The Mission of Poubalov

by Frederick R. Burton

  CHAPTER VII.

  A DANGEROUS MAN.

  For some minutes after Poubalov left the house Clara sat motionless,reviewing the strange discourse of the Russian, trying to persuadeherself one moment to trust him, and the next impulsively throwingaside the theories so finely spun from his innuendoes andcircumlocutions. She shuddered at the thought of Ivan in the hands ofsuch fanatics as she knew were included in the most rabid enemies ofRussian polity, and as promptly felt such a solution of the mystery tobe impossible. Equally impossible seemed the solution that premiseda fear on the part of Ivan so great that he dared not let even hisintended wife know of his whereabouts.

  Removed from the influence of Poubalov's magnetic personality and hissubtle arguments, Clara felt that it was to him rather than to theNihilists that she must look for implacable hostility to Ivan. Yet whyshould Ivan, resident in and prospective citizen of the United States,fear him, an "official agent of a friendly government"? Fear? That wasnot like the Ivan she knew and loved! Was it not again impossible thather lover should have been so stirred by fear of anybody or anything asto take flight and conceal his hiding-place from her?

  On the other hand, how could she know what influences had beensuddenly applied to Ivan to make him take a seemingly indefensible ifnot impossible course? And what was more impossible, in any of thesuggested solutions, than his very disappearance, which was a painfulfact, although hard to realize even after nearly twenty-four hours hadpassed since the time set for his wedding?

  The dining-room door was softly opened, and Mrs. White put in her head.

  "Has he gone?" she whispered.

  "Yes," replied Clara, starting up as if she had been aroused fromsleep. "Come in."

  Louise approached her cousin solicitously.

  "We have had such a fright!" she said taking Clara in her arms; "Ididn't know whether to be more alarmed when we could hear his deepvoice than after the sound of it had ceased altogether."

  "Why should you have feared?" asked Clara; "you couldn't suppose that Iwas in any danger in Mrs. White's house, could you?"

  "No," answered Louise, "but the air is full of excitement; and whileMr. Poubalov was talking, another Russian came in who is friendlyto Ivan. Mrs. White says he is a tailor, a very poor man whom Ivanbefriended, and an exile like himself. He recognized Poubalov's voice,and declared positively that his presence here explained Ivan's fate.He was terribly agitated and refused to stay, saying that he mustfollow Poubalov. We couldn't tell what to make of it."

  This little narration came as a new shock to Clara. She had toldPoubalov that among all of Ivan's friends there was but one Russian,and she had in mind, of course, Paul Palovna. She had never heard ofthis tailor, and although it might not follow that Ivan would countamong his friends a poor man whom he might have befriended, was it nota reasonable inference that this poor man was a Nihilist? and that ifthere were one brought to light, that there might be many others whoseidentity would ever remain unknown to her? Had she not heard how thegreat body of the nihilistic society was made up of the poor? and thisman had recognized Poubalov! That was significant, surely; but justwhat inference of value she should draw from it was anything but clear.

  While these thoughts and questions were chasing through her brain,Litizki and Paul Palovna arrived at the house, coming from differentdirections. Paul approached Clara with marked constraint.

  "Do not be afraid, my friend," she said, extending her hand; "I amquite strong and hopeful. I have read the papers, all of them, and theydo not disturb me. I cannot thank you enough for what you did for meyesterday."

  "I am glad to hear you speak so bravely," responded Paul; "you mustn'tfeel indebted to me, however, for Strobel is the best friend I everhad, and it would be strange indeed if I did not try to find him. Isuppose it is almost unkind to ask if there is any news?"

  "There is none exactly, and yet I have heard some things that you canadvise me about better than anybody else."

  "Miss Hilman," interposed Mrs. White, "this is Mr. Litizki, the manMiss Pembroke was telling you about."

  Clara, intent upon referring Poubalov's suggestions to Paul, had notseen the little tailor come in. Now she turned and confronted Litizkiwith mingled hope and alarm; hope that this man, whose positiveutterance had been reported, might give her a definite clew; alarmlest he be one of the most irreconcilable of revolutionists, a man whowould sacrifice friends and family for a cause that he imagined just.Her doubts increased as she saw the wild gleam in his small eyes, thatlit up his sallow face and made it glow with fierce intensity. Ivan hadbefriended him; must she distrust him, too?

  "I am glad to see you," she said with a quick resolution to win thisman, and she surprised the tailor and made him speechless for themoment by grasping his hand warmly. "You have come to tell me somethingabout Mr. Poubalov, or Mr. Strobel, or both?"

  Litizki, embarrassed and awed by this queenly young woman who lookedinto his eyes so searchingly and withal so graciously, cleared histhroat, shifted about on his feet, and a faint tinge of red actuallyfound its way to his sunken cheeks.

  "Yes," he answered after a moment, catching his breath with a gasp andswallowing as if he took oxygen into his system by way of his stomach;"yes, Miss Hilman, about both, if you please."

  He paused, excitement and embarrassment making it difficult to sayanything coherently.

  "Poubalov?" said Paul, whose brows had contracted ominously when heheard the name, and who took advantage of the pause to ask, "WhatPoubalov is that?"

  "Can there be more than one who would hound a poor Russian the worldover?" rasped Litizki, turning upon Paul, intense excitement blazingagain in his usually dull eyes; "it is none other than AlexanderPoubalov, spy, informer, traitor!"

  The little tailor trembled visibly as he hissed these words, and heturned to Clara as if to make certain that they should impress herdeeply.

  "What, in the name of all that is right, does Poubalov do here?" askedPaul.

  "Do?" cried Litizki; "does he ever do anything but spy upon the poor?Ask what has he done here, and I will tell you that he has captured ourStrobel, and has him bound in chains, waiting only a convenient andsafe opportunity to convey him from the country to the presence of thelittle father[A] and then, Siberia, or----" and the tailor drew hishand significantly across his throat.

  [A] Russian familiar name for the czar.

  Clara observed Paul, not the tailor, during this extravagant speech.Would Palovna, an intelligent man, free from excitement, condemn andridicule Litizki's assertions as wild and imaginary? No; he listenedgravely and gave no sign that he discredited the tailor in the least.Noticing Clara's inquiring look, Paul said:

  "We Russians, Miss Hilman, are inclined to credit almost anymonstrosity in the way of crime, treachery and violence to men likeAlexander Poubalov. To us he stands as guilty of anything with which heis charged until he incontestably proves himself innocent."

  Clara's heart sank heavily, but she knew that she could trust Paul.

  "May I tell you something?" she asked, and he followed her into thedining-room. There she hurriedly repeated the substance of Poubalov'sdiscourse, laying especial stress upon his warning relative todistrustful Nihilists.

  "It's a splendid argument," said Paul when she had finished; "I supposeyou were attracted by his very frankness in admitting that he is a spy?That was a characteristic move. Mind you, I never had trouble withPoubalov; I wouldn't know him if I saw him, but I know about him. He isa very prince of spies, a past-master in the art of deceit, and many,many shrewd men have been the victims of his seeming candor. You maybe sure he masks some villainy beneath his frankness, for he never wasknown to do a disinterested act."

  "He spoke as if he were here upon some mission," suggested Clara.

  "Certainly, but he wouldn't tell you what that mission was. That it hadto do with Strobel is certain. I don't want to alarm you unnecessarily,Miss Hilman, but Poubalov is a most dangerous man. It may be well forus that you have faced him, though we must necessari
ly have discoveredhis presence soon, and to see him is to suspect. We at least know whereto look. Litizki is an impressionable, excitable man, but he may beright, nevertheless. I am sure that you can trust him, whether or notthere is anything in Poubalov's nihilistic suggestions. And as to that,I don't believe there is--not with him about. Plenty of false notionsprevail about the Russian revolutionists, and it would be to Poubalov'sinterest to arouse dread of them in your mind. Anything to distractattention and suspicion from himself."

  They returned to the front room. Litizki had recovered from hisexcitement, and was more like his customary, depressed self, but thoughhe spoke quietly it was with bitter emphasis and strong conviction.

  "I believe," he said, "that Poubalov instigated if he did not take partin the abduction of Mr. Strobel. I am convinced that he has him now inhiding, and the question only is whether we are to inform the police ortake action ourselves."

  "The police," responded Paul, "would not proceed against Poubalov onthe strength of our suppositions. He would intrench himself in hisofficial position, and insist on compliance with all forms of law; andduring the delay, if, indeed, he has Strobel in his power, he wouldspirit him away."

  "So I think," said Litizki, "and as he won't dare to remove Strobeluntil the interest in his disappearance dies down, unless he wereopenly attacked in the manner you suggest, I intend, if Miss Hilmanagrees, to hunt for our friend in my own way. I shall do so to-night. Imust find him."

  He looked inquiringly at Clara.

  "I cannot say yes or no," she replied; "you are a friend of Mr.Strobel's and you will do what you think best. Only, let me know whatyou find."

  There was a gleam of pleasure in Litizki's eyes, followed by anexpression of sullen determination as he responded:

  "You shall hear from me to-morrow."

  "Lou," said Clara, "I think we had better go home now. I am feelingvery worn. If any of you hear the least word, I wish you would come tosee me."

  As she prepared to leave she took occasion to whisper to Paul:

  "I do not know that I do right in encouraging Litizki. My feeling isthat the more there are at work and the more various the methods, thegreater is the chance of success. May I leave it to you to preventLitizki, if possible, from any act that would be indiscreet, or worse?"

  "I will do what I can," said Paul; "but he is, after all, anirresponsible agent. I am inclined to think that good will come of hisinvestigation, whatever he does."

  It was the luncheon hour when the young ladies reached home, and Mr.Pembroke had arrived before them. His face expressed painful anxiety ashe greeted his niece.

  "My poor child," he said, "you have heard everything, I suppose?"

  "I have heard a great deal, uncle," replied Clara, "and appreciate yourmotives in withholding the paper from me that published the wickedrumor that Ivan had eloped, but you should have known me better. Do yousuppose, uncle dear, that that rumor disturbed me? I dismiss it morelightly than anything that has been said."

  "Poor child! poor child!" sighed Mr. Pembroke.

  "Why do you say that?" asked Clara, sitting down wearily. "Of course, Iam sorrowful; nobody can realize what I suffer; but I am confident thatIvan has done no wrong, and I cannot believe that we shall not findhim. I have returned to rest, not to give up the search."

  "Clara, my dear girl," said her uncle, tenderly, "you'd best give itup. You have a great sorrow to bear, but I know how brave you are.There is no occasion for further search."

  "No occasion! Uncle, what do you mean?"

  "The detective assigned from headquarters to make an investigation hasbeen to see me."

  "Yes, yes! what did he say?"

  "The worst possible, Clara. He is convinced that Strobel went to NewYork, if not with Lizzie White, then to join her there. It is the onlypossible explanation of his disappearance."

  "No! no! you know nothing about it, and the detective is a fool!" criedClara.

  Mr. Pembroke was immensely surprised at this violent outbreak, whenhe had expected tears, prostration, the deepest grief. It occurred tohim that perhaps his niece's mind had been unsettled by her trouble.She sat looking at him with blazing eyes, her face flushed, her footnervously patting the floor.

  "You are greatly excited, Clara," ventured her uncle, gently.

  "Tell me what the detective said!" retorted Clara, imperiously.

  "He has found that a closed carriage, such as we know Strobel tookat the corner of Park and Tremont Streets, halted at the Park SquareStation shortly after that time. The passenger was a young man whoanswered the description of Strobel. He paid the driver, went into thestation, bought a ticket for New York, and immediately took his placein the train. It is further known that Lizzie White took a train fromthe same station at about the same hour."

  "Is that all?" asked Clara, scornfully.

  "My dear girl, is it not enough?"

  "It is nothing, uncle, absolutely nothing. Has your detective seen thedriver of the closed carriage?"

  "I don't know; I suppose so."

  "I must see the detective then. No, I am not going now. After luncheon.I shall not risk failure by neglecting to care for myself. Uncle dear,"and she suddenly melted and put her arms around the old gentleman'sneck, "forgive me, please, if I am impatient and hasty with you. I knowIvan as you do not; I know this accusation is not true. The detectivehas been mistaken, and I shall show him so, and all the world besides."

  Mr. Pembroke sighed sadly.

  "Your loyalty, my dear," he said, "is deserving of a better subject anda better fate."