The Red Symbol

by John Ironside

  CHAPTER XIV

  A CRY FOR HELP

  A dusky flush rose to his face, and his blue eyes flashed ominously. Inoticed that a little vein swelled and pulsed in his temple, close bythe strip of flesh-colored plaster that covered the wound on hisforehead.

  But, although he appeared almost equally angry and surprised, he heldhimself well in hand.

  "Truly you seem in possession of much information, Mr. Wynn," he saidslowly. "I must ask you to explain yourself. Do you know this lady?"

  "Yes."

  "How do you know she is in danger?"

  "Chiefly from my own observation."

  "You know her so well?" he asked incredulously. "Where have you mether?"

  "In London."

  The angry gleam vanished from his eyes, and he stood frowning inperplexed thought, resting one of his fine, muscular white hands on theback of a tawdry gilt chair.

  "Strange," he muttered beneath his mustache. "She said nothing. By whatname did you know her--other than those pseudonyms you have mentioned?"

  "Miss Anne Pendennis."

  "Ah!"

  I thought his face cleared.

  "And what is this danger that threatens her?"

  "I think you may know that better than I do," I retorted, with a glanceat the flower--the red symbol--that made a vivid blot of color like asplash of blood on the white table-cloth.

  "That is true; although you appear to know so much. Therefore, why haveyou spoken of her at all?"

  Again I got that queer feeling in my throat.

  "Because you love her!" I said bluntly. "And I love her, too. I want youto know that; though I am no more to her than--than the man who waits onher at dinner, or who opens a cab door for her and gets a smile and acoin for his service!"

  It was a childish outburst, perhaps, but it moved Loris Solovieff to aqueer response.

  "I understand," he said softly in French.

  He spoke English admirably, but in emotional moments he lapsed into thelanguage that is more familiar than their mother-tongue to all Russiansof his rank.

  "It is so with us all. She loves Russia,--our poor Russia, agonizing inthe throes of a new birth; while we--we love her, the woman. She willplay with us, use us, fool us, even betray us, if by so doing she canserve her country; and we--accept the situation--are content to serveher, to die for her. Is that not so, Monsieur?"

  "That is so," I said, marvelling at the way in which he had epitomizedmy own ideas, which, it seemed, were his also. Yet Von Eckhardt hadasserted that she--Anne Pendennis--loved this man; and it was difficultto think of any woman resisting him.

  "Then we are comrades?" he cried, extending his hand, which I grippedcordially. "Though we were half inclined to be jealous of each other,eh? But that is useless! One might as well be jealous of the sea. And wecan both serve her, if she will permit so much. For the present she isin a place of comparative safety. I shall not tell you where it is, butat least it is many leagues from Russia; and she has promised to remainthere,--but who knows? If the whim seizes her, or if she imagines herpresence is needed here, she will return."

  "Yes, I guess she will," I conceded. (How well he understood her.)

  "She is utterly without fear, utterly reckless of danger," he continued."If she should be lured back to Russia, as her enemies on both sideswill endeavor to lure her, she will be in deadly peril, from which eventhose who would give their lives for her may not be able to save her."

  "At least you can tell me if her father has joined her?" I asked.

  "Her father? No, I cannot tell you that; simply because I do not know.But, as I have said, so long as she remains in the retreat that has beenfound for her she will be safe. As for this--" he took up the blossomand rubbed it to a morsel of pulp, between his thumb and finger, "youwill be wise to conceal your knowledge of it, Mr. Wynn; that is, if youvalue your life. And now I must leave you. We shall meet again ere long,I trust. I am summoned to Peterhof; and I may be there for some time. Ifyou wish to communicate with me--"

  He broke off, and remained silent, in frowning thought, for a fewseconds.

  "I will ask you this," he resumed. "If you should have any newsof--her--you will send me word, at once, and in secret? Not openly; I amsurrounded by spies, as we all are here! Mishka shall remain here, andaccompany you to Petersburg. He will show you where and how you canleave a message that will reach me speedily and infallibly. For thepresent good-bye--and a swift recovery!"

  He saluted me, and clanked out of the room. I heard him speaking toMishka, who had remained on guard outside the door. A minute or twolater there was a bustle in the courtyard below, whence, for some timepast, had sounded the monotonous clank of a stationary motor car.

  I went to the window, walking rather unsteadily, for I felt sick anddizzy after this strange and somewhat exciting interview. Twomagnificent cars were in waiting, surrounded by a little crowd ofofficers in uniform and soldiers on guard. After a brief interval theGrand Duke came out of the hotel and entered the first car, followed bythe stout rubicund officer I had seen in attendance on him at Wirballen.A merry little man he seemed, and as he settled himself in his seat hesaid something which drew a laugh from the Duke. Looking down at hishandsome debonnaire face, it was difficult to believe that he wasanything more than a light-hearted young aristocrat, with never a carein the world. And yet I guessed then--I know now--that he was merelybluffing an antagonist in a game that he was playing for grimstakes,--nothing less than life and liberty!

  Three days later I arrived, at last, in Petersburg, to find letters fromEngland awaiting me,--one from my cousin Mary, to whom I had alreadywritten, merely telling her that I missed Anne at Berlin, and asking ifshe had news of her. There could be no harm in that. Anne had played herpart so well that, though Jim had evidently suspected her,--I wonderednow how he came to do so, though I'd have to wait a while before I couldhope to ask him,--Mary, I was certain, had not the least idea that herstay with them was an episode in a kind of game of hide and seek. To herthe visit was but the fulfilment of the promise made when they wereschool-girls together. And I guessed that Anne would keep up thedeception, which was forced upon her in a way, and that she would writeto Mary. She would lie to her, directly or indirectly; that was almostinevitable. But she would write, just because she loved Mary, andtherefore would not willingly cause her anxiety. I was sure of that inmy own mind; and I hungered for news of her; even second-hand news. Butshe had not written!

  "I am so anxious about Anne," my cousin's letter ran. "We've had noword from her since that post-card from Calais, and I can't think why!She has no clothes with her, to speak of, for she only took herdressing-bag; and I don't like to send her things on till I hear fromher; besides, I hoped she would come back to us soon! Did you see her atBerlin?"

  I put the letter aside; I could not answer it at present. Mary wouldreceive mine from Dunaburg, and would forward me any news that mighthave reached her in the interval.

  And meanwhile I had little to distract my mind. Things were very quiet,stagnant in fact, in Petersburg during those hot days of early summer;even the fashionable cafes in the Nevski Prospekt were practicallydeserted, doubtless because the heat, that had set in earlier thanusual, had driven away such of their gay frequenters as were notdetained in the city on duty.

  I slept ill during those hot nights, and was usually abroad early. Onelovely June morning my matutinal stroll led me,--aimlessly I thought,though who knows what subtle influences may direct our most seeminglypurposeless actions, and thereby shape our destiny--along theIsmailskaia Prospekt,--which, nearly a year back, had been the scene ofthe assassination of De Plehve, the man who for two years had controlledPetersburg with an iron hand.

  There were comparatively few people abroad, and they were work-people ontheir way to business, and vendors setting out their wares on the stallsthat line the wide street on either side.

  Suddenly a droshky dashed past, at a pace that appeared even swifterthan the breakneck rate at which the Russian droshky driv
er loves tourge his horses along. It was evidently a private one, drawn by threehorses abreast, and I glanced at it idly, as it clattered along with thenoise of a fire-engine. Just as it was passing me one of the horsesslipped on the cobblestones, and came down with a crash.

  There was the usual moment of confusion, as the driver objurgatedvociferously, after the manner of his class, and a man jumped out of thevehicle and ran to the horse's head.

  I stood still to watch the little incident; there was no need for myassistance, for the clever little beast had already regained hisfooting.

  Then a startling thing occurred.

  A woman's voice rang out in an agonized cry, in which fear and joy werestrangely blended.

  "Maurice! Maurice Wynn! Help! Save me!"

  On the instant the man sprang back into the droshky, and it was offagain on its mad career; but in that instant I had caught a glimpse of awhite face, the gleam of bright hair; and knew that it was Anne--Anneherself--who had been so near me, and was now being whirled away.

  Something white fluttered on the cobblestones at my feet. I stooped andpicked it up. Only a handkerchief, a tiny square of embroidered cambric,crumpled and soiled,--her handkerchief, with her initials "A. P." in thecorner!

  _In that instant I had caught a glimpse of a white face._Page 102]