The Red Symbol

by John Ironside

  CHAPTER XVI

  UNDER SURVEILLANCE

  I paid my bill, strolled out, and in the doorway encountered a man Iknew slightly--a young officer--with whom I paused to chat, therebyblocking the doorway temporarily, with the result that I found my friendthe spy--as I was now convinced he was--at my elbow. My unexpected halthad pulled him up short.

  "Pardon!" I said with the utmost politeness, stepping aside, so he hadto pass out, though I guessed he was angry enough at losing myconversation, for I was telling Lieutenant Mirakoff of my arrest,--as agreat joke, at which we both laughed uproariously.

  "They should have seen that you were a foreigner, and therefore quitemad,--and harmless," he cried.

  "Now, I ought to call you out for that!" I asserted.

  "At your service!" he answered, still laughing, as we separated.

  The spy was apparently deeply interested in the contents of a shopwindow near at hand, and I went off briskly in the other direction; butin a minute or two later, when I paused, ostensibly to compare my watchwith a clock which I had just passed, I saw, as I glanced back, that hewas on my track once more.

  This was getting serious, and I adopted a simple expedient to give himthe slip for the present. I hailed a droshky and bade the fellow driveto a certain street, not far from that where Mishka's cafe was situated.We started off at the usual headlong speed, and presently, as wewhirled round a corner, I called on the driver to stop, handed him afare that must have represented a good week's earnings, and ordered himto drive on again as fast as he could, and for as long as his horsewould hold out.

  He grinned, "clucked" to his horse, and was off on the instant, while Iturned into a little shop close by, whence I had the satisfaction, lessthan half a minute after, of seeing a second droshky dash past, inpursuit of the first, with the spy lolling in it. If my Jehu keptfaith--there was no telling if he would do that or not, though I had totake the risk--_monsieur le mouchard_ would enjoy a nice drive, at theexpense of his government!

  In five minutes I was at the cafe, where I dropped my coin; it rolled toa corner and the waiter picked it up, while I sipped my tea and grumbledat the scarcity of lemon. I asked the prescribed question when herestored the piece; and almost immediately Mishka himself joined me.This was better than I had dared to hope, for I knew I could speak tohim freely; in fact I told him everything, including the ruse by which Ihad eluded my vigilant attendant.

  "You must not try that again," he said, in his sulky fashion. "It hasserved once, yes; but it will not serve again. When he finds that youhave cheated him he will make his report, and then you will have, notone, but several spies to reckon with; that is, if they think it worthwhile. Still you have done well,--very well. Now you must wait until youhear from my master." Mishka never mentioned a name if he could avoiddoing so.

  "But can't you give me some idea as to where she is likely to be?" Idemanded. To wait, and continue to act my part, as if there was no suchperson as Anne Pendennis in the world and in deadly peril was just aboutthe toughest duty imaginable.

  "I can tell you nothing, and you, by yourself, can do nothing," heretorted stolidly. "If you are wise you will go about your business asif nothing had happened. But be in your rooms by--nine o'clock to-night.It is unlikely that we can send you any word before then."

  Nine o'clock! And it was now barely noon! Nine mortal hours; and withintheir space what might not happen? But there was no help for it. Mishkahad spoken the truth; by myself I could do nothing.

  It was hard--hard to be bound like this, with invisible fetters; and toknow all the time that the girl I loved was so near and yet so far,needing my aid, while I was powerless to help her,--I, who would sogladly lay down my life for her.

  Who was she? What was she? How was her fate linked with that of thisgreat grim land,--a land "agonizing in the throes of a new birth?" Ifshe had but trusted me in the days when we had been together, could Ihave saved her then? Have spared her the agony my heart told me she wassuffering now?

  Yes,--yes, I said bitterly to myself. I could have saved her, if she hadtrusted me; for then she would have loved me; would have been content toshare my life. A roving life it would have been, of course, for we wereboth nomads by choice as well as by chance, and the nomadic habit, onceformed, is seldom broken. But how happy we should have been! Ourwanderings would never have brought us to Russia, though. Heavens, howI hated--how I still hate it; the greatest and grandest country in theworld, viewed under the aspect of sheer land; a territory to which evenour own United States of America counts second for extent, forfertility, for natural wealth in wood and oil and minerals. A countrythat God made a paradise, or at least a vast storehouse for the supplyof human necessities and luxuries; but a country of which man has madesuch a hell, that, in comparison with it, Dante's "Inferno" reads like astory of childish imaginings.

  Yes, Russia was a hell upon earth; and Petersburg was the centre andepitome of it, I said in my soul, as I loitered on one of the bridgesthat afternoon, and looked on the swift flowing river, on the splendidbuildings, gleaming white, as the gilded cupolas and spires of thechurches gleamed fire red, under the brilliant sunshine. A fair cityoutwardly, a whited sepulchre raised over a charnel-house. A city ofterror, wherein every man is an Ishmael, knowing--or suspecting--thatevery other man's hand is against him.

  There was a shadow over the whole land, over the city, over myself, thestranger within its gate; and in that shadow the girl I loved wasimpenetrably enveloped.

  I raised my eyes, and there, fronting me across the water, sternlymenacing, were the gray walls of the fortress-prison, named, as if ingrim mockery, the fortress of "Peter and Paul." Peter, who denied hisLord, though he loved Him; Paul, who denied his Lord before he knew andloved Him! Perhaps the name is not so inconsistent, after all. The deedsthat are done behind the walls of that fortress-prison by men who callthemselves Christians, are the most tremendous denial of Christ thatthis era has witnessed.

  Sick at heart, I turned away, and walked moodily back to my hotel. Theproprietor was in the lobby, and the whole staff seemed to be on thespot. They all looked at me as if they thought I might be some recentlydiscovered wild animal, and I wondered why. But as no one spoke to me, Iasked the clerk at the bureau for my key.

  "I have it not; others--the police--have it," he stammered.

  "Oh, that's it, is it?" I said. "They're up there now? All right."

  I went up the stairs--there was no elevator--and found a couple ofsoldiers posted outside my door.

  "Well, what are you doing here?" I asked, in good enough Russian. "Thisis my room, and I'll thank you to let me pass."

  The one on the right of the door flung it open with a flourish, andmotioned me to enter.

  As I passed him he said, with a laugh to his fellow, "So--the rat goesinto the trap!"