CHAPTER XXIV.
THE NEW CLEW.
Frantic with anxiety and dread, Paul followed a sudden impulse andjumped to the floor, ran to the door that opened into the hall,unlocked and opened it and rushed out.
He had a wild idea of bursting in the door of Poubalov's room andwrestling with him if need be to take away the revolver and preventsuicide.
He stopped, startled, just outside his door, for Poubalov stood beforehim, the light from the chandelier streaming out upon him and showinghim erect, alert, his revolver pointed directly at the watcher.
"What is the matter?" asked Poubalov, coolly.
Paul caught his breath and leaned upon the banister.
"I was going out in a hurry and stumbled against a chair," he stammered.
"Strange time of night to do things in a hurry," remarked Poubalov,still aiming his weapon at the young man; "do you belong here?"
"Yes; I moved in yesterday."
Poubalov stood a little aside to let the light fall more fully uponPaul's face.
"Humph!" he said, lowering the revolver; then added, in Russian, "youare Paul Palovna, intimate friend of Ivan Strobel."
"Yes," admitted Paul, in the same language, "I am, and you are hisdeadly enemy.'
"Bah!" exclaimed Poubalov in profound disgust, "you ought to knowbetter. Come in here--but no! you are in a hurry. Go, then; I will talkto you another time."
"Better now, Poubalov," returned Paul, significantly, "one of us mightbe missing before another opportunity occurred. I am not so much in ahurry that I cannot listen to you."
"No!" said the spy, decidedly, "go your way, and take this comfort withyou, Palovna, that you have done your friend Strobel a service."
He shrugged his shoulders and withdrew into his room and closed thedoor.
Paul went slowly down the stairs and opened the front door just as thelandlady poked her head from her room on the ground floor and inquiredin an agitated whisper, "Whatever was the trouble?"
"It is nothing," said Paul, "I stumbled, and the gentleman in the frontroom mistook me for a burglar, I guess. Sorry I disturbed you."
"It's all right," whispered the landlady, "but I guess he must havescared you some. Your face is as wet as if you'd been out in a rain."
Paul realized then to what a tense degree his nerves had been strained.
Perspiration seemed to be oozing from every pore. His knees felt weakand his head dizzy, but he kept in mind the part he was playing andleft the house. However certain it was that Poubalov would infer thatStrobel's intimate friend lodged there for the purpose of watching him,it would never do to openly admit the fact by returning immediately tohis room.
He went to the corner of Bowdoin Street, and back on the other side toa point directly opposite Poubalov's windows.
As he walked, one deep-toned stroke rang out from a neighboring churchtower.
If that was the hour Poubalov had set for putting a bullet into hisheart, he had let it pass without taking action.
Paul kept his eyes upon the curtained windows behind which thechandelier light still glowed, and longed to be back at his peephole,watching the spy. Yet there was nothing that he could do if he werethere. He had seen the one great incident in Poubalov's career come toits climax upon the awful verge of tragedy; and he felt that as thespy's life trembled in the balance, the weight had been thrown into thescale for prolonging it by his impulsive jump from the chair on whichhe had been viewing the scene.
Not that Poubalov was hesitating; his was the nerve to pull the triggerwith the precision and steadiness of a marksman when the appointed timecame; but the shock of irrelevant circumstances had been just what wasneeded to release the morbid pressure of gloomy contemplation from thebrain, and restore it to its normal activity.
Thus Paul reflected, with his eyes upon the lighted windows. A party ofroysterers swung into the place, singing discordantly. One of them fellat the corner of Bowdoin Street, and his companions helped him up withdrunken jeers and laughter. Paul had turned his head to watch them,and when he looked again at the lodging-house across the way, all thewindows were dark. Poubalov had gone to bed.
As faithful as the unfortunate Litizki to his task, Paul sat up allthat night. When drowsiness overcame him, he bathed his face andhead with water, or walked gently about the room. He smoked all thecigarettes in his possession, for the sake of having something to do,and when his stock was exhausted, he went to a neighboring "all-night"restaurant and bought a handful of cigars. He listened through thehours for any suggestive sound from the front room, but, beyond anoccasional deep breath, he heard nothing.
Poubalov slept well.
It was not until the day, reckoning by the light, was well advanced,that the spy rose and dressed. While he was still busy with histoilet, a messenger called and left a note for Paul with word to thescrub-woman who was already at work, that it was to be delivered atonce. It was from Clara.
"A new clew," she wrote, "and the most promising one thus far, has beenbrought to me this evening. I need help in following it to the end.Owing to my uncle's indisposition, I do not feel like even telling himabout it, much less asking him to give me his time. Can you come? Iknow you are doing much, and quite likely taking time that you oughtto devote to work, but I ask some further assistance, nevertheless,knowing that it is not necessary for me to plead. This is so importantthat I believe you can leave Poubalov for a while, no matter what he isdoing. Please come by nine o'clock if you possibly can."
Paul had great faith in Clara, although he had not known withsufficient detail of her recent work to give her judgment all thecredit that it deserved, and so he found himself in an annoyingquandary. To him it seemed essential to follow Poubalov now that he waswell in view.
He felt, too, some disappointment at being called away without beingable to feel that his night had been spent sleeplessly to some purpose.
It could not be that Clara had discovered anything of great importancecompared to the developments that would probably follow a patienttracking of Poubalov's footsteps during the day.
Why hadn't she mentioned what her clew was? No, she depended upon himto obey her implicitly, as if he had no more discretion than Litizki.
If Paul was a bit unreasonable and restive, let it be charged againsthis fatigue. Few men can keep an even temper when the nerves areunstrung and the whole body cries for rest. Poubalov saved him from theerror, if so it was, of disregarding Clara's wishes. It came about inthis way:
Paul climbed to his observation perch, to see how matters stood in thenext room. Poubalov had opened the envelope containing the papers hehad been at work upon during the midnight hour, and was now destroyingthem, burning them one sheet at a time over the wash-bowl that he hadset upon the center table.
He was fully dressed, even to the hat on his head, and Paul carefullyreplaced the nail which protected his peephole.
He stood by the chair with Clara's letter in his hand, still undecidedwhat course to take, when there was a knock at his door.
He opened, and Poubalov stood there.
"You can spare the time now, I suppose?" he said inquiringly with agrim glance at the valentine hanging from the improvised hook.
Paul saw that his ruse was discovered, but he followed the spy into thefront room, his heart beating high with expectation.
"There is never an effect without a cause, young man," remarkedPoubalov, motioning Paul to a chair; "the effect was sufficient for melast night, and so far as your act deserves it, you have my thanks.This morning I sought the cause, and of course, I found it. Do notbe disturbed. I have no reproaches to make. You imagined yourself atwar with me, and you took your own methods to win. There is nothingto complain of in that; but you, as a Russian of intelligence, shouldhave known that I could not be as hostile as you think to an Americancitizen. Bah! it's not worth discussing! You've all lost your heads.
"What I have to say is this: I am on duty for the czar, and havingrecovered from my dangerous temptation to be derelict, I
shall do whatduty demands, without let or hindrance from anybody. I will tolerateno interference, no matter whose fair lips give the command. When thatlittle wretch, Litizki, was in that chair where you are now sitting, Isought to influence him by threats against himself. I don't take thatmethod with you, Paul Palovna. If you choose to do so, you can dogmy footsteps from now on, for I presume your American laws will notprotect me in my desire to work undisturbed; but bear in mind that Ihave no more love for Ivan Strobel now than I ever had, and if I seefit to release him, it must be I, Alexander Poubalov, who chooses to doso of his own free will. Do you understand me?"
"Sufficiently to see that you would frighten me from my course bythreats against the man whom you have in your power, and whom I amtrying to rescue."
"You do well," continued Poubalov; "and if you are in any doubt asto whether I am in earnest, I advise you to report what I have said,and what you saw in this room last night, to Miss Hilman. She willtell you whether I am likely to be gratuitously merciful. Spy uponme, therefore, if you like. I shall know that you defy me, and youwill have to bear the consequences. Shall we breakfast together, PaulPalovna?"
Paul ignored the ironical invitation, which was Poubalov's way ofsaying that he has said his say, and remarked:
"I also have a suggestion to make."
Poubalov raised his brows in contemptuous surprise that anything couldbe added to his statement of the situation.
"You have spoken of American law," said Paul, "and I simply suggestthat the friends of Strobel may to-day resort to law to obtain hisfreedom. I don't know how much you may have said to Litizki and MissHilman, but you have made some damaging admissions to me."
"Really! is that all you can think of? It's hardly worth a reply, butI will suggest in return that what you call my admissions are your owninferences, nothing more. Ask the nearest police captain, or, better,go to the public prosecutor with your imaginings. I will tell you thatthere isn't a scrap of evidence on which to base my arrest, for that,of course, is what you aim at. You are more of a child than I thoughtyou were, with all your petty contrivances for peeping upon a Russianofficial. Au revoir, Palovna."
Paul went downstairs in a rage, impressed, as all were whoever came incontact with this remarkable man, with Poubalov's faculty for gainingand keeping a masterful control over the situation. The worst of itwas, the spy was probably entirely in the right so far as law wasconcerned.
As well arrest himself, Palovna, as this foreigner who had shown hisinterest in the Strobel case in eccentric ways, perhaps, but who couldnot be charged with criminality, unless possibly by Litizki, and thetailor had himself made it impossible that he should be of any furtherservice.
There seemed to be no course open to him but to respect Clara's wishes,and, accordingly, out to Roxbury he went.
He arrived at Mr. Pembroke's house just before nine o'clock, and foundClara waiting for him, dressed to go out.
They exchanged information while waiting for Mike to come, Claratelling about the discovery of Patterson, and Paul giving a guardedaccount of Poubalov's contemplated suicide.
He tried to spare Clara the horrors of the scene, but he felt that sheought to know how deeply in earnest Poubalov was, that she might themore correctly judge him and estimate the value of his threats.
"It must have been a dreadful moment," she said when he had finished,"and I am glad that another tragedy has been averted. It is hard tobelieve that he will go to extreme measures--but what am I saying? Whathas he not done that is cruel, barbarous and wicked? How can I expectanything but unmixed evil from such a man? I believe it is well thatfor a time we can appear to withdraw our observations of him."
Mike was late, but when he did come he came with a coupe.
"Me boss said, miss," he explained, "that if there was to be anytravelin', you was to ride as far an' as long as you liked, with hiscompliments."
"Your employer is very kind," said Clara. "This gentleman, Mr. Palovna,will go with me, and if he asks you to do anything, you needn'twait for my consent. We will go straight to the place where you leftPatterson. Stop there, and point out the house you think he went into,but don't drive up to it."
When they were in the coupe, Clara continued to Paul:
"I have no definite plan as to Patterson. That must develop when wefind him. If he can be cajoled, bribed or frightened into telling usthe truth, it must be done. I don't see that we are called upon to makenice discriminations in our methods."
"Any way is fair in dealing with a criminal," returned Paul. "Humph!"
"What is it?" asked Clara, observing that he began to take a livelyinterest in the street through which they were passing.
"It may be only a coincidence," said Paul, "but it just occurred tome that thus far Mike has taken us over exactly the same course thatPoubalov pursued when I followed him last evening."
"I presume it's not a coincidence," responded Clara, and she thoughtof Litizki's passionate words: "If ever anything is discovered, youdiscover Poubalov's hand in it."
Step by step the coupe followed Poubalov's line of march, and when itdrew up at last, it was at the very corner where Paul had seen the spytalking with the stranger.
Mike got down and opened the door, and as he spoke, Clara looked out inthe direction in which he pointed.
"This was where Patterson shook me, miss," he said, "an' I seen him goalong down the street an' cross over just below there an' go into ahouse--that one, I think, with the balcony along the front, the one agentleman is just comin' out of."
Clara drew back into the coupe hastily. The gentleman coming from thehouse in question was Poubalov, and he was walking toward them.
The Mission of Poubalov Page 24
