The Czar's Spy: The Mystery of a Silent Love
very evident. Yet I don't fear them in the least," I declared. "I must
rescue the Signorina Heath."
"But, signore, have a care for yourself," cried the Italian, laying his
hand upon my arm. "You are a marked man. Ah! do I not know," he
exclaimed breathlessly. "If you go out you may run right into--well, the
fatal accident."
"Never fear, Olinto," I said reassuringly. "I shall keep my eyes well
open. Here, in London, one's life is safer than anywhere else in the
world, perhaps--certainly safer than in some places I could name in your
own country, eh?" at which he grinned.
The next moment he grew serious again, and said:
"I only warn the signore that if he goes out it is at his own peril."
"Then let it be so," I laughed, feeling self-confident that no one could
lead me into any trap. I was neither a foreigner nor a country cousin. I
knew London too well. He was silent and shook his head; then, after
telling me that he was still at the same restaurant in Westbourne Grove,
he took his departure, warning me once more not to go forth.
Half an hour later, disregarding his words, I strode out into the
Strand, and again walked round to the "Junior." The short wintry day had
ended, the gas-lamps were lit, and the darkness of night was gradually
creeping on.
Jack had not been to the club, and I began now to grow thoroughly
uneasy. He had parted from me at the corner of the Strand with only a
five minutes' walk before him, and yet he had apparently disappeared. My
first impulse was to drive to Notting Hill to inquire of Muriel if she
had news of him, but somehow the Italian's warning words made me wonder
if he had met with foul play.
I suddenly recollected those two men who had passed by as we had talked,
and how that the features of one had seemed strangely familiar.
Therefore I took a cab to the police-station down at Whitehall, and made
inquiry of the inspector on duty in the big bare office with its flaring
gas-jets in wire globes. He heard me to the end, then turning back the
book of "occurrences" before him, glanced through the ruled entries.
"I should think this is the gentleman, sir," he said. And he read to me
the entry as follows:
"P.C. 462A reports that at 2.07 a.m., while on duty outside the National
Gallery, he heard a revolver shot, followed by a man's cry. He ran to
the corner of Suffolk Street, where he found a gentleman lying upon the
pavement suffering from a serious shot-wound in the chest and quite
unconscious. He obtained the assistance of P.C.'s 218A and 343A, and the
gentleman, who was not identified, was taken to the Charing Cross
Hospital, where the house-surgeon expressed a doubt whether he could
live. Neither P.C.'s recollect having noticed any suspicious-looking
person in the vicinity.
"JOHN PERCIVAL, _Inspector_."
I waited for no more, but rushed round to the hospital in the cab, and
was, five minutes later, taken along the ward, where I identified poor
Jack lying in bed, white-faced and unconscious.
"The doctor was here a quarter of an hour ago," whispered the sister.
"And he fears he is sinking."
"He has uttered no words?" I asked anxiously. "Made no statement?"
"None. He has never regained consciousness, and I fear, sir, he never
will. It is a case of deliberate murder, the police told me early this
morning."
I clenched my fists and swore a fierce revenge for that dastardly act.
And as I stood beside the narrow bed, I realized that what Olinto had
said regarding my own peril was the actual truth. I was a marked man.
Was I never to penetrate that inscrutable and ever-increasing mystery?
CHAPTER XVII
THE TRUTH ABOUT THE "LOLA"
Throughout the long night I called many times at the hospital, but the
reply was always the same. Jack had not regained consciousness, and the
doctor regarded his case as hopeless.
In the morning I drove in hot haste to Bassett Road, Notting Hill, and
at the address Olinto had given me found Muriel. When she entered the
room with folding doors into which I had been shown, I saw that she was
pale and apprehensive, for we had not met since her flight, and she was,
no doubt, at a loss for an explanation. But I did not press her for one.
I merely told her that the Italian Santini had given me her address and
that I came as bearer of unfortunate news.
"What is it?" she gasped quickly.
"It concerns Captain Durnford," I replied. "He has been injured in the
street, and is in Charing Cross Hospital."
"Ah!" she cried. "I see. You do not explain the truth. By your face I
can tell there is something more. He's dead! Tell me the worst."
"No, Miss Leithcourt," I said gravely, "not dead, but the doctors fear
that he may not recover. His wound is dangerous. He has been shot by
some unknown person."
"Shot!" she echoed, bursting into tears. "Then they have followed him,
after all! They have deceived me, and now, as they intend to take him
from me, I will myself protect him. You, Mr. Gregg, have been in peril
of your life, that I know, but Jack's enemies are yours, and they shall
not go unpunished. May I see him?"
"I fear not, but we will ask at the hospital." And after the exchange of
some further explanations, we took a hansom back to Charing Cross.
At first the sister refused to allow Muriel to see the patient, but she
implored so earnestly that at last she consented, and the distressed
girl in the black coat and hat crept on tiptoe to the bedside.
"He was conscious for a quarter of an hour or so," whispered the nurse
who sat there, "He asked after some lady named Muriel."
The girl at my side burst into low sobbing.
"Tell him," she said, "that Muriel is here--that she has seen him, and
is waiting for him to recover."
We were not allowed to linger there, and on leaving the hospital I took
her back again to Notting Hill, promising to keep her well informed of
Jack's condition. He had returned to consciousness, therefore there was
now a faint hope for his recovery.
Day succeeded day, and although I was not allowed to visit my friend, I
was told that he was very slowly progressing. I idled at the Hotel Cecil
longing daily for news of Elma. Only once did a letter come from her, a
brief, well-written note from which it appeared that she was quite well
and happy, although she longed to be able to go out. The Princess was
very kind indeed to her, and, she added, was making secret arrangements
for her escape across the Russian frontier into Germany.
I knew what that meant. Use was to be made of certain Russian officials
who were secretly allied with the Revolutionists in order to secure her
safe conduct beyond the power of that order of exile of the tyrant de
Plehve. I wrote to her under cover to the Princess, but there had been
no time yet for a reply.
I saw Muriel many times, but never once did she refer to Rannoch or
their sudden departure. Her only thought was of the man she loved.
"I always believed that you were engaged to Mr. Woodroffe," I said one
day, when I called to tell her of Jack's latest bulletin.
"It is true that he asked me to marry him," she responded. "But there
were reasons why I did not accept."
"Reasons connected with his past, eh?"
She smiled, and then said:
"Ah, Mr. Gregg, it is all a strange and very tragic story. I must see
Jack. When do you think they will allow me to go to him?"
I explained that the doctor feared to cause the patient any undue
excitement, but that in two or three days there was hope of her being
allowed to visit him. Several times the police made inquiry of me, but I
could tell them nothing. I could not for the life of me recollect where
I had before seen the face of that man who had passed in the darkness.
One afternoon, ten days after the attempt upon Jack, I was allowed to
sit by his bedside and question him.
"Ah, Gordon, old fellow!" he said faintly, "I've had a narrow escape--by
Jove! After I left you I walked quickly on towards the club, when, all
of a sudden, two scoundrels sprang out of Suffolk Street, and one of
them fired a revolver full at me. Then I knew no more."
"But who were the men? Did you recognize them?"
"No, not at all. That's the worst of it."
"But Muriel knows who they were!" I said.
"Ah, yes! Bring her here, won't you?" the poor fellow implored, "I'm
dying to see her once again."
Then I told him how she had looked upon him while unconscious, and how I
had taken the daily bulletin to her. For an hour I talked with him,
urging him to get well soon, so that we could unite in probing the
mystery, and bringing to justice those responsible for the dastardly
act.
"Muriel knows, and if she loves you she will no doubt assist us," I
said.
"Oh, she does love me, Gordon, I know that," said the prostrate man,
smiling contentedly, and when I left I promised to bring her there on
the morrow.
This I did, but having conducted her to the bed at the end of the ward I
discreetly withdrew. What she said to him I am not, of course, aware.
All I know is that an hour later when I returned I found them the
happiest pair possible to conceive, and I clearly saw that Jack's trust
in her was not ill-placed.
But of Elma? No further word had come from her, and I began to grow
uneasy. The days went on. I wrote twice, but no reply was forthcoming.
At last I could bear the suspense no longer, and began to contemplate
returning to Russia.
Jack, when at last discharged from the hospital, came across to the
Cecil and lived with me in preference to the "Junior." He was very weak
at first, and I looked after him, while every day Muriel came and ate
with us, brightening our lives by her smart and merry chatter. She knew
that I loved Elma and was also aware of the exciting events in Russia,
Jack having told her of them during their long drives in hansoms when he
went out with her to take the air.
One day I received a brief note from the Princess in Petersburg, urging
me to remain patient and saying Elma was quite safe and well. There
were reasons, however, why she was unable to write, she added. What were
they, I wondered? Yet I could only wait until I received word to travel
back to Russia and fetch her home. The Princess had promised to arrange
everything.
December came, and we still remained on at the hotel. Once Olinto had
written me repeating his warning, but I did not heed it. I somehow
distrusted the fellow.
Jack, now thoroughly recovered, called almost daily at Bassett Road, and
would often bring Muriel to the Cecil to tea or to luncheon. Often I
inquired the whereabouts of her father and of Hylton Chater, but she
declared herself in entire ignorance, and believed they were abroad.
One afternoon, shortly before Christmas, as we were idling in the
American bar of the hotel, my friend told me that Muriel had invited us
to tea at her cousin's that afternoon, and accordingly we went there in
company.
The drawing-room into which we were ushered was familiar to me as the
apartment wherein I had told Muriel of the attempt upon her lover's
life.
As we sat together Muriel, a smart figure in a pale blue gown, poured
tea for us and chatted more merrily, I thought, than ever before. She
seemed quick and nervous and yet full of happiness, as she should indeed
have been, for Jack Durnford was one of the best fellows in the world,
and his restoration to health little short of miraculous.
"Gordon," he said to me with a sudden seriousness when tea had ended and
we had placed down our cups. "I want to tell you something--something
I've been longing always to tell you, and now I have got dear Muriel's
consent. I want to tell you about her father and his friends."
"And about Elma, too?" I said in quick eagerness. "Yes, tell me
everything."