CHAPTER VIII.
IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY.
Nothing would deter Clara from a trip to police headquarters afterluncheon, and, as in the forenoon, her Cousin Louise accompanied her.As they entered the building in Pemberton Square, they met the infirmold man, Dexter, he who had arrived late at the church, he whom Clarahad interrupted in conversation with Mr. Pembroke. He bowed to theyoung ladies with an attempt at graciousness, and reached for theshapeless, soft cap that covered his head, but he only succeeded inpulling the visor awry, and he passed them, mumbling about the weather.
"I am afraid," said Clara, "that my trouble is making me harsh towardeverybody, but that old man seems to me the most disagreeable andrepulsive being I ever saw. Who is he?"
"I only know that his name is Dexter," replied Louise; "he has somebusiness with papa, I believe."
Clara inquired for the detective who had been assigned to the Strobelcase, and after such delays as are naturally incident to strangersmaking their first call at the offices of the department, she wasconfronted by Mr. William Bowker, a commonplace-looking individual, whosaid:
"Well, ladies, what can I do for you?"
"I am Miss Hilman," replied Clara.
"Ah!" and Bowker raised his brows regretfully, "I informed your unclethis forenoon, Miss Hilman, of what I have done and found in thematter."
"He told me about it, but I couldn't be satisfied with a report atsecond hand. Won't you tell me just what you told him?"
"It will be very unpleasant for you, Miss Hilman, and if Mr. Pembrokehas told you the result of my investigation, that is really all thereis to be said."
"I won't trouble you to repeat that a gentleman answering thedescription of Mr. Strobel alighted from a closed carriage at thePark Square Station, shortly after the accident on Park Street andbought a ticket for New York, or that Miss White took the same train.I am willing to take it for granted that you have traced Miss White'smovements correctly. I want to know what makes you so certain that thegentleman who took the train was Mr. Strobel?"
Detective Bowker stared at the young lady a moment; it was his delicateway of expressing surprise.
"The description of the man and the time tallied with Strobel and hisaccident," he answered, "to say nothing of the reasons for his runningaway."
"Is that all, Mr. Bowker?"
"No, it ain't; that was what we found at first. Don't it lookreasonable----" and he proceeded to theorize on the matter until Clarachecked him.
"I could have heard all that from half the people in Boston," she said,"if I had paid any attention to the rumor. I supposed professionaldetectives would base their reports on something better thanconjecture."
Bowker shrugged his shoulders.
"What would you say," he asked with a little temper, "if anacquaintance of Strobel's was to tell you that he saw the gentleman buyhis ticket and go to the train?"
"Have you such evidence as that? If so, who is it?"
"I can't answer the question, Miss Hilman. I have no right to makepublic the workings of the department. I expect to get further evidencethis afternoon to prove that Strobel eloped. It's by no wish of mine,you understand, that I tell you these disagreeable things."
"You needn't apologize, Mr. Bowker. I came for information. Iunderstand, then, that you do not regard your investigation asfinished."
"Well, not exactly. Of course we want to clinch it."
"Have you seen the driver of the closed carriage?"
"No. We have no means of identifying him except recognition by the manwho drove the coupe. If a man should walk in here and say that he drovethe closed carriage, we'd examine him, of course, but we've been unableyet to find that man. The thing being in the papers, it may happen--infact, it's quite likely--that the missing driver will turn up to-day.Cabmen are usually anxious to please the department. I suppose theevidence of the cabman would be satisfactory, wouldn't it?"
"Quite, if I was satisfied that it was the man, and that he told thetruth."
"I guess you're hard to satisfy, Miss Hilman."
"Mr. Bowker," and Clara beamed on him with a smile so sweet and radiantthat he started with astonishment, "I think you are working hard and asfaithfully as you know how to prove a theory which you formed early inyour investigations, even before you had Lizzie White's flight to baseit on. I shouldn't think you'd do that, you know. Honestly, wouldn'tyou rather find out the truth, even if it did upset your first theory?"
Bowker stared in undisguised discomfort.
"If you've got any facts," he said, "you'd ought to let us have them.Of course we want to find out the truth. What is it you know, or thinkof?"
"No, thank you, Mr. Bowker," responded Clara, rising, and stillbewildering him with her lovely smiles; "you work along in your wayand I'll work in mine. When I learn that you've found anything worthconsidering, I may take you into my confidence; I might even co-operatewith you. Good-afternoon."
No one was more amazed at Clara's coolness than her Cousin Louise.
"I don't see how you can do it, Clara," she said when they were againin Pemberton Square.
"Do you realize," returned Clara, "what might happen if I didn't dosomething of this kind? Somebody must stir everybody else up, or elsethe public will not only come to believe that Ivan was false, but weshall never find him. I may be making mistakes, but I don't believethat detective will be content to stop where he is. He'll look further,and the further he looks the more certainly will he find that he hasbeen working at a wrong theory. Let's go somewhere and find a businessdirectory."
They went to the parlor of a neighboring hotel, where for an hour Clarabusied herself making a list of all the livery and hack stables in thecity. Then she hired a cab, and for hours the young ladies went fromone to another stable, Clara always with the same inquiry, seeking forsome trace of him whom for convenience she came to call the "seconddriver."
There is no need to go into the details of her tedious search. It wasnot concluded when evening came, and she had to desist from sheerfatigue. She had found no clew that promised the discovery of the onewitness who could certainly be of use to her.
From Mrs. White's Litizki went to his shop and toiled patiently andmethodically for two or three hours. He hardly opened his lips duringthe whole time, but his brain was busy with projects. That Poubalovwas responsible for the fate of Ivan Strobel did not admit of a shadowof doubt; that he had concealed the young man in his lodgings was notso certain, but Litizki deemed it altogether probable. The spy wouldhave plenty of money, he could have put up at a hotel; why had he notdone so? Because, according to Litizki's reasoning, he had uses for alodging to which the public conveniences of a hotel could not safelybe bent. Distrustful of all men, the spy would keep his prisoner underhis own charge, and in a lodging-house it would not be difficultto purchase the discreet silence of a not too scrupulous landladyconcerning a mysterious co-tenant.
The more he thought about it the more firmly the idea took possessionof the tailor that Strobel was confined in the Bulfinch Placelodging-house which Poubalov had entered by means of a latch-key.If any one had suggested to him the spy's arguments to the effectthat as the agent of a friendly government he could not venture, ifhe would, to violate American law, Litizki would have laughed, andthat would have been very significant of his immeasurable contemptfor the argument, for it was not in the memory of his associates thatthe tailor had ever smiled. His nearest approach to it, in fact, waswhen he manifested pleasure at the idea of being countenanced in aninvestigation of Poubalov's doings in his own way. Respect Americanlaw, indeed! Then would Poubalov be other than he was, and the leopardmight be expected to change his spots.
Litizki hated Poubalov with all the concentrated venom of his smallnature, a nature that had known little of good in the world savein Ivan Strobel's kindness, that had felt the blows of tyranny andthe stabs of treachery at the hands of this same spy. A desire forvengeance had smoldered long in his heart, and he had never expectedthat any breeze of fortune would
fan it into living flame; and now,suddenly, it had burst forth a raging fire, and the possibility ofopportunity rose before his dull eyes as the one glad hope of hiswretched life. Poubalov in America! Poubalov at his treacherous workagainst the one man who had inspired Litizki with confidence andstirred his affections! and he, Litizki, knew Poubalov's secret, knewwhere he could lay hands upon him! Fate must have placed him there inorder that Litizki's vengeance might be the more complete.
The tailor laid down his tools and bent his head upon his hands.Poubalov must be checkmated, Strobel rescued; and if in accomplishingthis end, the spy should be--Well, what then?
Litizki put on a long coat with a high collar that he turned up abouthis ears, and a soft hat that he pulled down over his eyes. At the footof the stairs that led to his shop he met Paul Palovna.
"Hello, Litizki," exclaimed the young man, "where in the world are yougoing rigged out as if it were winter?"
The grotesque little figure looked sourly up at the inquirer andreplied:
"I am going to begin my work."
"See here, Litizki," said Paul, seriously, "you mustn't do anythingrash. I was just coming to see you to give you warning. Poubalov isdangerous and very clever. Don't get yourself into trouble, and don'tspoil all chance of trapping him, if he has really got hold of Strobel,by any premature act."
The little tailor reflected.
"For myself," he answered presently, "nothing matters. I will becareful, Paul Palovna, as careful as man can be not to compromiseany chances. I shall act for myself alone. Nobody sends me, nobodyinfluences me. If I succeed, we shall all rejoice; if I fail"--heshrugged his shoulders significantly--"I will be the only loser. Ipromise you not to be rash, Paul Palovna, for the sake of noble IvanStrobel and his beautiful lady."
Then he moved away, and Palovna knew hardly whether to smile at hisludicrous make-up, or shudder at the purpose that unquestionably lurkedin his thoughts.
"I hope good may come of it!" sighed Palovna.
Litizki went to Bulfinch Place, and shrinking as far as possible intohis long coat, walked along on the sidewalk opposite Poubalov's house.Yes, there the villain was, calmly reading a newspaper! One flight fromthe ground, front room. At the side of the room was a smaller one overthe hall. Litizki knew the arrangement of the houses in that vicinity,and the blinds of that room were closed. Perhaps, though, the prisonchamber would be in some more remote part of the house. Time and thenight would tell.
The tailor went to the corner of Bowdoin Street, and stood there,unmindful of the curious glances of passers until he saw Poubalov leavethe lodging-house. It was just possible that the spy had his prisonerconcealed elsewhere, and was now going to him. Litizki followed. Itoccurred to him that now might be the time to get into the houseon some pretext and make a search, but he dismissed the thought asruinous. If Strobel were there, the landlady would be paid to bewatchful during Poubalov's absence. No; the night was the time whennobody would be watching, and when every corner in the house could besearched from cellar to garret.
Poubalov went to State Street, and entered the bank where Strobel hadbeen employed. He brushed past Litizki when he emerged, but apparentlydid not see him. The tailor followed him from one place to another,waited under a hotel window for an hour while the spy was dining,saw him into a theatre and eventually back to his lodgings, where hearrived at about eleven o'clock. It was evident that he went directlyto bed, for the light in his room was extinguished very shortly afterhe went in.
Litizki then went to a cheap restaurant, where he appeased his appetiteand drank several cups of bad tea. It was after midnight before he leftthe place, and his one wish was that he had a dark lantern. To make upfor his lack, he was plentifully supplied with matches.
A printer, whom Litizki knew by sight, lived in the house adjoining theone where Poubalov lodged. The tailor knew that he ordinarily arrivedhome at one o'clock. He was on time this night, and as he turned intothe tiny yard before the building, Litizki stepped down from thedoorway.
"I'm glad you've come," he said, "I left my key in the room and I can'trouse anybody by ringing."
"No," responded the printer with a laugh, "they don't get up foranybody. How long you been living here?"
"Only a few days."
The door was opened, and both men went upstairs. The printer, with acheery "good-night," entered a room on the second landing. Litizkicontinued to the top floor, and thence through a skylight to the roof.Fortune was, indeed, favoring him. He had supposed the skylight wouldbe raised for the sake of ventilation. There had been doubt whetherthe steps leading to it would be in place.
He cared little whether the skylight on the adjoining roof would befound open and the steps in place, or not; he would get in in anyevent. Both were in just the condition most favorable to his project,and a moment later Litizki had struck a match and was peering about inan empty room on the top floor of Poubalov's lodging house.
The little tailor exulted more and more as he crept down the stairsafter examining every room. Not a sleeper had been awakened, not a doorhad been found locked. He would search the whole house before tryingthe door to the hall room adjoining Poubalov's. That would be foundlocked. He had no doubt he should pick the lock, for he had skeletonkeys in his pocket, and if not--a vigorous shove and he would burst itopen. What cared he for details at the very end of his search?
He had come to the floor above the spy's room. Here, as before, everydoor was unlocked, most of the rooms empty. He had just extinguished amatch preparatory to descending further, when from somewhere out of thedarkness heavy hands were laid upon him and he was borne to the floor.Another instant and a hand was pressed upon his mouth and there was adazzling flash of light from a dark lantern held over him.
Litizki saw the cruel eyes of Alexander Poubalov glaring down, and thenthe slide of the lantern was closed again.
The Mission of Poubalov Page 8