
“I am sure your theory is right,” argued Long. “Clark must be the guilty man. He knew the combination of the safe, and he also knew when certain inmates of the house would be absent.”
“It looks plausible,” agreed Dick. “Clark may have joined the Camorra while in Naples. But he must have been very deeply involved to commit murder for this Savelli.”
“Perhaps Monsieur Clark is using the Camorra to shield his own deed,” suggested deSmirnoff, slowly. “We, in the Secret Service keep in touch with every country in the world. I recollect now that this Alfred Clark, of whom you speak, was a resident in Naples for many years. He did not have a very savory reputation. Madame Trevor, or as she was then, Hélène de Beaupré, spent several winters in that city. Monsieur Clark, before he lost his money, was her devoted lover.”
Long bent forward and helped himself to Scotch and vichy.
“The plot thickens,” he said, laconically.
De Smirnoff nodded his head. “I must take steps to have this Monsieur Clark apprehended,” he said. “According to Count de Morny, Madame Trevor,” he raised his glass and examined its contents critically, “Madame Trevor was not—a good woman.”