CHAPTER XX.
THE LITTLE FRONT ROOM.
When Poubalov had fallen to the floor of the car and Clara was bendingover him, his dark eyes shone with savage luster as he said:
"I am not hurt, Miss Hilman, but I would I were, if I could therebygain your sympathy."
"Not hurt!" she repeated aghast at the spectacle he presented, andunable to credit his words. He lay flat on his back, and protrudingupward from his closely-buttoned coat was the dagger. It looked as ifhalf the length of the blade had been buried in his body.
The passengers gathered about, horrified and excited, while the manwhom they supposed to be dying, sat up in the aisle and deliberatelywrenched the blade from his bosom.
"See," he said holding it aloft where nearly everybody could observeit, "the point is badly blunted, and I shall have to grind it down, butthere is no blood upon it!"
Then he laughed quietly, sprang to his feet, and with strong armshelped Clara back to her chair. She was horribly shocked by theepisode, for Litizki's melancholy meditations rushed back upon her, andshe seemed again to hear him promising yet to do something for her thatshould be of great service. And this was it!
She did not then realize that it was a remark of her own that hadinspired his mad brain to action, and it was well that she did not,for it was enough that she should suffer as she did, accusing herselfof failing to foresee what would happen if the little tailor werepermitted to go on tormenting himself with the mystery, and indulginghis immeasurable hatred of Poubalov. How could she have been soselfish, she thought, as to encourage the unfortunate man to devote hislife to her purpose, and to arouse such devotion that he was carried byit to the very commission of murder? She shuddered as the word occurredto her, and she looked appealingly at Poubalov, as if to seek fromhim some further assurance that the miracle had occurred to avert thetragedy that Litizki had planned.
"It is absolutely nothing, Miss Hilman," said the spy, interpreting herglance correctly, "save a hole in my coat and the probable perforationof some interesting documents. I will show you."
Having just placed her in the chair, he was bending over her as hespoke, and now he stood erect, and while all the passengers looked onamazed, he unbuttoned his coat and drew from the breast pocket a largeleather wallet filled with papers.
"I wear no armor," he said, smiling as he laid the dagger on the windowledge, that he might use both hands in showing how he had escaped.One side of the wallet had the mark of the knife, a gash clean cut inthe leather, evidence sufficient that the blow had fallen with allthe force that Litizki could command. Opening the wallet, he took outseveral folded papers, showing without revealing their nature, that theblade had pierced them. At last he drew forth a little copper plate,and held it up to the light.
"Yes," he said, "that finished it. The wallet itself was almostsufficient to save me, but without this plate I think I should havebeen scratched a bit. I had this plate engraved a short time ago in NewYork, as I wished to present my card with my name printed in charactersthat would be intelligible to English-speaking people. The engravergave me the plate, of course, when he delivered my cards, and at themoment I put it here for convenience. I had forgotten all about it. Yousee," handing the plate to a gentleman who stood beside him, "my friendmanaged to erase my name but he left me my life."
"You are to be congratulated," exclaimed the gentleman, returning theplate after a vain attempt to decipher the name. The point of thedagger had completely obliterated several letters and scratched most ofthe rest.
Clara sat during this with her handkerchief to her lips, trying torecover her mental poise, and concentrating her mind on the fact that atragedy had not taken place. The train rolled slowly into the station,and the passengers were speedily occupied with escaping from theirconfinement. One officious gentleman remarked to Poubalov:
"You will, of course, report this matter to the police? I shall bepleased to give you my card if you require a witness, although I was inthe wash-room at the time you were struck down."
"Thank you," responded Poubalov, with a grave smile, "I shall notrequire your card, as I have no complaint to make."
"What!" blustered the passenger, "you won't have your assailantarrested? Such a man ought not to be at large."
"The railroad officials may take that view of it if they choose," saidthe spy, calmly; "I have no desire in the matter."
Amazed and indignant, the officious passenger hunted up an official ofthe company, and having insisted on a thorough investigation of theattempted murder, went home complacent in that he had done his duty asa citizen. The train-men, of course, reported what they knew of theoccurrence to their chief, but the assailant had leaped from the train,the name of the victim was not known, and the result was a lame accountof the episode at the nearest police station late in the evening. Thepolice had nothing to work upon, and, therefore, said nothing of itto the reporters when they made their regular calls at the station;and when at last, very late at night, a reporter to whose ears anexaggerated rumor had come, telephoned for corroboration, the sergeantin charge could only say that something of the kind had occurred; andthus it came about that one enterprising newspaper had an excusablyimperfect report of the occurrence.
Clara would have left the train without Poubalov's assistance, buthe took her arm in his, caught up her handbag, and helped her to theplatform, in spite of herself. Still suffering from the shock, sherealized by the close contact with him how masterful was his influence,and how by force of character alone he must accomplish quite as much inhis unattractive employment as by intrigue and deceit.
"I thank you," she said faintly when she stood upon the platform; "Ican go alone quite well now. I cannot tell you how glad I am that youescaped. I should have felt guilty if anything serious had happened,and I feel to blame for what has occurred."
"You mustn't borrow trouble that way, Miss Hilman," he responded,gallantly; "the sanest man might well leap to folly if he imagined thatyou wished him to."
"It pains me to have you make light of it," said Clara; "I assure youthat I have quite recovered."
"You will permit me to hand you to a carriage, Miss Hilman? I will notintrude further, believe me."
She nodded assent, and they were about to proceed along the platformwhen Poubalov stepped squarely in front of her.
"Pardon me," he said earnestly, "if I do not go as far even as thecarriage. I have not yet had opportunity to say what I called to tellyou about Wednesday evening, or to explain why I left your house soabruptly and informally. I shall call to-morrow to complete my errand.I do not ask your permission to call, as what I would say is important,and you will want to hear it. This way, cabby! take care of this lady.Till to-morrow, Miss Hilman."
He had moved about slightly as he spoke and now darted away withquick strides. By standing in front of her and moving as he did, hehad completely concealed from her view the driver, Billings, who waswalking rapidly down the platform and who passed close by them.
Mystified as usual by his strange conduct, but relieved that he wasgone, Clara followed the cabman and in due time arrived safely athome. She went to bed at once, telling her cousin enough of what hadoccurred to show that she had endured a strain. Louise sat in her roomuntil late at night, but Clara slept peacefully to all appearances, andseemed to require no watching. In the early morning Litizki's letterarrived, and a servant took it to Clara's room. She read it beforedressing.
While it recalled the shudders with which she had viewed thepossibilities of Litizki's crime, and made her conscientious soulmore sensible of what she deemed her responsibility in the matter, itnevertheless awakened hope afresh in her heart. Litizki was so positivein his belief that Ivan was confined in Poubalov's lodging-house, thatshe was well nigh convinced by his assurances, crazy though his brainundoubtedly was; but there were Poubalov's own utterances on that nightwhen the little tailor had started to open the door to the hall room.They were not direct, but was ever Poubalov direct save when telling astraightforward
lie? He had prevented Litizki from opening that door,and were not his ambiguous words susceptible of the interpretation thatIvan was, as Litizki had said, confined there, bound and gagged?
She read and reread again the parts of the letter that had reference tothis clew, and decided that it would be wrong not to act upon Litizki'ssuggestions. She was resolved that nothing she would do should becalculated to precipitate another tragedy, but rescue her lover shemust, and she set herself to thinking how it could be done.
When she was dressed, she went to her cousin's room, and Louise wassurprised to be awakened by Clara, who looked none the worse for herextraordinary adventures.
"I'm not going to ask you how you are this morning," said Louise, withmock resentment; "I couldn't look as well as you do if I employed atrained nurse the year round."
"Perhaps I look better than I feel, dear," responded Clara; "but Iconfess that, in spite of everything, I do feel hopeful. Here is a sadletter from poor Litizki. Read it, and tell me if, underneath all histerrible madness, there is not some ground for hope."
Louise read with awe-struck attention, and laid the long letter downwith a shudder of horror.
"How dreadful!" she exclaimed under her breath, "and yet with whatperfect clearness he expresses himself! No rambling, few repetitions,everything directly to the point as he sees it."
"That is the way it impresses me. Litizki was not all mad. Would it notbe madness in us to ignore his information?"
"Indeed it would! what will you do?"
"Do you know Paul Palovna's address?"
"No, but Ralph would."
"I shall write a note to Paul. Get right up, please, and write toRalph, telling him to see that my note reaches Paul as soon aspossible. Of course, we cannot follow poor Litizki's plan, for hebelieved that he had killed Poubalov. How he must suffer! But we caninvestigate his theory, at all events, in our own way."
The letters they wrote were taken to Ralph Harmon by a servant, andshortly before noon Paul appeared at Mr. Pembroke's house, in answer toClara's summons. Her uncle had returned to Boston as he had planned,but he had sent word that he should not be able to come home until sometime in the evening. So, again, Clara was thrown upon her own resourcesfor guidance and action.
Clara went over the whole situation with Paul, who expressed his regretthat she had not sooner called upon him for assistance.
"Not," he said, "that I could have done anything better than you have,but that I should have liked to help."
"Events have happened too rapidly," she replied, "to make it possiblefor me to think of more than each episode as it occurred. I don't wantyou to take a step in this if it is to be at the cost of the slightestdanger to yourself."
"There is no danger," said Paul; "I do not underrate Poubalov'scapacity for evil, but he has no reason to work against me. I doubtif he would recognize me, though he probably knows my name as that ofStrobel's most intimate friend. As I understand it, you wish me to makea thorough investigation of Poubalov's house."
"Yes, it should have been done days ago, and I would have seen to ithad Litizki told me of his experience there."
"It will be very simple. I will go there to look for rooms. Even ifhe should be there, and see me, he cannot well prevent me from goingthrough the house. I will report to you before the day is over."
Clara had not shown Litizki's letter to Paul, but she told him enoughabout it and its contents to convince him that the tailor had been onthe right track. He was in feverish haste to get downtown and effect asolution of the mystery at once, and he more than half believed that heshould succeed.
His hope that Poubalov would not be in at the time of his call wasrealized, of course, for the spy was at that time on his way up theharbor after bidding the Cephalonia bon voyage. A scrubwoman answeredhis ring at 32 Bulfinch Place and left him standing in the hall whileshe went for the landlady.
Paul had observed that the window just over the door was concealed bythe blinds, whereas every other window on the front of the house wasfully exposed.
"I have several rooms vacant," said the landlady as she came jingling abunch of keys from a back room. She was a stout, good-humored-lookingwoman whose pleasant face, a little hardened by business dealings,perhaps, did not suggest the duplicity that would be essential to analliance with such a man as Poubalov. "What kind of a room do you want?"
Paul thought he would look at them all.
"I don't mind the price so much," he said, "as the way the room strikesme."
"Well," responded the landlady with a sigh, "if you want a five-dollarroom, I'd like to save climbing stairs to show those at two dollars.Come on."
"There's a room for five," she said, opening the door of the back roomup one flight. It was the room adjoining that occupied by Poubalov."The others on this floor are occupied."
"This little front room, too?" asked Paul, his hand on the door. Hehad quietly tried it and found it locked before she answered in theaffirmative and started up the next flight.
They looked at every room in the house above the second floor. Some ofthem were occupied, but the landlady opened the doors and looked in.Paul noticed that the only locked door was the one to the front hallroom next to Poubalov's.
"Well," said the landlady at last as they stood on the landing besidePoubalov's door, "do you see anything you like?"
"Yes," answered Paul, "I'll take this back room," and he took afive-dollar bill from his pocket and gave it to her. He said he wouldoccupy the room at once, and the landlady gave him a house key.
While this transaction was in progress, a young woman came up thestairs, humming a tune with that nonchalance that indicates familiaritywith one's surroundings, opened the door of the little front room witha key she took from her purse, and went in, leaving the door open untilshe had thrown back the blinds.
"She's been with me a year and a half," remarked the landlady,complacently, "and I don't believe you could hire her to occupy anyother room."
The Mission of Poubalov Page 20