The Czar's Spy: The Mystery of a Silent Love

arrests for stabbing affrays. Italians, like Greeks, are a dangerous lot when their blood is up." Then he added: "Personally, it seems to me that the murdered man was enticed from London to that spot and coolly done away with--from some motive of revenge, most probably." "Most probably," I said. "A vendetta, perhaps. I live in Italy, and therefore know the Italians well," I added. I had given him my card, and told him with whom I was staying. "Where were you yesterday, sir?" he inquired presently. "I was shooting--on the other side of the Nithsdale," I answered, and then went on to explain my movements, without, however, mentioning my visit to Rannoch. "And although you know the murdered man so intimately, you have no suspicion of anyone in this district who was acquainted with him?" "I know no one who knew him. When he left my service he had never been in England." "You say he was engaged in service in London?" "Yes, at a restaurant in Oxford Street, I believe. I met him accidentally in Pall Mall one evening, and he told me so." "You don't know the name of the restaurant?" "He did tell me, but unfortunately I have forgotten." The detective drew a deep breath of regret. "Someone who waited for him on the edge of that wood stepped out and killed him--that's evident," he said. "Without a doubt." "And my belief is that it was an Italian. There were two foreigners who slept at a common lodging-house two nights ago and went on tramp towards Glasgow. We have telegraphed after them, and hope we shall find them. Scotsmen or Englishmen never use a knife of that pattern." With his latter remark I entirely coincided. In my own mind that was the strongest argument in favor of Leithcourt's innocence. That the tenant of Rannoch had kept that secret tryst in daily patience I knew from my own observations, yet to me it scarcely seemed feasible that he would use a weapon so peculiarly Italian and yet so terribly deadly. And then when I reflected further, recollecting that the body I had discovered was that of a woman and not a man, I stood staggered and bewildered by the utterly inexplicable enigma. I promised the burly detective that in exchange for his secrecy regarding my statement that I would assist him in every manner possible in the solution of the problem. "The real name of the murdered man must be at all costs withheld," I urged. "It must not appear in the papers, for I feel confident that only by the pretense that he is unknown can we arrive at the truth. If his name is given at the inquiry, then the assassin will certainly know that I have identified him." "And what then?" "Well," I said with some hesitation, "while I am believed to be in ignorance we shall have opportunity for obtaining the truth." "Then you do really suspect?" he said, again looking at me with those cold, blue eyes. "I know not whom to suspect," I declared. "It is a mystery why the man who was once my faithful servant should be enticed to that wood and stabbed to the heart." "There is no one in the vicinity who knew him?" "Not to my knowledge." "We might obtain his address in London through his father in Leghorn," suggested the officer. "I will write to-day if you so desire," I said readily. "Indeed, I will get my friend the British Consul to go round and see the old man and telegraph the address if he obtains it." "Capital!" he declared. "If you will do us this favor we shall be greatly indebted to you. It is fortunate that we have established the victim's identity--otherwise we might be entirely in the dark. A murdered foreigner is always more or less of a mystery." Therefore, then and there, I took a sheet of paper and wrote to my old friend Hutcheson at Leghorn, asking him to make immediate inquiry of Olinto's father as to his son's address in London. I said nothing to the police of that strange adventure of mine over in Lambeth, or of how the man now dead had saved my life. That his enemies were my own he had most distinctly told me, therefore I felt some apprehension that I myself was not safe. Yet in my hip pocket I always carried my revolver--just as I did in Italy--and I rather prided myself on my ability to shoot straight. We sat for a long time discussing the strange affair. In order to betray no eagerness to get away, I offered the big Highlander a cigar from my case, and we smoked together. The inquiry would be held on the morrow, he told me, but as far as the public was concerned the body would remain as that of some person "unknown." "And you had better not come to my uncle's house, or send anyone," I said. "If you desire to see me, send me a line and I will meet you here in Dumfries. It will be safer." The officer looked at me with those keen eyes of his, and said: "Really, Mr. Gregg, I can't quite make you out, I confess. You seem to be apprehensive of your own safety. Why?" "Italians are a very curious people," I responded quickly. "Their vendetta extends widely sometimes." "Then you have reason to believe that the enemy of this poor fellow Santini may be your enemy also?" "One never knows whom one offends when living in Italy," I laughed, as lightly as I could, endeavoring to allay his suspicion. "He may have fallen beneath the assassin's knife by giving quite a small and possibly innocent offense to somebody. Italian methods are not English, you know." "By Jove, sir, and I'm jolly glad they're not!" he said. "I shouldn't think a police officer's life is a very safe one among all those secret murder societies I've read about." "Ah! what you read about them is often very much exaggerated," I assured him. "It is the vendetta which is such a stain upon the character of the modern Italian; and depend upon it this affair in Rannoch Wood is the outcome of some revenge or other--probably over a love affair." "But you will assist us, sir?" he urged. "You know the Italian language, which will be of great advantage; besides, the victim was your servant." "Be discreet," I said. "And in return I will do my very utmost to assist you in hunting down the assassin." And thus we made our compact. Half-an-hour after I was driving in the dog-cart through the pouring rain up the hill out of gray old Dumfries to my uncle's house. As I descended from the cart and gave it over to a groom, old Davis, the butler, came forward, saying in a low voice: "There's Miss Leithcourt waiting to see you, Mr. Gordon. She's in the morning-room, and been there an hour. She asked me not to tell anyone else she's here, sir." "Then my aunt has not seen her?" I exclaimed, scenting mystery in this unexpected visit. "No, sir. She wishes to see you alone, sir." I walked across the big hall and along the corridor to the room the old man had indicated. And as I opened the door and Muriel Leithcourt in plain black rose to meet me, I plainly saw from her white, haggard countenance that something had happened--that she had been forced by circumstances to come to me in strictest confidence. Was she, I wondered, about to reveal to me the truth? CHAPTER VI THE GATHERING OF THE CLOUDS "Mr. Gregg," exclaimed the girl with agitation, as she put forth her black-gloved hand, "I--I suppose you know--you've heard all about the discovery to-day up at the wood? I need not tell you anything about it" "Yes, Miss Leithcourt, I only wish you would tell me about it," I said gravely, inviting her to a chair and seating myself. "I've heard some extraordinary story about a man being found dead, but I've been in Dumfries nearly all day. Who is the man?" "Ah! that we don't know," she replied, pale-faced and anxious. Her attitude was as though she wished to confide in me and yet still hesitated to do so. "You've been waiting for me quite a long time, Davis tells me. I regret that you should have done this. If you had left word that you wished to see me, I would have come over to you at once." "No. I wanted to see you alone--that's the reason I am here. They must not know at home that I've been over here, so I purposely asked the man not to announce me to your aunt." "You want to see me privately," I said in a low, earnest voice. "Why? Is there any service I can render you?" "Yes. A very great one," she responded with quick eagerness, "I--well--the fact is, I have summoned courage to come to you and beg of you to help me. I am in great distress--and I have not a single friend whom I can trust--in whom I can confide." "I shall esteem it the highest honor if you will trust me," I said in deep earnestness. "I can only assure you that I will remain loyal to your interests and to yourself." "Ah! I believe you will, Mr. Gregg!" she declared with enthusiasm, her large, dark eyes turned upon me--the eyes of a woman in sheer and bitter despair. Her face was perfect, one of the most handsome I had ever gazed upon. The more I saw of her the greater was the fascination she held over me. A silence fell between us as she sat with her gloved hands lying idly in her lap. Her lips moved nervously, but no sound came from them, so agitated was she, so eager to tell me something; and yet at the same time reluctant to take me into her confidence. "Well?" I asked at last in a low voice. "I am quite ready to render you any service, if you will only command me." "Ah! But I fear what I require will strike you as so unusual--you will hesitate to act when I explain what service I require of you," she said doubtfully. "I cannot tell you until I hear your wishes," I said, smiling, and yet puzzled at her attitude. "It concerns the terrible discovery made up in Rannoch Wood," she said in a hoarse, nervous voice at last. "That unknown man was murdered--stabbed to the heart." "Well?" "Well," she said, scarcely above a whisper, "I have suspicions." "Of the murdered man's identity?" "No. Of the assassin." I glanced at her sharply and saw the intense look in her dark, wide-open eyes. "You believe you know who dealt the blow?" "I have a suspicion--that is all. Only I want you to help me, if you will." "Most certainly," I responded. "But if you believe you know the assassin you probably know something of the victim?" "Only that he looked like a foreigner." "Then you have seen him?" I exclaimed, much surprised. My remark caused her to hold her breath for an instant. Then she answered, rather lamely, it seemed to me: "I saw him when the keepers brought the body to the castle." Now, according to the account I had heard, the police had conveyed the dead man direct from the wood into Dumfries. Was it possible, therefore, that she had seen Olinto before he met with his sudden end? I feared to press her for an explanation at that moment, but, nevertheless, the admission that she had seen him struck me as a very peculiar fact. "You judge him to be a foreigner?" I remarked as casually as I could. "From his features and complexion I guessed him to be Italian," she responded quickly, at which I pretended to express surprise. "I saw him after the keepers had found him." "Besides," she went on, "the stiletto was evidently an Italian one, which would almost make it appear that a foreigner was the assassin." "Is that your own suspicion?" "No." "Why?" She hesitated a moment, then in a low, eager voice she said: "Because I have already seen that three-edged knife in another person's possession." "That's pretty strong evidence," I declared. "The person in question will have to prove that he was not in Rannoch Wood last evening at nightfall." "How do you know it was done at nightfall?" she asked quickly with some surprise, half-rising from her chair. "I merely surmised that it was," I responded, inwardly blaming myself