Professor Shishkin spent the next ten days after Maxime’s cataclysmal
visit in worrying over what he had to do and in trying to devise some
way of eluding at least that part of his orders that required him
to take Olga with him. Knowing the methods of the Brotherhood, he
guessed that, if need be, they would not hesitate to use the girl in
accomplishing their ends, at whatever peril to her. On the other hand,
he was resolved that she should never go back to Russia. But how to
avoid the necessity he could not see. He worried himself sick over it.
He was in this state of mind when Marie Fitzhugh notified him by the
long-distance telephone--for she did not wish to be seen in his company
or at his house--to send the notice of his impending departure on Mr.
Caruth’s yacht to the papers, and to be ready to sail in four days.
It was not difficult to get the announcement printed. The Professor’s
scientific achievements, while they had never brought him wealth,
had brought him the homage of the intellectual of all lands. He had
even been discovered by the New York Sunday papers and had had his
achievements attractively described in a syndicate letter written by a
special writer, who criticised--and disproved--the Professor’s famous
theory of rising sea-floors by the sole light of information derived
from the books of the Professor himself.
In spite of this, the Professor was a friend to newspaper men, and was
always willing to be interviewed on almost any subject connected with
his work. So when he desired to give out the news of his coming trip,
he had only to choose to which newspaper friend he would send it.
Finally he picked out Bristow, for much the same reasons that had led
Caruth to consult that well-informed individual. He had first met the
reporter on his arrival from a trip to Europe several years before, and
had been attracted to him by the able and intelligent account which the
reporter had printed concerning certain scientific discoveries he had
made on his trip. This good impression was confirmed on several later
occasions. Further, the reporter naturally occurred to him, because
that young man had recently become a somewhat constant caller at the
New Jersey cottage. (The Professor was slightly bewildered by his
apparent assiduity in the pursuit of science, but did not suspect that
his daughter might have something to do with it.) Further, as ship-news
reporter for the Consolidated Press, Bristow was not only the exact
man to handle such an item, but was best adapted to give it the wide
publicity desired by its publication in the papers served by that great
news organization.
Bristow put the item “on the wires,” and then hurried down to East
Orange at the first possible moment. He did not, however, go straight
to the Professor himself, but to that gentleman’s daughter. Moreover,
he addressed her as Olga, from which it might be suspected that matters
had progressed further than the Professor imagined.
“Olga,” he began, “this note--what does it mean?”
The girl glanced at the paper in his hand. “I don’t know,” she answered
thoughtfully. “I don’t know.”
“But----”
“Ten days ago a young man came to see father. They talked together
a long time. Father was a good deal excited; I could hear his voice
away upstairs. Since then he has been ill. He cannot rest. He never
laughs or even smiles. He has grown nervous and irritable. Always he
is puzzling over something. He is killing himself. Yesterday he had
me write you that note telling of his coming trip. I have begged him
not to go, but he is quite determined. He says he wants to confirm his
sea-floor theory.”
“But he is too old!”
“Of course! But he insists that he must go. Yet I don’t believe he
wants to. I believe something or somebody is forcing him--though I
don’t understand how any one can. Do you?”
Bristow looked thoughtful. Caruth’s association with the affair, as
announced in the notice sent to the papers, caused him to conclude
inevitably that the forthcoming trip had some connection with the
arrival of the fair but mysterious Russian and with the murder of
the valet. He could not quite understand the object, however, being
ignorant of the _Orkney_ and her fate, as well as of the recovery of
the missing letter.
“How does Mr. Caruth come to be in this?” he asked abruptly, wondering
what excuse had been offered for the young man’s sudden interest in
affairs scientific.
“Mr. Caruth? Father seems to have known his father, and Mr. Caruth,
knowing that father wanted to go to the Baltic, offered his yacht. At
least, that’s what they say,” concluded the girl. “For my part, I don’t
believe it. Do you?”
Bristow hesitated. “No,” he answered, at last. “I happen to know that
it is at least partly untrue. But, Olga, don’t express any doubt
publicly. I suspect this is a big thing, and indiscreet talking would
probably play hob with a good many people, including the Professor.
What is your part in this, Olga? Do you go with him?”
The girl nodded. “Of course,” she answered readily. “He says he wants
me to, and of course I can’t let him go alone. And yet, do you know,
Joe, I don’t believe he really wants me to go at all?”
The reporter nodded slowly. The skein was still too tangled for him
to unravel, but he was studying it intently. “Why go?” he asked.
“Olga, I don’t want to be selfish. I have waited a long time, and I
was prepared to keep on waiting as long as I could see you from time
to time. But I can’t let you go away from me this way, especially to
Russia. Why not marry me at once? Then I can speak to your father from
a different footing. Perhaps I can persuade him to give up the trip.”
“If you only could! But----”
Bristow thought she was yielding and pushed his advantage. “Olga dear!”
he urged. “Come to me.” He took the girl in his arms, and she gazed up
into his face with the expression that a woman wears for one man only.
“If I could, Joe,” she murmured. “If I only could! But I can’t; you
know I can’t. Father would go alone, and I should never forgive myself.”
For a moment the reporter held her, looking tenderly into her blue
eyes; then he released her. “Well,” he said briskly, “that settles it.
I must talk to the Professor. I suppose he is in his laboratory?”
“Yes.”
“All right. I won’t be longer than I can help. Wait for me.”
When Bristow entered the laboratory, he found the Professor pacing
up and down the room in a state of suppressed excitement. When he
recognized his visitor, he strove to greet him calmly, but despite
himself his irritation shone through.
“Mr. Bristow!” he exclaimed. “You’ve come about my note, I suppose?”
“Yes; that and----”
“I have nothing more to say. I told it all in the note. I am going to
the Baltic to get proof of my theory about sea-floors. I am going on
the yacht of Mr. Caruth, a young scientific friend of mine. That is
all. I can’t discuss it further.”
The reporter concealed his dismay. Olga had certainly not exaggerated
the old man’s condition. He had aged markedly since Bristow had last
seen him. He was burning himself out. It occurred to the reporter that
the conspirators--for he did not doubt that there was a conspiracy--had
better be careful or the Professor would not live to carry out their
wishes, whatever these might be.
“Just as you say, Professor,” he answered. “But I want to talk to you
about something else. Won’t you ask me to sit down?” He moved a chair
up beside the old man’s accustomed seat, and stood waiting.
Professor Shishkin hesitated for an instant. Then the demands of
courtesy had their way. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’m not myself. I’m
an old man, and I grow forgetful. Sit down, Mr. Bristow. I’m very glad
to see you. Ask me what you will.”
“Even unto the half of your kingdom?” queried the reporter. “I want
more than that, Professor. I want Miss Olga!”
“Olga!” The Professor half rose. “What do you mean?” he gasped.
“I mean that I want to marry her,” returned Bristow. The people who
called Bristow cheeky would not have known him. His heart was thumping
painfully, and his color came and went, though he managed to keep his
features calm. “We love each other, and we want to marry.”
For a moment Professor Shishkin stared at the young man. Then he burst
into a fit of laughter that made the reporter look at him in amazement.
But, unheeding, the Professor cackled on as if he would never stop. His
shrunken form fairly shook with merriment that rapidly grew hysterical.
So long it continued that Bristow forgot his own excited feelings and
grew anxious.
At last the old man calmed himself. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Bristow,”
he quavered. “I beg your pardon. I was very discourteous. I was not
laughing at you, but at the way things come about. What creatures of
fate we all are! We think we control events, but events really control
us! Mr. Bristow, I have been worrying myself sick about Olga, and here
you come, pat to the moment, to set everything straight. You say that
Olga loves you?”
“Yes.” The reporter’s voice was hushed and reverent.
“Then everything is all right. I shall be delighted to have her marry
you. But I must impose some conditions.”
The Professor’s voice had grown stronger. Years seemed to have fallen
from his shoulders. Bristow stared at him in wonder.
“Anything you like,” he stammered.
Shishkin smiled. “Oh, it won’t be hard on you,” he promised. “Though
you may find my conditions difficult to understand. Let me explain. I
am compelled to go on this trip concerning which I have written you. I
am compelled to take Olga with me--or to appear to do so. I don’t want
to take her, but I cannot refuse openly. But no one acquainted with
her will be on the vessel. If I can find a substitute who resembles
her somewhat, no one is likely to detect the change. The trouble has
been to get Olga’s consent and to hide her away while I was gone. Your
proposal makes this easy.”
Amazedly the reporter listened. The old man was showing a new phase
of character--a phase novel to Bristow, who had always thought of him
only as an aged scientist engrossed in matters far removed from worldly
scheming. But then, neither had he ever thought of him in connection
with Russian terrorism, in which it now seemed that he was involved.
Breathlessly, yet delighted at his easy success, he waited for the old
man to continue.
Professor Shishkin did not keep him waiting long. “Now,” he went on,
“my consent to your marriage to Olga is conditional on this. You must
find some one who reasonably resembles Olga, and who is willing for
a consideration to go with me in her place. You must bring her here
the night before we sail. I will have an old minister friend of mine
waiting. He can marry you and Olga. Then Olga and the substitute will
change clothes. When you take Olga away, the substitute can remain.
She can wear a veil as long as any one who knows Olga is likely to see
her. Once on the yacht, we will be safe from detection.”
Bristow gasped. Scarcely could he believe his ears. The Professor had
taken to intrigue as if he had been dabbling in it all his life. What
next?
“But,” he questioned, “where can I find a substitute? Do you know of
any one like Olga----”
“Dozens of them. Hundreds of girls in New York resemble her more or
less. Olga is of a very common type.”
The reporter flushed angrily. He did not think Olga of a common type.
To him there was no one like her. Still, he could scarcely quarrel with
her father for saying so.
“It won’t be as easy as you think,” he returned. “Still, it might be
done.”
“It must be done. Otherwise Olga must go with me. A power stronger than
I decrees it.”
“Oh, well, in that event--let me think!” The reporter was beginning to
enter into the spirit of the thing. “I believe I know the very girl you
want. She’s doing a turn at Weser’s Music Hall. She does look like Olga
in a general sort of way.”
“An actress?” questioned the Professor.
“Humph! Well, she calls herself one, and I guess we’ll let it go at
that. I’ve known her for a good while, though never very well, and I
believe she’s straight. That’s her reputation, anyhow. I do believe
that by making-up a little she could pass for Olga with people who
didn’t know her well.”
“That is all that is necessary. So long as she has the right height and
figure, and bears a general resemblance to Olga, no one will question
her identity if I introduce her as my daughter. Oh, yes! It will be
easy. Where can I see this girl?”
Bristow looked at his watch. “She’ll be at the theatre now,” he
announced. “I’ll hurry up to town and catch her as she comes out, and
arrange----”
“Never mind. I’ll go with you and see her at once. There is no time to
lose.” The Professor rose. “Remember, Mr. Bristow,” he added seriously:
“this is no pleasure masquerade. It may easily become a matter of life
and death for me, for Olga, and for others. I do not tell you more
because I am sworn not to do so, and because the less you know the
better; but don’t think for a moment that this is anything but deadly
earnest. Now, let us go.”
Bristow rose. “Certainly,” he agreed. “But hadn’t we better speak to
Olga first?”
The Professor looked puzzled. “To Olga? Why?” he questioned.
“Well, she might conceivably object. Women don’t always look at things
from the same point of view as men.”
The Professor hesitated; then he waved his hand indifferently. “Perhaps
you are right,” he admitted. “But Olga must agree. Seriously, this is
the only means of saving her life and mine.”