The Czar's Spy: The Mystery of a Silent Love
When he found me disinclined to talk further, he took up the paper he
had bought and became engrossed in it, while I, on my part, endeavored
to form some plan by which to mislead and escape his vigilance.
The fellow meant mischief--that I knew. If Elma was flying in secret and
he watched me, he would know that she was in Petersburg. At all hazards,
for my love's sake as well as for mine, I saw that I must escape him.
The ingeniousness and cleverness of Oberg's spies was proverbial
throughout Finland, therefore he might not be alone, or in any case, on
arrival in Petersburg would obtain assistance in keeping observation
upon me. I knew that the Baron desired my death, and that therefore I
could not be too wary of pitfalls. That fatal chair so cunningly
prepared for me in Lambeth was still vividly within my memory.
As we passed Lanskaya, and ran through the outer suburbs of Petersburg,
my fellow-traveler became inquisitive as to where I was going, but I was
somewhat unresponsive, and busied myself with my bag until we entered
the great echoing terminus whence I could see the Neva gleaming in the
pale sunlight and the city beyond. The fellow made no attempt to follow
me--he was too clever a secret agent for that. He merely wished me
"_sdravstvuite_" raised his hat politely and disappeared.
A porter carried my bag out of the station, and I drove across the
bridge to the large hotel where I had stopped before, the Europe, on the
corner of the Nevski Prospect and the Michael Street. There I engaged a
front room looking down into the broad Nevski, had a wash, and then
watched at the window for the appearance of the spy. I had already a
good four hours before the steamer from Abo was due, and I intended to
satisfy myself whether or not I was being followed.
Within twenty minutes the fellow lounged along on the opposite side of
the road, just as I had expected. He had changed his clothes, and
presented such a different appearance that at first sight I failed to
recognize him. He knew that I had driven there, and intended to follow
me if I came forth. My position was one of extreme difficulty, for if I
went down to the quay he would most certainly follow me.
Having watched his movements for ten minutes or so I descended to the
big _salle-à-manger_ and there ate my luncheon, chatting to the French
waiter the while. I sat purposely in an alcove, so as to be away from
the other people lunching there, and in order that I might be able to
talk with the waiter without being overheard.
Just as I had finished my meal, and he was handing me my bill, I bent
towards him and asked--
"Do you want to earn twenty roubles?"
"Well, m'sieur," he answered, looking at me with some surprise. "They
would be acceptable. I am a married man."
"Well, I want to escape from this place without being observed. There is
a disagreeable little matter regarding a lady, and I fear a fracas with
a man who is awaiting me outside in the Nevski." Then, seeing that he
hesitated, I assured him that I had committed no crime, and that I
should return for my baggage that evening.
"You could pass through the kitchen and out by the servants' entrance,"
he said, after a moment's reflection. "If m'sieur so desires, I will
conduct him out. The exit is in a back street which leads on to the
Catherine Canal."
"Excellent!" I said. "Let us go. Of course you will say nothing?"
"Not a word, m'sieur," and he gathered up the notes plus twenty roubles
with which I paid my bill, and taking my hat I followed him to the end
of the _salle-à-manger_ behind a high wooden screen, across the huge
kitchen, and then through a long stone corridor at the end of which sat
a gruff old doorkeeper. My guide spoke a word to him, and then the door
opened and I found myself in a narrow back slum with the canal beyond.
My first visit was to a clothier's, where I purchased and put on a new
light overcoat and then to a hatter's for a hat of different shape to
that I was wearing. I carried the hat back to a quiet alley which I had
noticed, and quickly exchanged the one I was wearing for it, leaving my
old hat in a corner. Then I entered a _café_ in order to while away the
hours until the vessel from Finland was due.
At four o'clock I was out upon the quay, straining my eyes seaward for
any sign of smoke, but could see nothing. The sun was sinking, and the
broad expanse of water westward danced like liquid gold. The light died
out slowly, the cold gray of evening crept on. A chill wind sprang up
and swept the quay, causing me to shiver. I asked of a dock laborer
whether the steamer was usually late, whereupon he told me that it was
often five or six hours behind time, depending upon the delay at
Helsingfors.
Twilight deepened into night, and the rain fell heavily, yet I still
paced the wet flags in patience, my eyes ever seaward for the light of
the vessel which I hoped bore my love. My presence there aroused some
speculation among the loungers, I think; nevertheless, I waited in
deepest anxiety whether, after all, Elma and Hornby had not disembarked
at Helsingfors.
Soon after ten o'clock a light shone afar off, and the movement of the
police and porters on the quay told me that it was the vessel. Then
after a further anxious quarter of an hour it came, amid great shouting
and mutual imprecations, slowly alongside the quay, and the passengers
at last began to disembark in the pelting rain.
One after another they walked up the gangway, filing into the
passport-office and on into the Custom House, people of all sorts and
all grades--Swedes, Germans, Finns, and Russians--until suddenly I
caught sight of two figures--one a man in a big tweed traveling-coat and
a golf-cap, and the other the slight figure of a woman in a long dark
cloak and a woolen tam-o'-shanter. The electric rays fell upon them as
they came up the wet gangway together, and there once again I saw the
sweet face of the silent woman whom I had grown to love with such
fervent desperation. The man behind her was the same who had
entertained me on board the _Lola_--the man who was said to be the
lover of the fugitive Muriel Leithcourt.
Without betraying my presence I watched them pass through the
passport-office and Custom House, and then, overhearing the address
which Martin Woodroffe gave the _isvoshtchik_, I stood aside, wet to the
skin, and saw them drive away.
At eleven o'clock on the following day I found myself installed in the
Hotel de Paris, a comfortable hostelry in the Little Morskaya, having
succeeded in evading the vigilance of the spy who had so cleverly
followed me from Abo, and in getting my suit-case round from the Hotel
Europe.
I was beneath the same roof as Elma, although she was in ignorance of my
presence. Anxious to communicate with her without Woodroffe's knowledge,
I was now awaiting my opportunity. He had, it appeared, taken for her a
pleasant front room with sitting-room adjoining on the first floor,
while he himself occupied a room on the third floor. The apartments he
had engaged for her were the most expensive in the hotel, and as far as
I could gather from the French waiter whom I judiciously tipped, he
appeared to treat her with every consideration and kindness.
"Ah, poor young lady!" the man exclaimed as he stood in my room
answering my questions, "What an affliction! She writes down all her
orders--for she can utter no word."
"Has the Englishman received any visitors?" I asked.
"One man--a Russian--an official of police, I think."
"If he receives anyone else, let me know," I said. "And I want you to
give Mademoiselle a letter from me in secret."
"Bien, m'sieur."
I turned to the little writing-table and scribbled a few hasty lines to
my love, announcing my presence, and asking her to grant me an interview
in secret as soon as Woodroffe was absent. I also warned her of the
search for her instigated by the Baron, and urged her to send me a line
in reply.
The note was delivered into her hand, but although I waited in suspense
nearly all day she sent no reply. While Woodroffe was in the hotel I
dared not show myself lest he should recognize me, therefore I was
compelled to sham indisposition and to eat my meals alone in my room.
Both the means by which she had met Martin Woodroffe and the motive were
equally an enigma. By that letter she had written to her schoolfellow it
was apparent that she had some secret of his, for had she not wished to
send him a message of reassurance that she had divulged nothing? This
would seem that they were close friends; yet, on the other hand,
something seemed to tell me that he was acting falsely, and was really
an ally of the Baron's.
Why had he brought her to Petersburg? If he had desired to rescue her he
would have taken her in the opposite direction--to Stockholm, where she
would be free--whereas he took her, an escaped prisoner, into the very
midst of peril. It was true that her passport was in order, yet I
remembered that an order had been issued for her transportation to
Saghalien, and now once arrested she must be lost to me for ever. This
thought filled me with fierce anxiety. She was in Petersburg, that city
where police spies swarm, and where every fresh arrival is noted and his
antecedents inquired into. No attempt had been made to disguise who she
was, therefore before long the police would undoubtedly come and arrest
her as the escaped criminal from Kajana.
For several hours I sat at my window watching the life and movement
down in the street below, my mind full of wonder and dark forebodings.
Was Martin Woodroffe playing her false?
Just after half-past six o'clock the waiter entered, and handing me a
note on a salver, said--
"Mademoiselle has, I believe, only this moment been able to write in
secret."
I tore it open and read as follows:--
DEAR FRIEND.--_I am so surprised. I thought you were still in Abo.
Woodroffe has an appointment at eight o'clock on the other side of the
city, therefore come to me at 8.15. I must see you, and at once. I am in
peril_.--ELMA HEATH.
My love was in peril! It was just as I had feared. I thanked Providence
that I had been sent to help her and extricate her from that awful fate
to which "The Strangler of Finland" had consigned her.
At the hour she named, after the waiter had come to me and announced the
Englishman's departure, I descended to her sitting-room and entered
without rapping, for if I had rapped she could not, alas! have heard.
The apartment was spacious and comfortable, thickly carpeted, with heavy
furniture and gilding. Before the long window were drawn curtains of
dark green plush, and on one side was the high stove of white porcelain
with shining brass bands, while from her low lounge-chair a slim wan
figure sprang up quickly and came forward to greet me, holding out both
her hands and smiling happily.
I took her hands in mine and held them tightly in silence for some
moments, as I looked earnestly into those wonderfully brilliant eyes of
hers. She turned away laughing, a slight flush rising to her cheeks in
her confusion. Then she led me to a chair, and motioned me to be
seated.
Ours was a silent meeting, but her gestures and the expression of her
eyes were surely more eloquent than mere words. I knew well what
pleasure that re-encounter caused her--equal pleasure with that it gave
to me.
Until that moment I had never really loved. I had admired and flirted
with women. What man has not? Indeed, I had admired Muriel Leithcourt.
But never until now had I experienced in my heart the real flame of true
burning affection. The sweetness of her expression, the tender caress of
those soft, tapering hands, the deep mysterious look in those
magnificent eyes, and the incomparable grace of all her movements,