The Mission of Poubalov

by Frederick R. Burton

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  AT ONE O'CLOCK A.M.

  Clara rose at this and faced her adversary, speaking with intensity noless than his:

  "It discredits your boasted intelligence," she said, "to presume somuch as to suggest a compromise to me. There can be no middle course.You do not care that I consider you an unspeakable villain, but youmust see that you are bound to do one thing or the other. Bring mylover to me, or--it would be idle boasting to say what the alternativewould be, but you know that I should never cease to pursue you. In myown way I should certainly circumvent you some day."

  "Yes, you would, I believe that; but, Miss Hilman, I decline to acceptyour first alternative," and he strode toward the door.

  "Stop!" she cried, running forward and getting in his way. "I told youthis would be your last opportunity to tell me the whole truth. Youhaven't told me anything yet that I want to know. I meant what I said.I will not have you come here again."

  "Nevertheless, we shall meet again, Miss Hilman."

  Poubalov now appeared imperturbable. He had confessed to a certainweakness and defeat; in the presence of excitement and insistence hewas easily the master of himself and the situation.

  Clara realized quickly that she had lost a point by yielding evenmomentarily to her emotions, and she strove to recover by assuming oncemore what Poubalov called her logical position.

  "You have said that you love me," she said as calmly as possible; "canyou ask me to believe that when you deliberately cause me the mostcruel grief? Is that consistent? With all your confessed craft, youhave a certain half-respectable consistency, for you confess to me atleast, how base you are. Will you, then, love and torture me, too?"

  The spy became deathly pale for an instant, and then answered:

  "We shall see. I have made my confession, and nothing now shall swerveme from accomplishing my purpose in my own way."

  "Is there such a thing as love of fair play in you?" asked Clara, heremotions now quelled and every instinct alive once more to fencing withher adversary.

  "I suppose not, except in an argument. Even then it might not seem tobe fair play to the party who found himself overmatched."

  "In your arguments with me you do not treat me with the ordinaryfairness of admitting me to a common ground with you. You withholdfacts without which I cannot argue as well as I might."

  "That, Miss Hilman, is because our contest is over a real issue, notover an abstraction."

  "I don't wonder that poor Litizki regarded you as a fiend!"

  "Therein you manifest yourself a woman. You long for invective, butyour refinement cannot teach you how to use epithets effectively."

  "This is the end of talking," said Clara, moving away; "I will notdetain you."

  Poubalov promptly bowed ceremoniously, bade her good-evening, and leftthe house.

  Paul slipped out after him, and tried his ability at playing "shadow."

  Clara was greatly disturbed by her interview with Poubalov, althoughit had added nothing to her knowledge of the circumstances with whichshe was blindly battling. She felt like retiring at once, for she wasexhausted, but there was a fresh call upon her strength within a fewminutes of the spy's departure. This time it was the man whom sheknew only by his first name, "Mike," who had been sent from the liverystable to take Ivan to the wedding. He was an uncouth, illiterate youngman, the most violent contrast imaginable to her recent visitor, butalso the most welcome, for there could be no manner of doubt as to hissimple honesty. Clara found it a relief to talk with him apart fromthe fact that his message was one that stirred her with new hope andstimulated her weary brain to new plans for Ivan's deliverance.

  "I was to say to ye," said Mike, "how I'd had me eyes an' more, too,last night, on the feller what did the trick to me wheel."

  "Oh, indeed!" exclaimed Clara eagerly; "but what do you mean? Didsomebody send you to tell me?"

  "Yes'm, me boss. I told me boss about it, an' he says you go to MissHilman with that, an' tell her all about it, an', says he, if it'sanything that can be useful to her you can do, do it, says he."

  "You must thank him for me," said Clara. "Now tell me, please, how andwhere you saw this man, and what he said. I won't interrupt you."

  "It's not me as would like to tell you what he said, miss. He wasn'tspeakin' to a lady, an' I'm thinkin' a lady wouldn't 'a' give him thecause to curse as I did."

  Mike grinned in enjoyment of some retrospect that Clara thought shecould imagine, and she smiled and waited patiently for him to tell hisstory in his own way.

  "It was last evenin', miss, at the corner of Dover an' Washingtonstreets. I was done with me work for the day, an' was standin' in asaloon by the bar, havin' a drop of beer by myself, when this loafercame in. He stood alongside o' me an' called for something, I don'tmind now what, for I was onto him, an' was thinkin' to meself would Ithump him, or would I have an argyment. I was lookin' straight at him,me hand on me beer glass, an' I suppose he noticed me for that, forpretty soon he turns around an' with a kind of a start, 'Hello!' sayshe.

  "Now I don't know what would 'a' happened if he hadn't spoke, for Iwould 'a' spoke to him, an' it might 'a' been all the same, but I wasthat mad all of a sudden, that I let the beer fly in his face. Withthat he jumped on me an' we had a fine fight, till the bartenders cameround an' chucked us both into the street. They was a policeman nearby, so we quit fightin', an' went to another bar where we had a drinkan' got friendly. He was already pretty full, miss, an' I was as soberas I am now, an' after three or four more drinks he got to talkin'confidential about that wheel."

  Clara was on the qui vive with anxiety to know just what had occurredbetween Mike and his acquaintance, while at the same time she feltrepugnance to basing any serious efforts upon the words of a drunkenman, as well as distrust as to the value of a clew from such a source;but she felt, too, that she could stop at nothing in the emergency thatconfronted her. So she asked, "What did he say, Michael?"

  "First off he was for denyin' that he had anythin' to do with it; butbymeby, seein' as I wasn't mad any more, an' enjoyin' the trick of ithimself, he told me he done it, an' I know what became of your man,'says he. 'An' what?' says I. With that, though, he shut up. He winkedhis eye, an' talked about somethin' else, an' I, not thinkin' or caringvery much at the time, didn't ask many questions. But this mornin' Iwas thinkin' it over, an' wonderin' what became of th' gentleman, an'thinkin' there must be something crooked, or they wouldn't 'a' took mewheel off, an' so I told me boss an' he told me to tell you."

  "It was very kind of you both," said Clara grateful, yet fearful thatthe point of most importance had been lost.

  "Was his name Billings?"

  "No'm, 'twas Patterson. Him an' me was together for some time after thefight, an' I walked along home with him."

  "You know where he lives then?"

  "Not exactly, miss, but I could go pretty near to it. You see, we wasgoin' along Washington Street toward Roxbury, and had come a long wayfrom Dover, when he turns down a side street, an' then another, an' Ikep' along for I hadn't anything better to do. He'd been silent for awhile, an' suddenly he stops an' says, tryin' hard to brace up. 'Youmustn't come any further,' says he. 'Why not?' says I, half minded togive him another lickin', only he was too full. ''Cause me boss sayshe will----' but never mind what he said his boss would do. I said Ididn't care, an' turned back. He went on, an' then I was minded to seewhere he went. Of course it was dark, an' I couldn't be certain, but Ithink I could go straight to that building."

  "Will you take me there?" asked Clara.

  "Now, miss?"

  Clara reflected. Other objections aside, it might be the worst possiblepolicy to move prematurely in the matter. It might be a false clew,she knew nothing about the building, and meantime Paul was followingPoubalov. Much as she longed for immediate action, it seemed wiser topostpone it until an investigation could be made.

  "Would your employer spare you to help me to-morrow forenoon?" sheasked.

  "I think he would, m
iss. He told me to do what you said, says he----"

  "Tell him, please, that I would like to have you go with me to-morrowas soon after nine o'clock as you can get here. I shall want you toshow me the building, and identify the man Patterson."

  "That I will, miss, if he's served you any trick."

  Poubalov walked very rapidly after he left Mr. Pembroke's. He couldhave saved himself many steps by taking a street-car, but he evidentlypreferred energetic action.

  Paul, following, took note, as Litizki had done on a similar occasion,of the streets through which he passed, and at last he saw him pauseand stand for several minutes at the curb, looking across the roadat what seemed to be an old-fashioned hotel. After a time he walkedslowly on, and soon thereafter was joined by a man with whom heconversed.

  Paul went near enough to see the man's face, but he did not recognizehim as anybody he had ever seen before. The conversation finished,Poubalov continued on his way, again walking rapidly, but this time,after coming to Washington Street, he boarded a downtown car. An opencar was directly behind it, and Paul found a place on its front seat,thus being enabled to keep the spy in view until he alighted at ScollaySquare.

  The guilty as well as the innocent must eat, and supper was the nextthing to engage Poubalov's attention. Paul improved the opportunity inthe same way, but he finished quickly, and waited a long time for thespy to come forth. He had been watching the restaurant entrance from adoorway across the street, and at last he ventured over to see whetherpossibly his quarry had escaped him. No; there sat Poubalov, at atable not far from the door, his head bent down as if he were thinkingprofoundly. His supper lay almost untouched before him. Just as Paullooked in, the head waiter touched the customer on the shoulder.

  Poubalov looked up with a start, and the head waiter seemed to beapologizing for his intrusion. It was clear that he had supposed thecustomer to be asleep, or ill. Poubalov paid his check and left theplace.

  He went to his lodging-house, and when Paul saw that he had lit thegas, he, too, went inside.

  He locked the door immediately and applied his eye to the nail hole.

  Poubalov sat with folded arms in an old-fashioned rocking chair,gazing abstractedly before him. On the little center table under thechandelier, Paul could just distinguish Clara's photograph.

  Paul remained with his eye at the hole until it seemed as if he couldstand no longer. In all that time Poubalov had not moved perceptibly.

  The watcher got down and looked at his time-piece. It was half-pastten. He then sat with his head against the door that he might hear theslightest sound from the front room.

  Just what possessed Paul to be so vigilant on this occasion, when thespy was doing absolutely nothing but cudgel his inscrutable mind,he could not have told in less vague terms than that he didn't wantPoubalov to get away from him. If he were to take a nocturnal, or earlymorning ramble, Paul purposed to be on hand to accompany him.

  Something like a half hour passed, and then Paul heard a long, heavysigh, and the creak of the rocker as Poubalov rose. Quickly mountinghis perch, Paul saw him pace back and forth, his hands clinched behindhim and his brow set in hard wrinkles. He seemed to be in for a nightof it, and as his movement promised to be productive of nothingmore than his quiescence, Paul again dismounted and sat down. Somonotonously did the march continue that the listener's head began todroop, lulled by the very sound he had set himself to hear, and had itnot been for the extreme anxiety with which he had undertaken his task,Paul would have fallen asleep. After twice catching himself nodding, heno longer dared to sit still. So he rose and stepped lightly about theroom to start the blood in his drowsy limbs.

  The sound of marching ceased. Poubalov had stopped under thechandelier, and when Paul had him in view he was in the act of turningClara's photograph face down upon the table. He took out the leatherpocketbook that had checked the dagger thrust by Litizki's hand, andexamined one of the documents in it attentively. It appeared to beof an official character, for there was a big seal upon it, and itwas bound with ribbon. Paul could see the holes made by the dagger inpassing through the several folds of the paper, or parchment.

  Poubalov laid the document upon the table, sat down, and, drawing freshpaper before him, began to write. His pen traversed the sheets withgreat rapidity, and as Paul could hear the scratching plainly, heagain sought relief from his uncomfortable perch.

  It was nearly one o'clock when the sound of writing ceased.

  Paul saw that Poubalov had removed his coat. What he had written wasfolded and placed in an envelope upon the table.

  The watcher supposed that the spy was about to retire, but there wasso evidently something further upon Poubalov's mind, something that heseemed to debate whether it were best done now, or in the morning, thatPaul kept his place and watched; and as he strained his eye to take inevery movement, instinctively shading his face although he stood in thedarkness, he saw Poubalov draw a revolver from his hip-pocket.

  Placing the hammer at half-cock, he tilted the barrel forward andpushed the cartridge cylinder about with his thumb and finger.

  Every chamber seemed to be as he wished it, and he readjusted thebarrel.

  Then he walked to the bureau upon which swung a half-length mirror.His back was thus partially turned to the watcher, and Paul could seedimly the reflection of his face looking somberly toward him. He heldthe revolver in his right hand, the finger on the trigger, the barrelpointed toward the floor.

  Paul was in an agony of doubt and apprehension. What should he do?

  How long would Poubalov stand there and allow him to reflect?

  Would the spy, then, "get away," and by this manner of exit?

  With his left hand Poubalov took his watch from his pocket. He glancedat the face of the busy and faithful little machine, and it was onlytoo evident that he had set the limit of his life at some point thatthe moving hands would presently reach.