THE AGENT OF THE CZAR.
"Good-morning," said Poubalov, gutturally; "this is Madame White, I
believe?"
"Yes, sir," replied the landlady, impressed at once by the stranger's
deferential manner, and believing that through him the mystery would be
cleared away; "won't you come in?"
"Thank you, yes. I have called to inquire for my friend Strobel."
"You are not the first, sir," said Mrs. White, opening the door to the
sitting-room. "There are two here now who will be glad to see you.
Miss Hilman, this is the gentleman who called on Mr. Strobel yesterday
morning. Miss Hilman was to have married him, you know, and this is
Miss Pembroke," and having thus awkwardly initiated a new scene, Mrs.
White took refuge in the nearest chair.
Poubalov was as near to showing surprise as he ever permitted himself
to come, and Clara, rising impulsively, went directly to him and said:
"Then you can tell me something about Mr. Strobel, can you not?"
"I can tell you nothing," he answered gravely; "I came for information
myself."
Clara looked into his eyes searchingly, and went back to her chair
feeling that her greatest hope had been dashed to the ground.
"I feel the awkwardness of my position, ladies," continued Poubalov
(I make no attempt to suggest his dialect, which was at times almost
unintelligible, as there was nothing of a humorous or trivial character
in his conversation). "Every newspaper makes me out as a possible foe
to Mr. Strobel, a mysterious ogre going about seeking to destroy young
men, and perhaps I should not blame anybody for supposing that I might
have been concerned in preventing Mr. Strobel's marriage, but I assure
you that I was not. I did not know of his intentions until yesterday
morning, when he told me about it himself. I am as much surprised as
anybody to read of his disappearance."
Poubalov paused and with marked deliberation took out his card case.
"It was but natural," said Clara, tremulously, "that we should hope
that you could throw some light on his movements, for knowing nothing
except that somebody had called on him unexpectedly, we could not fail
to attribute something significant to the visit."
"Especially," put in Mrs. White, "as the young men and I hunted the
house over for your card and couldn't find it."
"All very natural," responded Poubalov, imperturbably, "and it was a
circumstance of the utmost triviality in itself that lent color to my
mysterious coming and going. You remember, Mrs. White, do you not, that
you took my card to Mr. Strobel?"
"Yes, indeed, and he--I don't want to give offense--he didn't seem
particularly pleased to see it."
"So you told the newspaper men. I am not in the least offended. Here
is the card you took to him. I asked Mr. Strobel where I might call
upon him after his wedding tour, and he wrote that address upon my
own card. Of course I took it away with me." He handed the card to
Clara, adding: "I want you to see that I am concealing nothing, and
if my voluntary return to this house did not signify anything, your
suspicions should certainly be relieved by seeing that Strobel himself
made a semi-appointment with me at his future home."
"I hope, Mr. Poubalov," said Clara, with her eyes upon the card, "that
you will forgive us for cherishing any unjust suspicions. At the
worst, they were vague, and everything is so confusing."
"I feel that there is nothing to forgive," began Poubalov, graciously,
when Mrs. White interrupted, her mind naturally intent upon her own
trouble:
"And such horrid things as they say, too! You said you had read the
papers?"
"Yes, all of them."
"Did you read about my daughter?" and the distressed mother rose,
and, taking the newspaper from Clara's lap, thrust it into his hands.
Without looking at it, Poubalov answered:
"I read it."
"And what do you think of it?" cried Mrs. White, stemming a fresh flood
of tears.
Poubalov's brows contracted slightly as a sign that he disapproved
forcing this question forward at the time, and with a grave glance at
Clara he replied:
"I do not think. I watch, ask questions, and listen."
Clara hardly knew whether to be encouraged or depressed by this answer.
Unless this man were an intimate friend of Ivan, it was perhaps not to
be expected that he should see the folly of supposing for an instant
that the missing man had eloped with Lizzie White.
"Mr. Poubalov," she said, "the reports in the newspapers do not throw
the least light on this matter. I have no criticism to make on their
statements of fact, but their conjectures of every kind are idle. They
do not even disturb me."
Poubalov bowed as if to signify that he heard and understood.
"The cause of his disappearance," she continued after a moment, "it is
yet to be found. The newspapers have not even hinted at it."
"You have an idea, then," he said, "as to the correct explanation?"
"No, not one," she answered; "I can only think of accident; but had
there been any accident so serious as to render him unconscious and
helpless, the police would have discovered it and reported it by this
time, would they not?"
"They would if your police are nearly as efficient as those of European
cities," said Poubalov, "and I have no doubt they are so to the extent
of such emergencies as this case presents."
"Then, don't you see, the whole mystery is confined to two general
solutions; either Mr. Strobel was seized by enemies and carried away;
or he had some powerful reason for absenting himself, and disappeared
voluntarily."
The Russian was surprised and deeply impressed by the young lady's
clearness of vision, and Louise, listening with rapt attention, was
simply amazed to hear her cousin reason so calmly when every word she
uttered must have cost her pain.
"And which of these hypotheses," asked Poubalov, guardedly, "do you
consider the more probable?"
"I have no means of judging between them," replied Clara, "for I have
no fact except the disappearance to justify either one. It seems as if
there must be some other theory, if I could only think what it is."
"There is no other," said Poubalov, "if you eliminate accident, as I
think you properly do."
"Then I must consider what grounds there might be for supporting both
hypotheses. As I discard as utterly worthless all the suggestions in
the newspapers, I must suppose that Mr. Strobel had enemies, and that
these enemies were powerful enough either to abduct him in broad day
on a crowded thoroughfare, or cause him such sudden fear that he felt
obliged to go into hiding."
Again was Poubalov surprised, for he could not himself have reasoned
more clearly, or have stated his conclusions more concisely; but he
simply nodded gravely, expressing neither convictions or emotions.
Clara wished that he would speak. She had expressed her thoughts as
they came to her there in Mrs. White's sitting room. It was thinking
aloud rather than a statement of previously formed conclusions. Now
she saw to just what end her arguments were bringing her, and she
almost shrank from it. Summoning her utmost resolution she looked
straight at the sombre face of the Russian and added:
"I have no knowledge of Ivan's enemies, Mr. Poubalov; isn't it possible
that you can give some information on that phase of the case?"
"Yes, it is," replied Poubalov, without hesitation. Then he paused
a moment before he continued: "Were not the case so serious and for
you so distressing, I should feel that I must compliment you on your
unusual faculty for analyzing a situation. Far from taking offense at
your continued suspicion of me, I am really pleased."
"I have not said that I suspected you."
"You did not need to, Miss Hilman. Your reason tells you that Mr.
Strobel was happy and confident of the future until suddenly one
Poubalov appears before him like the ghost of past misfortunes and as a
prophet of new ones."
"I assure you," interrupted Clara again, "that I did not know that you
were not an intimate friend of Mr. Strobel's; I spoke simply of natural
inferences."
"My dear young lady," said the Russian, "you were helpless in the hands
of your own reason."
Clara was silent. She felt instinctively that her analysis was correct
and that she was facing, if not one of Ivan's enemies, at the least a
man who represented all that might be hostile to him; and when she had
endeavored to withdraw some of the force of her reasoning, he himself
had held her to her conclusions and clinched them.
"It was my intention," continued Poubalov, "to learn from Mrs. White
who you were, that I might solicit the privilege of calling upon you
and laying before you what is in my knowledge concerning Mr. Strobel,
for I fear that I may----"
He stopped abruptly and looked from one to another of the wondering
ladies.
"Go on, please," exclaimed Clara, now stirred by a growing agitation;
"if you can give us the faintest light it would be cruel to withhold
it."
"May I hope that no offense will be taken," said Poubalov, "if I say
that I planned to tell these things to you only? I will be pleased to
call at your own convenience."
"No, no!" replied Clara, rising; "I must know now. Tell me here. Mrs.
White, may we step into your dining-room?"
Louise and the landlady had risen at the same moment, and Mrs. White
said:
"If Miss Pembroke doesn't object, she and I will go out. Only,
Mr.--sir, if you have anything to say about my daughter, I wish you
would let me hear it!"
"It was not my intention to mention her, madame," replied Poubalov.
Louise went to Clara's side and kissed her.
"You are so brave, dear!" she said.
Clara gave Louise a grateful look as she and Mrs. White withdrew, and
turned expectantly to the Russian.
"Pray sit down, Miss Hilman," he said; "what I have to say may not be
as important and useful to you as you hope, but I preferred, and with
good reason, as I think you will see, to discuss the matter with you
alone. It was on my tongue to say that I may have been innocently a
part of the cause that sent Mr. Strobel into hiding."
"Yes," whispered Clara, eagerly; "go on!"
"Miss Hilman, I am an agent of the czar."
Poubalov paused as if he expected this announcement to disturb, or
otherwise impress his listener seriously, but she merely looked
straight at him, as she did when he began to speak.
"Strobel knew me in that capacity," he continued, "years ago when we
were in Russia. Has he ever told you about his life there?"
"A little," replied Clara, very doubtful how much she ought to reveal
to this man who represented the autocratic, relentless power that had
destroyed the fortune of the Strobel family and made Ivan himself an
exile.
"You find it difficult to be frank with me," said Poubalov, "and I am
not surprised, but you must remember that I am setting the example.
It is quite the habit of thoughtless persons to apply an opprobrious
epithet to my occupation and call me a spy. Well, then, I, Alexander
Poubalov, spy, paid by the government of Russia, tell you who I am, and
tell you that at one time Ivan Strobel had reason to fear me."
The door bell rang while Poubalov was speaking and Clara heard Mrs.
White pattering through the hall to answer it.
The man at the door was known to the landlady as Strobel's tailor, an
undersized, forlorn-looking man who seemed always to be struggling with
secret woe. She knew that Strobel had been kind to him, and helped him
in more ways than mere patronage, and she knew that poor Litizki was as
grateful and loyal as a dog. It was with sincere welcome, therefore,
that she greeted him, and asked him into the house.
"I only came," said the tailor, "to ask if there is any news of Mr.
Strobel? The newspapers say he has disappeared."
"We know nothing of him here," answered Mrs. White; "but come in, do!
There's no telling who may say the word that will put us all on the
right track. Miss Hilman is here, the lady he was to marry, you know.
She's talking with a gentleman now in the parlor. I presume she may
like to see you."
"I don't know that I can give her any help," said Litizki, following
the landlady into the dining-room, "but I'll wait a few minutes, for I
wanted to know something that the papers do not make clear."
He came to a sudden halt as he stepped into the dining-room, where the
voices of the persons in the front room were heard much more distinctly
than in the hall.
"Who is that talking?" he exclaimed in an excited whisper.
"It's a gentleman who called on Mr. Strobel yesterday," replied Mrs.
White; "I can't think of his name."
"I should know that voice," muttered Litizki as if speaking to himself.
The rooms were separated by folding doors with glazed glass panels. On
one of the panels there was a tiny spot where the opaque glaze had been
rubbed or knocked off. Litizki applied his eye to that spot, and shaded
the glass with his hand, straining to get a clear view of the man whose
deep voice came to him like the distant rumble of an organ.
After a moment he straightened up and turned about, his sallow,
depressed features gleaming with savage interest.
"I cannot see clearly," he whispered, "but if that is Alexander
Poubalov, then the whole mystery of Strobel's disappearance is cleared
away!"