The Czar's Spy

by William Queux

  "Then these fellows might be another pair of London burglars!" I exclaimed eagerly, as the startling theory occurred to me.

  "They might be. But, of course, we can't form any opinion until we hear what Scotland Yard has to say. I'll write a full report in the morning if you will give me minute descriptions of the men, as well as of the captain, Mackintosh."

  Next morning I handed over my charge of the Consulate to Frank, and then assisted him to go through the papers in the safe which had been examined by the thieves.

  "The ruffians seem to have thoroughly overhauled everything," remarked the Consul in dismay when he saw the disordered state of his papers. "They seem to have read every one deliberately."

  "Which shows that had they been in search for the cipher-books they would only have looked for them alone," I remarked decisively. "What on earth could interest them in all these dry, unimportant shipping reports and things?"

  "Goodness only knows," replied my friend. Then, calling Cavendish, a tall, fair young man, who had now recovered from his touch of fever and had returned to the Consulate, he commenced to check the number of those adhesive stamps, rather larger than ordinary postage-stamps, used in the Consular service for the registration of fees received by the Foreign Office. The values were from sixpence to one pound, and they were kept in a portfolio.

  After a long calculation the Consul suddenly raised his face to me and said-

  "Then six ten shilling ones have been taken!"

  "Why? There must be some motive!"

  "They are of no use to anyone except to Consuls," he explained. "Perhaps they were wanted to affix to some false certificate. See," he added, opening the portfolio, "there were six stamps here, and all are gone."

  "But they would have to be obliterated by the Consular stamp," remarked Cavendish.

  "Ah! of course," exclaimed Hutcheson, taking out the brass seal from the safe and examining it minutely. "By Jove!" he cried a second later, "it's been used! They've stamped some document with it. Look! They've used the wrong ink-pad! Can't you see that there's violet upon it, while we always use the black pad!"

  I took it in my hand, and there, sure enough, I saw traces of violet ink upon it-the ink of the pad for the date-stamp upon the Consul's table.

  "Then some document has been stamped and sealed!" I gasped.

  "Yes. And my signature forged to it, no doubt. They've fabricated some certificate or other which, bearing the stamp, seal and signature of the Consulate, will be accepted as a legal document. I wonder what it is?"

  "Ah!" I said. "I wonder!" And the three of us looked at each other in sheer bewilderment.

  "The reason the papers are all upset is because they were evidently in search of some blank form or other, which they hoped to find," remarked my friend. "As you say, the whole affair was most carefully and ingeniously planned."

  We crossed the great sunlit piazza together and entered the Questura, that sun-blanched old palace with its long cool loggia where the sentry paces day and night. The Chief of Police, whom we saw, had no further information. The mysterious yacht had not put in at any Italian port. From him, however, we learned the name of the detective who had seen the two strangers leave Leghorn by the early morning train, and an hour afterwards the police-officer, a black-eyed man short of stature, but of an intelligent type, sat in the Consulate replying to our questions.

  "As far as I could make out, signore," he said, "the man was an Englishman, wearing a soft black felt hat and a suit of dark blue serge. He had hair just turning gray, a small dark mustache and rather high cheek-bones. In his hand he carried a small bag of tan leather of that square English shape. He seemed in no hurry, for he was calmly smoking a cigarette as he went across to the ticket office."

  "And his companion?" asked the Consul.

  "She was in black. Rather tall and slim. Her hair was fair, I noticed, but she wore a black veil which concealed her features."

  "Was she young or old?"

  "Young-from her figure," replied the police agent. "As she passed me her eyes met mine, and I thought I saw a strange fixed kind of glare in them-the look of a woman filled with some unspeakable horror."

  Next day the town of Leghorn awoke to find itself gay with bunting, the Italian and English flags flying side by side everywhere, and the Consular standard flapping over the Consulate in the piazza. In the night the British Mediterranean fleet, cruising down from Malta, had come into the roadstead, and at the signal from the flagship had maneuvered and dropped anchor, forming a long line of gigantic battleships, swift cruisers, torpedo-boat destroyers, torpedo-boats, despatch-boats, and other craft extending for several miles along the coast.

  In the bright morning sunlight the sight was both picturesque and imposing, for from every vessel flags were flying, and ever and anon the great battleship of the Admiral made signals which were repeated by all the other vessels, each in turn. Lying still on those calm blue waters was a force which one day might cause nations to totter, the overwhelming force which upheld Britain's right in that oft-disputed sea.

  A couple of thousand British sailors were ashore on leave, their white caps conspicuous in the streets everywhere as they walked orderly in threes and fours to inspect the town. In the square outside the Consulate a squad from the flagship were setting up a temporary band-stand, where the ship's band was to play when evening fell, while Hutcheson, perspiring in his uniform, drove with the Admiral to make the calls of courtesy upon the authorities which international etiquette demanded.

  Myself, I had taken a boat out to the Bulwark, the great battleship flying the Admiral's flag, and was sitting on deck with my old friend Captain Jack Durnford, of the Royal Marines. Each year when the fleet put into Leghorn we were inseparable, for in long years past, at Portsmouth, we had been close friends, and now he was able to pay me annual visits at my Italian home.

  He was on duty that morning, therefore could not get ashore till after luncheon.

  "I'll dine with you, of course, to-night, old chap," he said. "And you must tell me all the news. We're in here for six days, and I was half a mind to run home. Two of our chaps got leave from the Admiral and left at three this morning for London-four days in the train and two in town! Gone to see their sweethearts, I suppose."

  The British naval officer in the Mediterranean delights to dash across Europe for a day at home if he can get leave and funds will allow. It is generally reckoned that such a trip costs about two pounds an hour while in London. And yet when a man is away from his fiancйe or wife for three whole years, his anxiety to get back, even for a brief day, is easily understood. The youngsters, however, go for mere caprice-whenever they can obtain leave. This is not often, for the Admiral has very fixed views upon the matter.

  "Your time's soon up, isn't it?" I remarked, as I lolled back in the easy deck-chair, and gazed away at the white port and its background of purple Apennines.

  The dark, good-looking fellow in his smart summer uniform leaned over the bulwark, and said, with a slight sigh, I thought-

  "Yes. This is my last trip to Leghorn, I think. I go back in November, and I really shan't be sorry. Three years is a long time to be away from home. You go next week, you say? Lucky devil to be your own master! I only wish I were. Year after year on this deck grows confoundedly wearisome, I can tell you, my dear fellow."

  Durnford was a man who had written much on naval affairs, and was accepted as an expert on several branches of the service. The Admiralty do not encourage officers to write, but in Durnford's case it was recognized that of naval topics he possessed a knowledge that was of use, and, therefore, he was allowed to write books and to contribute critical articles to the service magazines. He had studied the relative strengths of foreign navies, and by keeping his eyes always open he had, on many occasions, been able to give valuable information to our naval attachйs at the Embassies. More than once, however, his trenchant criticism of the action of the naval lords had brought upon his head rebukes from head-quarters; neverthele
ss, so universally was his talent as a naval expert recognized, that to write had never been forbidden him as it had been to certain others.

  "How's Hutcheson?" he asked a moment later, turning and facing me.

  "Fit as a fiddle. Just back from his month's leave at home. His wife is still up in Scotland, however. She can't stand Leghorn in summer."

  "No wonder. It's a perfect furnace when the weather begins to stoke up."

  "I go as soon as you've sailed. I only stayed because I promised to act for Frank," I said. "And, by Jove! a funny thing occurred while I was in charge-a real first-class mystery."

  "A mystery-tell me," he exclaimed, suddenly interested.

  "Well, a yacht-a pirate yacht, I believe it was-called here."

  "A pirate! What do you mean?"

  "Well, she was English. Listen, and I'll tell you the whole affair. It'll be something fresh to tell at mess, for I know how you chaps get played out of conversation."

  "By Jove, yes! Things slump when we get no mail. But go on-I'm listening," he added, as an orderly came up, saluted, and handed him a paper.

  "Well," I said, "let's cross to the other side. I don't want the sentry to overhear."

  "As you like-but why such mystery?" he asked as we walked together to the other side of the spick-and-span quarter-deck of the gigantic battleship.

  "You'll understand when I tell you the story." And then, standing together beneath the awning, I related to my friend the whole of the curious circumstances, just as I have recorded them in the foregoing pages.

  "Confoundedly funny!" he remarked with his dark eyes fixed upon mine. "A mystery, by Jove, it is! What name did the yacht bear?"

  "The Lola."

  "What!" he gasped, suddenly turning pale. "The Lola? Are you quite sure it was the Lola–L-O-L-A?"

  "Absolutely certain," I replied. "But why do you ask? Do you happen to know anything about the craft?"

  "Me!" he stammered, and I could see that he had involuntarily betrayed the truth, yet for some reason he wished to conceal his knowledge from me. "Me! How should I know anything about such a craft? They were thieves on board evidently-perhaps pirates, as you say."

  "But the name Lola is familiar to you, Jack! I'm sure it is, by your manner."

  He paused a moment, and I could see what a strenuous effort he was making to avoid betraying knowledge.

  "It's-well-" he said hesitatingly, with a rather sickly smile. "It's a girl's name-a girl I once knew. The name brings back to me certain memories."

  "Pleasant ones-I hope."

  "No. Bitter ones-very bitter ones," he said in a hard tone, striding across the deck and back again, and I saw in his eyes a strange look, half of anger, half of deep regret.

  Was he telling the truth, I wondered? Some tragic romance or other concerning a woman had, I knew, overshadowed his life in the years before we had become acquainted. But the real facts he had never revealed to me. He had never before referred to the bitterness of the past, although I knew full well that his heart was in secret filled by some overwhelming sorrow.

  Outwardly he was as merry as the other fellows who officered that huge floating fortress; on board he was a typical smart marine, and on shore he danced and played tennis and flirted just as vigorously as did the others. But a heavy heart beat beneath his uniform.

  When he returned to where I stood I saw that his face had changed: it had become drawn and haggard. He bore the appearance of a man who had been struck a blow that had staggered him, crushing out all life and hope.

  "What's the matter, Jack?" I asked. "Come! Tell me-what ails you?"

  "Nothing, my dear old chap," he answered hoarsely. "Really nothing-only a touch of the blues just for a moment," he added, trying hard to smile. "It'll pass."

  "What I've just told you about that yacht has upset you. You can't deny it"

  He started. His mouth was, I saw, hard set. He knew something concerning that mysterious craft, but would not tell me.

  The sound of a bugle came from the further end of the ship, and immediately men were scampering along the deck beneath as some order or other was being obeyed with that precision that characterizes the "handy man."

  "Why are you silent?" I asked slowly, my eyes fixed upon my friend the officer. "I have told you what I know, and I want to discover the motive of the visit of those men, and the reason they opened Hutcheson's safe."

  "How can I tell you?" he asked in a strained, unnatural voice.

  "I believe you know something concerning them. Come, tell me the truth."

  "I admit that I have certain grave suspicions," he said at last, standing astride with his hands behind his back, his sword trailing on the white deck. "You say that the yacht was called the Lola–painted gray with a black funnel."

  "No, dead white, with a yellow funnel."

  "Ah! Of course," he remarked, as though to himself. "They would repaint and alter her appearance. But the dining saloon. Was there a long carved oak buffet with a big, heavy cornice with three gilt dolphins in the center-and were there not dolphins in gilt on the backs of the chairs-an armorial device?"

  "Yes," I cried. "You are right. I remember them! You've surely been on board her!"

  "And there is a ladies' saloon and a small boudoir in pink beyond, while the smoking-room is entirely of marble for the heat?"

  "Exactly-the same yacht, no doubt! But what do you know of her?"

  "The captain, who gave his name to you as Mackintosh, is an undersized American of a rather low-down type?"

  "I took him for a Scotsman."

  "Because he put on a Scotch accent," he laughed. "He's a man who can speak a dozen languages brokenly, and pass for an Italian, a German, a Frenchman, as he wishes."

  "And the-the man who gave his name as Philip Hornby?"

  Durnford's mouth closed with a snap. He drew a long breath, his eyes grew fierce, and he bit his lip.

  "Ah! I see he is not exactly your friend," I said meaningly.

  "You are right, Gordon-he is not my friend," was his slow, meaning response.

  "Then why not be outspoken and tell me all you know concerning him? Frank Hutcheson is anxious to clear up the mystery because they've tampered with the Consular seals and things. Besides, it would be put down to his credit if he solved the affair."

  "Well, to tell you the truth, I'm mystified myself. I can't yet discern their motive."

  "But at any rate you know the men," I argued. "You can at least tell us who they really are."

  He shook his head, still disinclined, for some hidden reason, to reveal the truth to me.

  "You saw no woman on board?" he asked suddenly, looking straight into my eyes.

  "No. Hornby told me that he and Chater were alone."

  "And yet an hour after you left a man and a woman came ashore and disappeared! Ah! If we only had a description of that woman it would reveal much to us."

  "She was young and dark-haired, so the detective says. She had a curious fixed look in her eyes which attracted him, but she wore a thick motor veil, so that he could not clearly discern her features."

  "And her companion?"

  "Middle-aged, prematurely gray, with a small dark mustache."

  Jack Durnford sighed and stroked his chin.

  "Ah! Just as I thought," he exclaimed. "And they were actually here, in this port, a week ago! What a bitter irony of fate!"

  "I don't understand you," I said. "You are so mysterious, and yet you will tell me nothing!"

  "The police, fools that they are, have allowed them to escape, and they will never be caught now. Ah! you don't know them as I do! They are the cleverest pair in all Europe. And they have the audacity to call their craft the Lola–the Lola, of all names!"

  "But as you know who and what the fellows are, you ought, I think, in common justice to Hutcheson, to tell us something," I complained. "If they are adventurers, they ought to be traced."

  "What can I do-a prisoner here on board?" he argued bitterly. "How can I act?"

  "
Leave it all to me. I'm free to travel after them, and find out the truth if only you will tell me what you know concerning them," I said eagerly.

  "Gordon, let me be frank and open with you, my dear old fellow. I would tell you everything-everything-if I dared. But I cannot-you understand!" And his final words seemed to choke him.

  I stood before him, open-mouthed in astonishment.

  "You really mean-well, that you are in fear of them-eh?" I whispered.

  He nodded slowly in the affirmative, adding: "To tell you the truth would be to bring upon myself a swift, relentless vengeance that would overwhelm and crush me. Ah! my dear fellow, you do not know-you cannot dream-what brought those desperate men into this port. I can guess-I can guess only too well-but I can only tell you that if you ever do discover the terrible truth-which I fear is unlikely-you will solve one of the strangest and most remarkable mysteries of modern times."

  "What does the mystery concern?" I asked, in breathless eagerness.

  "It concerns a woman."

  CHAPTER III THE HOUSE "OVER THE WATER"

  The Mediterranean Squadron, that magnificent display of naval force that is the guarantee of peace in Europe, after a week of gay festivities in Leghorn, had sailed for Gaeta, while I, glad to escape from the glaring heat, found myself back once more in dear old London.

  One passes one's time in the south well enough in winter, but after a year even the most ardent lover of Italy longs to return to his own people, be it ever for so brief a space. Exile for a whole year in any continental town is exile indeed; therefore, although I lived in Italy for choice, I, like so many other Englishmen, always managed to spend a month or two in summer in our temperate if much maligned climate.