The Mission of Poubalov

by Frederick R. Burton

  CHAPTER XVII.

  HOW LITIZKI SAVED MISS HILMAN.

  The ladies' entrance to the Travelers' Hotel was upon the same streetas the main corridor, almost next door to it. Clara glanced in as thecarriage slowly passed the open doors and she saw her uncle at thefurther end, pacing slowly toward her. Two men were with him whom shedid not at the moment recognize, but so anxious was she to have a wordwith him that when she alighted, instead of going in at the ladies'entrance, she stepped over to the main doorway and stood there toattract his attention as soon as he should come near.

  He saw her immediately and quickened his pace. In that instant she sawthat one of the other men was Dexter, and that he wheeled abruptlyabout, turning the third man around with him. Dexter hobbled backtoward the clerk's desk and led his companion out of sight into apassage that terminated in the corridor. Clara saw this maneuver butdimly, as her attention was fixed upon her uncle, whose face had thehaggard, anxious expression that she had noticed on it several times oflate. He was quickly beside her, and attributing his anxiety largely toherself, she smiled bravely and said:

  "There was no scandal, uncle, and very little of what you could call ascene."

  "You are back sooner than I thought for," he responded with somethingof an effort. "Did you see anything?"

  "Of Poubalov? No."

  "I mean Strobel."

  "Oh, no! I am convinced that Lizzie knows nothing of him, poor girl!"

  "So am I," said Mr. Pembroke with a deep sigh; "I have had no time,of course, to give the matter much thought, but my impression is, andit grows constantly stronger, that you will eventually find Strobel inBoston."

  "And do you think I shall find him, uncle?" asked Clara, eager forencouraging words.

  "I hope so, my child, I hope so. It does not seem possible that thisaffair will resolve itself into an unfathomable mystery. There are fewsuch things in real life, you know, and if the worst had happened toStrobel, we would have heard of it."

  "It gives me new courage to hear you say so," said Clara lookingwistfully at her uncle, "I wanted to speak to you simply to let youknow that nothing troublesome has happened, and that it is my intentionto return to Boston as soon as possible, though I don't know what I cando after I get there."

  "I would rest if I were you, Clara."

  "I cannot think of rest now. We will see. Something may happen to giveme a fresh start, or I may discover a new clew in something I alreadyknow, the significance of which I have overlooked."

  "Don't try to do too much; rest if you can," pleaded Mr. Pembroke. "Ishall return myself to-night."

  "Do you want me to wait and go with you?"

  "I wouldn't," exclaimed her uncle, hastily; "you'll find the journeynothing by daylight, and it might be fatiguing at night. You arefamiliar with it, and don't mind traveling alone for so short a time,do you?"

  "Not at all. I merely thought you might want me to wait."

  "No, Dexter will have to be with me. I will be with you at home in timefor breakfast. You'll take the noon train I suppose? Good-by."

  Haste was evident in Mr. Pembroke's manner as well as in his words, andClara bade him good-by at once. She went to her room for her travelingbag, and when she returned to the carriage Litizki was waiting for her.

  "Is it the noon train, Miss Hilman?" he asked.

  "Yes," she answered; "won't you ride to the station with me?"

  "Do you wish it?" said the little tailor, hesitatingly.

  "Of course I do. Come, there may be things we wish to tell each other."

  So Litizki sat beside her on the way to the station, and after thecarriage started he said:

  "Miss Hilman, I shrink from asking questions, and yet I think you willadmit that I have more than curiosity about the result of your call onMiss White."

  "You have every right to know," she responded; "we talked very franklyafter a while, and I came away satisfied that she is not an accompliceof Poubalov's."

  Litizki stared out of the window in silence for a time, and finallyspoke much as if he were addressing himself:

  "When Miss Hilman says she is satisfied, it goes a great way toconvince me."

  "You are still in doubt, then?" asked Clara.

  "I cannot help being so. Poubalov grows upon me until he is everpresent in my mind, like a horrid nightmare. At every step we take itis Poubalov. If ever anything is discovered, you discover Poubalov'shand in it. Whenever we make an attempt to gain a point, we arefrustrated, and it is Poubalov who stands over and above, in andthrough all, moving us with his master-hand, and setting up obstacleswhen we would move of our own will. We are at the mercy of him whoknows no mercy, and so long as Poubalov remains--in America, we arewithout hope, unless he accomplishes his purpose and has no further usefor Mr. Strobel."

  Litizki spoke with profound melancholy and just that touch ofextravagance in language that Clara had noticed the first time she sawhim in Mrs. White's.

  "I don't wonder," she said, "that you estimate Poubalov's power forevil so greatly, and it would be folly for the friends of Mr. Strobelto underestimate him; and yet, with a woman's imperfect reasoning, Ifeel that we shall some day outreach him."

  "There is nothing imperfect in your reasoning, Miss Hilman," and foronce Litizki addressed her directly, his gloomy eyes fixed upon herown; "but you are speaking from the kindness of your heart rather thanfrom the logic of your brain. This is not my first experience withPoubalov. But no matter." He turned away abruptly and again gazed outof the window. "It is nothing short of greatness in you," he continuedpresently, "in the midst of your sorrow to try to throw a littlelight into my life. Every kind word and every encouragement from youhurts me almost as much as the oppression and injustice from which Ihave suffered all my life. Until I knew Mr. Strobel I knew not realkindness. I am yet unused to it, and so it seems sometimes as if youhad stabbed me. But there is this difference, Miss Hilman: Whereasconstant injustice deadens the heart, kindness quickens it, and I shallyet do something, you may be sure, that will not only be evidence of mysincerity and devotion, but that will actually help you."

  "Mr. Litizki," returned Clara, disturbed by his morbid tone rather thanby his words, which were but characteristic of his point of view, "youdwell too much upon these things, not only upon what has been evillydone to you, but upon what seems to you as exceptional goodness. Let usnot think more about it until the time comes for action. Then we shallbe the better prepared to think quickly and effectively. See, here weare at the depot. I will let you get my ticket for me, as you will haveto go to the window also, and I will avoid the nuisance of having towait in the line."

  Litizki took her purse without a word, after she had settled with thedriver, escorted her to a seat and then went to the ticket window. Whenhe returned he displayed unusual coolness, for him, as he handed herthe ticket and said:

  "Poubalov will go by the same train as you. He is even now in thisroom, and he saw me buy the tickets. Of course I pretended not to seehim, but he despises me and cares not for all my efforts."

  Clara felt no fear at this information, but it nevertheless arouseda sense of discomfort. A presentiment of misfortune she readilydismissed; this fact of being persistently "shadowed" by a man whom shebelieved to be her enemy she could not dismiss, and she could not shakeoff the irritation caused by it.

  "Suppose," suggested Litizki, "that you pretend to take this train butreally wait for the next one."

  "No," replied Clara, "I will not be interfered with in my movements byPoubalov. I suppose it is his right to take the train, if he chooses todo so, as well as it is mine. I will go to my car now, please, and ifhe ventures to intrude upon me I shall know how to relieve myself ofhis presence."

  Litizki's eyes sparkled with exultant satisfaction for just an instant,and then the fire that lit them subsided to a steady glow that wouldhave revealed a fixed and awful purpose had anybody seen it and readit correctly. But he kept his eyes averted as he escorted Clara tothe car, thinking of her words, weighing them, repeating
them tohimself. They sank deep into his brain, where his perceptions of life,disordered by a rankling sense of injustice, distorted them and threwthem back to the surface of his thoughts with an interpretation all hisown.

  "She has the nature of heroes," he said to himself, "and she is capableof it! She is great, grand! How fitting that Alexander Poubalov shouldmeet at last a foe of infinite spirit, intellect as keen as his own,courage unfaltering, and that foe a woman! But she is a woman, andher place is beside my benefactor. She must be saved for him and forherself. She must be spared this demonstration of her right to rankwith heroes. I know what she is, and Strobel shall know when, Poubalovout of the way, he gains his freedom. She must be saved, and I mustsave her. It is my fate!"

  Wholly unsuspicious of the raving that was going on in her strangecompanion's mind, Clara proceeded to the car and took the chair thatthe porter pointed out to her. For just an instant it occurred to herto ask Litizki to sit with her, but there was nothing Quixotic in hercharacter; she knew that the little tailor would be immeasurably hurtif she should suggest paying his traveling expenses, and, withal, hemade her uncomfortable. She thought very kindly of him, but she felt noneed of his protection.

  "We will meet again in Boston," she said, pleasantly, "and we may yetdo some work together."

  "Perhaps so," responded Litizki. "I shall be on the train, and if youlike I will watch outside till it starts and let you know whetherPoubalov gets on board."

  "It's hardly necessary," said Clara; "still, if you would rather do so,I have no objection."

  Litizki, therefore, loitered on the platform beside the train untiljust before starting time. Then he went to Clara and told her thatPoubalov had taken a seat in the car just behind hers.

  "I have no fear," she assured him, "but you may look for me when we getto Boston."

  She made this arrangement wholly for his sake, realizing the man'sdevotion and anxiety to serve her. He bowed gravely and made his wayto the platform again, but instead of going to an ordinary coach heclimbed the steps to the rear platform of the parlor car in whichPoubalov sat.

  "Can you give me a seat in this car?" he asked of the conductor as thetrain started.

  "There's just one left," replied the official as he consulted his slipsafter a curious glance at the inquirer.

  Litizki paid for the seat immediately. It was at the very back of thecar, against the partition of the smoking room wherein Poubalov was atthe time seeking the comfort he found in cigarettes.

  The train had been in motion more than an hour when Poubalov appeared.He saw Litizki, and raised his brows slightly, as if in mild surprise.With no other sign of recognition he took his seat, which was in aboutthe middle of the car.

  Hours passed slowly while the train rushed on as if madly intent uponchecking the flight of time. Poubalov occupied himself with a book.Litizki could not have followed the words on a printed page had hetried to do so. His brain worked over and over the idea that had foundits way there days before, and he could not, if he would, have thoughtof anything else.

  "The time matters not," he argued with himself; "as well now as atanother, but there must be provocation if possible. If there is noprovocation, then proceed without it. It must be done at all hazard.And there must be no failure."

  Somewhere between Westerly and Providence the train came to a stop.There was trouble with the engine--what, it matters not. The traincould not proceed until the damage had been repaired. A brakeman wassent forward to the next station to telegraph for assistance, and theengineer busied himself in effecting a temporary adjustment of themachinery, so that some progress could be made even though it wereslow. Poubalov went forward with many passengers to watch the work,and Litizki followed him. Altogether nearly two hours were lost by theaccident, so that it was dark when the train rushed through the suburbsof Boston.

  Poubalov then rose and went into the car forward. Litizki went afterand saw the spy drop into a chair not far from where Clara sat, herback to the window, her profile clearly in view. There were manyvacant seats in the car, some unoccupied at the moment because thepassengers, weary with the long journey, were standing up, makingearly preparations for departure. All the men were at the forward end,waiting their turns at the wash-room.

  The train had just rolled past Roxbury crossing, two miles from theterminus, when Poubalov rose again and sauntered forward, sinkingnegligently into the chair back of Clara which had just been vacatedby a lady who was now submitting to the brush of the porter.

  Litizki saw Clara start when Poubalov addressed her, and his handsought his pocket, but he withdrew it empty when he observed that thespy had left his cane leaning against the side of the car near hisformer seat.

  "That will do better," muttered the tailor, and he went to Poubalov'schair, took the cane in his hands, and, all unobserved by any of thepreoccupied passengers, released the catch and drew forth the longblade. Concealing it by his side as he took the few remaining stepsthat lay between him and his victim, he presently raised it high overPoubalov's heart, and with the words, "I will do it for you, MissHilman!" brought it down with all his force.

  Poubalov fell into the aisle with a loud gasp, and Clara, uttering onescream of terror, bent over him.

  Litizki dashed to the rear platform. There was nobody in his way saveone or two frightened women. The brakeman had already opened the doorsof the vestibuled platform and before any one could lay hands upon him,the little tailor had swung himself off into the darkness.