CHAPTER XXVII.
BEHIND CLOSED DOORS.
"About this hour, one week ago to-day," thought Clara as she took herplace again in the coupe, "I should have been getting into a carriageat the church door, with Ivan, as his wife! What an eternity seems tohave passed since then! Will the search and the waiting never end?"
There were no tears now, no disposition to give way. The dull ache ather heart was there, and it seemed as if it would stay forever, but allemotion now was held in check by her determination not to let the daypass without a decisive investigation of this latest clew that had sofar led to so much racing about, and thus far, too, to the utter defeatof her every plan.
"Where to, miss?" asked Mike who had been standing at the coupe door.
Clara had forgotten him for the moment, forgotten even where she was.
Aroused to the work in hand, she debated for about one second whetherto appeal to a lawyer to get a search-warrant for her.
She dismissed the suggestion as likely to involve too much delay. Shehad never had any experience in law suits, but she had that generalconviction due to the accepted phrase "the law's delay," that no oneshould resort to the courts unless there were ample time and to spare.
"We will go first to my uncle's house," she said, "and I would like tohave you take such a route that you will pass the house where we sawPoubalov and Patterson this forenoon."
"An' I s'pose I'm to let you know if I see what's-his-name or Pattersonon the way?"
"By all means! do not stop unless you do."
The half hour's drive to Roxbury was without adventure. Clara now hadthe curtains of the coupe up, and she glanced from side to side throughthe windows as they rolled along, ever alert to catch any sign of heradversaries.
The old tavern looked, indeed, deserted.
It needed but a touch of moss or ivy, to suggest a ruin, for it was notonly an ancient building, but sadly out of repair as well.
After they had passed beyond it a little way, Clara signaled to Mike tostop.
"I dare not leave this place unguarded a moment," she said; "thereis no telling when Poubalov will return, but I must go home for avery short time, or there will be anxiety and perhaps search for me.Suppose you stay here till I come back. It won't take me long if I goby car. Please, Michael, don't do anything rash. There was another goodfellow, not so sensible as you, poor man! who tried to help me, and hegot himself into dreadful trouble over it. This man, Poubalov, is aterrible enemy, Michael."
"Is he the sort that carries a gun in one pocket and a razor inanother?" asked Mike with perfect seriousness.
"He goes well armed," replied Clara, earnestly, "and he has neitherconscience nor fear. You know what I want to accomplish, Michael, butif any life is risked to save another's, it must be mine. I shall bevery much displeased if anything serious happens while I am gone. Waitfor me, sure."
"All right, miss," said Mike, resignedly; "if anything happens afteryou get back, though, you bet I'll take a hand in!"
And if there had been any temptation for a scrimmage during Clara'sabsence, there is no manner of doubt that Mike would have taken partin it in spite of her injunctions.
Clara found Louise in a very nervous condition.
"I have not been so much worried about you, dear," she said, "for Ihave learned to feel confidence that you can take care of yourself.Still I am relieved to see you safe again. My chief anxiety is aboutpapa. I am afraid there is something very troublesome in his business,and that he is breaking down under the strain."
"I know that his business has been troubling him very much of late,"responded Clara, "for he told me so, and any one could see that he ismuch disturbed; but how has he shown it to-day? I didn't see him atbreakfast, you know."
"No, he hurried to his office, as he told me later, to get someimportant mail. I didn't notice anything beyond his usual nervousmanner--that is, his recent manner, at breakfast time, but about halfan hour after you had gone he returned in great haste and inquired foryou. I told him you had gone with Paul and another man who had givenyou a clew, and that I couldn't tell when you would return. He seemedvery much disappointed, and walked up and down the room several times.I asked him if he had any news about Ivan. He answered abruptly: 'Ithink so. I must see Clara.'"
Startled by hope and fear at once, Clara sank into a chair.
"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Louise in dismay, "don't please break down now,for that isn't all, and I am so afraid you'll need all your strengthto-day."
"I am strong," said Clara, resolutely, but it was all she could do tokeep her voice steady; "this day will see the end one way or another,and I am prepared for it."
"I begged papa to tell me what he had heard, but he refused to do so,almost roughly, too. 'Tell her to wait when she comes in,' he said, andhe went out again. He came back at luncheon time looking dreadfullyexcited. His first words were an inquiry for you. The perspirationrolled down his face as he tried to be calm. He couldn't eat or keepstill. I tried to soothe him, but he wouldn't let me. Then I insistedthat he tell me what he had heard. 'I haven't heard anything,' heanswered excitedly; 'who said I had? I only surmise. I must see Clara.'We both supposed you would come home to luncheon, and he waited for youas long as his impatience would let him. He went away about fifteenminutes ago, telling me again to have you wait for him. I am dreadfullyalarmed."
"So am I," said Clara in a low voice. She was beginning to feel a senseof confusion, and she had to think hard to convince herself that shehad really left Paul on guard at Bulfinch Place and Michael in thestreet near the old tavern. It seemed to her essential that she shouldbe in both places, and here at home also. She had intended to seek heruncle's assistance in any event, and now he was vainly looking for herwith some manner of important and, it seemed likely, bad news.
"I am faint," she added after a moment; "perhaps I can think better ifI have a cup of tea."
Louise hastened to give the orders to the servant, and a few minuteslater Clara ate and drank. It was well that she thought of luncheon,well that she could eat, for her vital energies had been severely drawnon, and there was much more ahead of her to do. After she had refreshedherself she said:
"I cannot wait for uncle. I don't know what is the most important thingto do, but I feel that I must not wait here. I will send Michael, thecabman, back. Please see that he has luncheon, and keep him here untiluncle returns. Then send him for me. He will know where to find me, andI promise to come home at once unless--Well, send him to me, and I willreturn if I can."
Louise was tearful at Clara's departure, but she did not try to detainher. It would have done no good, and she knew it.
When Clara found Mike faithfully on guard just where she had left him,she told him her programme, and together they hunted for a placefrom which she could keep her eyes on the old tavern, unobserved byPoubalov, should he return.
They found it in the sitting-room of a house across the way, themistress of which, a plain, practical woman who knew the woes ofeconomy, was not averse to renting for a few hours the apartment sheseldom had time to use, and never on a Monday.
This done, Mike drove to Mr. Pembroke's and hitched his horse at thegate, with its nose in a feed-bag. The young man made short work of theluncheon Louise had prepared for him, and then promptly fell asleepover the book she gave him to while away time with.
No good end will be served by reviewing the lonely hours of Clara'svigil. It was with her, as with Paul, a monotonous period, far harderto endure, in some senses, than the exciting and exacting experiencesof the forenoon.
It will be enough, then, to say that when Mike came in the edge of theevening to tell her that her uncle was at home, she had seen no sign ofPoubalov or Patterson, or of life in the ancient tavern.
Reluctantly she quitted her post, because nothing had happened,willingly because she hoped for definite information of some kind fromher uncle. The coupe was at the door.
"Will you want me longer, miss?" asked Mike as she came out, preparedto go hom
e.
"I suppose you ought to go," answered Clara, doubtfully.
"I dunno," said Mike, in the same manner; "me boss will be wonderin'what's become of the rig."
The long day, spent so far as he could see to no purpose, had triedhim, and yet, had Clara said the word he would have remained in onespot through the night. Clara did not say it.
She, too, was fatigued, not more with the exertion of the first halfof the day than with the tedious watching of she second.
"You may drive me home," she said wearily; "and if your employer willlet you, you might come back in an hour or two to see if I need you."
Mike, therefore, drove away, when he had left Clara at Mr. Pembroke'sgate.
She went up to the house, and Louise met her at the door with a white,frightened face.
"Papa is worse than ever," she whispered; "go to him at once. He is inthe library."
Clara opened the door and went in.
Her uncle sat at the table, with his arms and head upon it, and he didnot look up until she touched him and spoke to him.
"I am sorry, uncle dear," she said, "that I was not at home when youwanted me."
He raised his head with a groan.
"It doesn't matter," he responded; "you could have done nothing, as ithas happened."
"Didn't you have some news for me, uncle? Tell me; I can endureanything."
He tried to look at her, but a violent fit of trembling seized him andhe averted his eyes.
"I thought there was going to be news, good news," he stammered,"but----" and he shook his head sorrowfully.
"Do you mean that you have been disappointed, uncle?"
"Disappointed!" he repeated excitedly; "worse! All is lost, Clara,lost! Oh! that wily Russian!"
"What Russian, uncle? In mercy's name, tell me!"
"Your man Poubalov! He is----" Mr. Pembroke's words stuck in his throatand he looked at Clara with watery eyes.
"You have seen him then," she whispered faintly.
Mr. Pembroke nodded.
"And you have nothing to tell me?"
Her uncle opened his lips, tried to speak, and failing, grasped thetable with both hands while his eyes fixed themselves in a stare andhis face grew livid.
Clara ran to the sideboard in the dining-room and brought him a glassof brandy.
She poured a quantity down his throat till he gasped with pain.
The spasm passed, but left him weak, well-nigh helpless, and Clarasummoned the servant to take him to his room.
A neighboring physician was called in, and after half an hour or so hereported that Mr. Pembroke was in no immediate danger.
Clara wished to see him, not, however, to torment him with questions,but the physician advised that he be left alone, with merely a servant,or Louise at hand to attend to his needs.
"I am pretty certain," added the doctor, "that your presence wouldirritate him."
Clara withdrew to the drawing-room and tried to collect her thoughts.She had not heard from Paul and it was now eight o'clock. It couldnot be that nothing had happened during the long afternoon. Somethingsurely had occurred, and that through Poubalov, to prostrate heruncle---- Ah! she could not sit still. Her programme had not been fullyperformed. She was useless here, in the way, the doctor had said thatplainly enough. The tavern must be searched to-night, and if Paul werenot there to help, she must do without him.
She said nothing to Louise, or the servants. In the kitchen she found acandle and a box of matches. There and elsewhere about the house werekeys of various descriptions. She took every one she could lay herhands on, and thus provided, set forth alone.
It was a very quiet, retired street, on which the tavern stood. Onceit had been a main road, but traffic had long since been diverted intoother channels. She saw nobody as she approached the gloomy structurewith its overhanging porch, and few lights were in the windows ofadjacent houses. Under the porch she paused a moment in the effort tostill the beating of her heart. Then, instead of making any attempt topass through the front door, she went around to the driveway that Paulhad described, and came to an entrance at the very back of the tavern.She placed a trembling hand upon the knob and sought to insert a keyin the lock--but the door was opening before her! It was not only notlocked, it had not been latched, and the pressure of her hand had setit ajar.
With unsteady step and with her mind bewildered by grewsomeconjectures, Clara entered. She closed the door behind her and lit thecandle. Had Poubalov, then, returned when she had weakly given up thewatching, and abducted Ivan a second time? What did her uncle's wordsmean? "All is lost!" Was Ivan---- She did not permit herself to framethe thought completely, but gathering all her resolution set forth toaccomplish her task. Not even indulging in a useless regret that Paulwas not with her, she looked about the room in which she stood. It hadonce been a kitchen, and a glance at it was enough. An open door wasbefore her and she passed through it.
This was evidently the dining-room, and several doors were in view,only one of which was open. Feeling that this indicated the coursetaken by Poubalov in carrying Ivan out of the house from the room wherehe had been confined, she pushed on, and passing through this door,found herself in the front hall. There was a stairway at her righthand, and doors at both right and left. Whither should she go? Thedoors were closed and she chose the stairs.
At the top were two corridors as well as the passage leading toanother flight of stairs. Haphazard she proceeded along the corridorto the left. It was tortuous, like all hotel passages, and the floorwas broken here and there by steps, now up, now down. She passed manydoors, but all were closed. At the very end were two doors, almost sideby side, and as she stood hesitant, her blood chilled and her heartleaped to her throat.
Was that a groan that she had heard behind one of those doors?
Utterly unable to move, she listened with painful intentness.Yes--again it came, muffled, feeble, inarticulate, but unmistakablythe sound of a human voice. In her agony of apprehension Clara foundherself halting, from a strange inability to decide which door to open.
The Mission of Poubalov Page 27
