WHAT BECAME OF LITIZKI.
Clara retired before her uncle returned, and when at last he appeared,
it was only to pack his bag and hurry away to catch the midnight train
for New York.
"I may be gone a week," he told Louise, "and I may get back in two
days. Telegraph me at the Travelers' Hotel, if I am wanted for
anything."
Mr. Pembroke's departure was a great disappointment to Clara. She
reproached herself that she had not made an opportunity to tell him
about her conversation with Poubalov and Litizki; it was his right to
know everything that could possibly bear upon the case, and could she
have told him, she would have besought him to advise her.
She was now in a bewildering maze of doubts and uncertainties. Billings
had lied to her; she was almost as sure of that as if she had already
proved it; but at what part of his story the falsehood began she could
only guess. There was no doubt that Ivan had taken Billings' carriage.
Did he give the driver orders to go to the Park Square Station? Did
Billings drive to the station? The latter question she could answer
with some degree of satisfaction by inquiry of the man O'Brien, and
that seemed the first thing to do; but what then?
Poubalov had called to say something, and had not only gone away
without saying it, but had gone in such wise as to leave no reasonable
doubt that he dared not face the driver of the closed carriage. Was
it not an inevitable inference that Billings had been hired by the
Russian? It was with evident difficulty that Billings had stumbled
through the story as it was. Would not Poubalov, recognizing the
driver's mental inferiority, have argued that if they were suddenly
brought face to face, Billings would have betrayed their complicity by
at least a start?
And Litizki, what had become of him? It was not to be thought of that
he had abandoned the case. Poubalov had called at his shop during the
day, unquestionably with some ulterior design. Could anything be more
reasonable than to suppose that in some way the spy had frustrated the
attempt of Litizki to help her?
The more she pondered the various puzzling aspects of the case, the
more everything seemed to center upon Poubalov, and she shuddered with
apprehension as Litizki's characterization of him recurred to her. He
was, indeed, a terrible enemy.
Having in mind only the known facts in the case, and disregarding
utterly all inferences and conjectures, she tried to reason along
various lines, in the hope that thus a theory might be set up
which should command sufficient respect to justify a new departure
in her search. She began with the fact that Ivan had made every
preparation for marriage--and there a new thought presented itself.
He had surrendered his room; he must, therefore, have packed his
belongings; had they been disturbed? This might be a matter of infinite
significance, and one that she would attend to without delay.
"Louise," she said (they were at the breakfast table and her cousin was
lingering over her coffee while Clara was absorbed in thought), "will
you go downtown with me again to-day?"
"Of course, dear," replied Louise; "I will be ready in ten minutes."
Louise was relieved at Clara's suggestions. She had been hopelessly
wondering what Clara could find to do next, and she dreaded for her
cousin's health should there prove to be no active work upon which she
could concentrate her faculties. She left the room to prepare for the
day's jaunt, and Clara resumed her thinking.
Every preparation for marriage, and a start actually made for the
church. Then an accident that somebody had prepared. Who? There must
have been somebody who had a great object to attain in preventing
the marriage, or in getting possession of Ivan. Suppose it were
Poubalov, what then? With the insight he himself had given her into
his character, would he not do everything possible to throw her off
the right track? If he had abducted Ivan, would he hesitate to abduct
Litizki if he found that the little tailor was in his way?
It was vain to speculate for a reason for Poubalov's main action; that
must lie in his capacity as a paid spy of a government with which Ivan,
apparently, had been at one time in conflict. His subsequent actions,
so far as she knew them, were all explainable on the theory that he had
had to do with Ivan's disappearance.
And so her thoughts revolved around Poubalov, finding at every turn a
trace of obliquity that was wholly in consonance with his character and
his confessed methods.
Clara felt that her reasoning was bringing her to no definite end,
although her brain teemed with courses of action that might have been
possible could she have commanded the services of a corps of shrewd,
faithful detectives. It is generally so with persons who have a
great task to accomplish; they find themselves with more plans than
resources, more brains than hands. Clara had just come to the sensible
conclusion that, compelled to work substantially alone, she would
undertake exactly one thing at a time, and, having chosen a line of
inquiry, would follow it uninterruptedly to the end, when a servant
announced that a man had called to see her.
"I couldn't catch his name, Miss Clara," said the servant, "but I'm
afraid he's a beggar, he looks so forlorn and seedy."
Clara knew who it was and she sprang from her chair with more eagerness
and animation than she had manifested at any time since the disastrous
wedding day. She fairly ran into the drawing-room, both her hands
extended, her face radiant with smiles, and completely overwhelmed poor
Litizki with the warmth of her greeting.
"I was so afraid something dreadful had happened to you!" she
exclaimed, "but I knew that you had not deserted me."
"Deserted you?" said Litizki huskily; "no, but I was afraid you would
think so. I didn't know what Poubalov might have told you, and unless
you thoroughly understand that man, that fiend, Miss Hilman, he is
likely to make you believe anything."
"Then you know that he had been here! You must have recognized his hat
in the hall."
"I saw it there and his stick, too, but I knew before then that he had
been here. I came to tell you."
Litizki paused, the look of grateful relief that had overspread his
features at first giving way to his customary depressed expression,
and he fell into his habit of speaking with averted eyes, or with but
occasional furtive glances at the person addressed.
"Do tell me," said Clara; "I have been very anxious about you."
Litizki thought a moment, and then asked:
"May I see Poubalov's cane?"
"To be sure," replied Clara, and she brought it to him from the hall.
Litizki took it, looked it over, felt along the top, and suddenly drew
forth the handle, from which a gleaming blade depended. Clara started
back with a low exclamation of alarm. Litizki touched the edge of the
blade with his thumb, as a man tests a razor.
"Alexander Poubalov," he murmured gloomily, "held this over my heart
once, not so long ago."
He thrust it back into its sheath, where it came to rest with an angry
click, and handed the cane to Clara.
"That is the kind of man he is, Miss Hilman," he said; "I thought you
might like to know."
If he had wished to impress Clara with the horrible gravity of the
situation, with its frightful possibilities, he succeeded beyond
measure. She held the cane, feeling that it epitomized the spy's
career, and a dreadful faintness depressed her which she at length
overcame with the utmost difficulty. Having returned the concealed
weapon to the hall, she sank into a chair and asked Litizki to tell her
what had happened to him during the previous evening.
"You asked me to call early," he began, "and I set out to do so.
Without going into unnecessary detail, I will say that I came up the
street that ends nearly in front of this house, a little after seven
o'clock. The exact time doesn't matter, for you will know as nearly as
you need to when I tell you that just as I was about to cross the road
I saw Poubalov in front of me. He had come by another route. I wasn't
surprised, for the man seems to read one's thoughts, and it was as if
he had known that I was coming, and had determined to prevent me.
"I doubted whether it would be wise to call as long as he was in the
neighborhood, but all doubts were set at rest when he himself went up
the steps and rang. Of course it would have been the height of folly
for me to enter the house then."
"You had the right to," interrupted Clara; "I had asked you to come,
and I needed you very much."
Litizki looked so miserable that Clara hastened to add:
"I didn't mean to reprove or find fault, Mr. Litizki. I forgot for the
moment everything except that eventually, after Poubalov had run away,
I wished you were at hand!"
"I hope I made no mistake, Miss Hilman," said Litizki; "at all events I
could see no other course at the time than to do what I did."
"I have no doubt you were right. Go on, please."
"I determined to wait until Poubalov went away. If I had been familiar
with the house, I might have found my way to the back door and sent
word to you by a servant, but I dared not venture, for I knew not from
what window Poubalov might be looking. The same reason induced me to
leave the street, which is clearly in view from some windows, and,
moreover, I did not care to risk questions from anybody as to why I
was loitering about. So I slipped into the adjoining grounds, where
there is a lot of shrubbery, and crawled under a tree whose branches
hung low.
"From where I lay I could see whether anybody entered or left the house
by the front door and I also saw all the windows on one side. I had
been there less than a minute when somebody went up the steps and was
admitted. I could not see who it was, for the evening was cloudy and it
grew dark very quickly."
"It was a man named Billings," said Clara; "he drove the closed
carriage which took Mr. Strobel from Park Street."
"Indeed! I wish I had known it. Well, events happened pretty quickly
just then, for it seemed to me that less than another minute had passed
when Poubalov appeared at one of the windows on the side of the house.
He raised it, stepped out, and leaped over the hedge, not five yards
from where I lay. He passed so close to me that I could have reached
out from under the tree and tripped him up! I lay very still, wondering
what his action could mean, for as you must know, he was bareheaded. If
I had dreamed then of going to the house, I could not have done so, for
he crouched down by the hedge near the street, and I could see that he
had his eyes on the door and that he was waiting. I then determined to
follow him wherever he should go, for of course he meditated villainy.
I may have prevented him in that---- Oh! I don't know!"
Litizki fairly groaned these words, and Clara was about to utter an
anxious inquiry, when he resumed:
"Don't let me disturb you, Miss Hilman; I will tell the whole wretched
story. How long we lay there I don't know, but you must, for at last
you, I think it was you, came out of the house and walked down to the
gate to say good-night to somebody who left you there--Billings I
suppose--and walked away in a direction opposite to us. You, was it
you? Yes, you waited a moment, and returned to the house, whereupon
Poubalov immediately got up, leaped over the hedge, darted across the
road as noiselessly as if he were a cat, and disappeared.
"I followed as well as I could, and, as luck would have it, I soon
overtook him, for he was strolling along slowly, as unconcerned as if
he owned a house near by and were out for a breath of fresh air. He
rambled on until he came to Washington Street, when he stopped at the
curb and looked idly about for several seconds. There were many people
about, and his bareheaded condition attracted attention. All the shops
were open, and suddenly he darted into one of them. It was not a hat
store, but when he came out, which was almost immediately, he had a hat
on. I suppose he bought it for an extravagant sum off the head of some
stranger. It would be like him.
"He idled about the neighborhood for as much as an hour, Miss Hilman,
and I did all that I could think of to keep him in view without
exposing myself. The man is a fiend with a million eyes! But wait,
I'll tell you. At last he moved along, and, of course, I followed
faithfully, noting every turn, that I might be able to go again by
the same way if possible, or at least to the same place, wherever
that might be. For in spite of my care I don't know what was his
destination, if he had any. It is for this reason that I say I may have
prevented him from some fresh villainy.
"At last, in a street to which I could readily return, he paused. I
was across the way from him, and I slipped into a doorway, where I
was wholly in the dark. I could see him, though, and for a long, long
time he paced slowly back and forth, never once speaking to anybody,
or looking about, or getting out of my sight. It didn't matter to me.
I would have stayed on till I starved in my tracks, but eventually he
crossed the street directly toward me. He could not see me, of that
I am certain, but of course he had seen me--and--I am a helpless,
good-for-nothing fool, Miss Hilman!"
"Why say that?" asked Clara kindly.
"Because he came straight into the doorway, put his hand lightly on my
shoulder and said in that deep, scornful voice of his: 'It is enough,
Nicholas Litizki. Let us now go home,' and he laughed disagreeably."
Litizki stared aside with an expression of utter self-contempt.
"I weakly said to myself that it was a ruse to get rid of me, and I
followed again as he walked briskly away. He took a street car and went
straight to his room in Bulfinch Place. It was past midnight, and so I
came this morning, Miss Hilman."