Friday, the 13th of June, one week after the day the _Sea Spume_ had
scurried into St. Petersburg, came without making any apparent change
in the situation. Nothing had been learned as to the fate of Professor
Shishkin, and both Bristow and Caruth were convinced that the old man
had perished. Wilkins and Florence had not been heard from, despite
the fact that the entire Baltic was lined with spies, police and
nihilistic, each intent on regaining the gold which all parties had
become convinced was in the possession of the pair. Their sloop and its
precious cargo seemed to have vanished from the earth.
The Russian authorities were still “investigating” the attack on the
yacht, without seeming to draw any nearer to an elucidation of the
facts. They had called before them and questioned every member of the
yacht’s crew. These, however, had been able to tell little, for the
reason that they knew little, and, being intensely loyal to Caruth,
were all anxious to keep that little to themselves. The inquiry was,
in fact, a farce, the Russians knowing perfectly well what the yacht’s
errand really had been, yet not being able to declare it or to lay
claim to the _Orkney’s_ gold without practically admitting that they
had been back of the attack. On the other hand, Caruth could not accuse
the Russians, without admitting that he himself was engaged in an
adventure that, if not actually piratical, certainly verged on it.
Neither side was therefore in position to force the issue, and the
inquiry dragged on from day to day, really waiting the moment when it
would be quietly pigeonholed. Both sides steadily went through the
motions of pretending desperate efforts to discover what both knew
and both were very anxious to keep secret. If it had not been for the
disappearance of Professor Shishkin, the whole matter would probably
have been allowed to drop.
Professor Shishkin, however, was too distinguished a man to be allowed
to drop out of sight so easily. His scientific brethren, especially
those in the rest of Europe, were clamoring for an explanation of an
attack on one of their number while engaged in scientific work in such
a peaceable sea as the Baltic. Hints that the Professor had really been
engaged in gold-hunting and that the attack had been made by a gang of
thieves, had little effect in calming the agitation. They were simply
disbelieved.
Bristow’s inquiries in revolutionary circles had brought abundant
confirmation of what he already knew, but had yielded little additional
information.
According to the nihilists, the whole affair had been carefully planned
by the Russian police. A battalion of marines had been landed at the
village of Burndo on the very afternoon of the attack, reaching it
by the eastern inlet, and had climbed over the ridge and come down
the hill behind the yacht, bringing two field-guns with them. As
Miss Fitzhugh had guessed, the men were in peasant dress, and it was
intended that they should appear to be a band of rioters such as were
only too common in Russia in those troubled times. It was supposed that
they would capture the yacht without trouble, loot her, and let her go,
after perhaps murdering the Russians whom they should find on board.
However, lest they should fail, several gunboats and destroyers had
been ordered to the spot to intercept the yacht if she should escape.
The orders to these were far more grim.
This plan was disarranged by the suddenness with which Florence exposed
her signal, and by the haste of the officer in command of the Russian
troops. When the sparks from the yacht’s funnels showed that she was
getting up steam, this officer feared she was about to flee with the
gold, and, wanting the credit of capturing this, had made his attack
before the field-guns were in position and before the gunboats had
arrived off the mouth of the inlet. Had he moved a half an hour later,
the _Sea Spume_ would have been captured or sunk by the hurrying
warships.
Concerning the gold, the information was less exact. The nihilists
had learned, however, that a sloop, very heavily laden, carrying two
men and one woman, had left Burndo for an unknown destination a few
moments before the _Sea Spume_. It had turned south outside the mouth
of the inlet, and had passed beyond the ken of the watchers. Probably
it was bound for Stockholm or some other foreign port. Its passengers
had been identified as Wilkins and Miss Shishkin (really Florence Lee);
the third man was unknown, but it was supposed that he was an American
sailor who had been living at Burndo for two years or more.
The nihilists felt assured that this sloop had the gold on board,
though how it got there, they did not profess to know. Orders had been
sent all along the Baltic to watch for it, and if it was found, it
would go hard with those on board.
None of this, however, was much satisfaction to Caruth, to whom,
indeed, the week had been one of torture. Since Marie Fitzhugh had
slipped away on the morning of the yacht’s arrival, no word of her had
come to him, and his anxiety as to her safety was continually growing.
Events had shown that the _Sea Spume_ had been under surveillance for
some time, possibly from the very beginning, and Caruth realized that
this could scarcely have been possible without Marie having been seen
and recognized. If she had been, her carefully arranged alibi must have
been shattered, and instant arrest would assuredly follow her detection
on Russian soil.
Even if she escaped the authorities, or if her family connections
proved strong enough to enable her to defy them, the disappointed and
enraged terrorists had to be considered. She had been ordered before
the Inner Circle, and such vague and illusory information as he had
been able to gain as to the doings of that body made him fear almost
anything. At the same time, he dared not start inquiries, for fear they
might precipitate the very calamity he dreaded.
On the morning of his seventh day in St. Petersburg, he could bear the
suspense no longer, and turned to Bristow with a demand that he relieve
it, as he had done on that far-away evening in New York.
“I seem to be always relying on you to find Miss Fitzhugh for me,” he
said, with an attempt at levity. “But if you really have sources of
information here that are safe and certain, I wish you would call on
them for news of her. The suspense is getting unbearable.”
Bristow frowned slightly. “I don’t suppose there’s any use in talking,”
he observed. “You wouldn’t take my advice in New York, and I don’t
suppose you’ll take it here. But all the same, I’m going to suggest
once more that you’d better let the lady go. As I understand it, she
has refused to marry you and has gone back to her own people. Why not
go back home and forget her. Candidly, old man, I can’t see anything
but ruin ahead for you if you go on.”
As the reporter spoke, a slow flush spread over Caruth’s cheeks. The
boy had aged a good deal in the past month; experience had made him
far more of a man than he had been when Marie Fitzhugh first came to
him. Advice which he had received meekly in New York, he resented in
Russia.
“Thank you,” he returned stiffly. “I don’t doubt your advice is
good. I should probably say the same to another man under the same
circumstances. But please understand, once for all, that it is not for
me. The only question is, will you help me or shall I have to seek
farther?”
“Oh, I’ll help you, confound you!” returned the reporter. “What do you
want to know?”
“I want to know about Miss Fitzhugh. If she has gone back to her
relatives and is safe and well, I want to know it. If she is under
arrest, I want to know it. If she is in trouble with the Brotherhood on
account of the loss of the gold, I want to know it. And wherever she
is, if she needs help, I want to get to her and give it.”
“Humph! That’s a good-sized program you’ve laid out, isn’t it? Well,
the Lord watches over children, lovers, and--well, fill the blank
yourself. I can give you some news. I heard it last night, and was
debating whether to tell you or not. Miss Fitzhugh is in trouble with
the Brotherhood. She is charged with responsibility for the loss of the
gold. A special meeting is to be held to consider her case.”
“Well?”
“As I understand it, when any one has failed at anything and is
summoned before the Inner Circle, it means that he or she is to be
entrusted with some particularly dangerous duty. Some forlorn hope,
such as throwing a bomb or something,--not as a punishment, you
understand, but as a chance to retrieve the failure. Such a chance
means almost certain death, either instant or later on the scaffold.
I’m sorry, old man; I know it’s hard to bear, and I guess it’s best to
tell you.”
Caruth’s face was white, but his jaws were set. He passed by the
reporter’s regrets as though they had not been spoken.
“You speak as if it were all settled,” he grated. “Is it?”
“Not yet. But it will be. There is no real doubt.”
“When and where does the Inner Circle meet?”
“I don’t know, but----”
“Can you find out?”
“I suppose so. But----”
“I must be there.”
The reporter straightened himself. “That’s impossible,” he declared.
“Nothing is impossible!” There was an accent in Caruth’s voice that
Bristow had never heard before. “Send word at once through your
channels that I wish to appear before the Circle as a witness for Miss
Fitzhugh. Say that I will submit to any and all conditions it cares to
impose. Add that I am very rich and will be glad to contribute heavily
to the cause in return for this privilege. Let them name their price
and I will pay it.”
Bristow weakened, impressed in spite of himself. “By Jove!” he cried.
“It might be done, after all. But you understand what it means! There
is always grave danger of these meetings being raided by the police.
If you were caught at one of them, nothing could save you. It would be
death or life in prison----”
“I understand! I’ll take the risk! I’ll take any risk, only get me the
chance.”
“All right. I’ll try. But we’ll have to be mighty careful. Demidroff is
awfully keen on getting this gold. In fact, rumor says his job depends
on it.”
“Who’s Demidroff?”
“He’s chief of the third section of Russian police--the secret police,
you know. I wonder you haven’t heard of him. He’s the smartest and the
most dreaded man in Russia to-day; to-morrow--well, they do say that
his enemies have gotten the ear of the Emperor, and that he is likely
to be turned out any minute. However, he isn’t down and out yet and may
never be, and he’s keeping a mighty sharp watch on you. So you’ll have
to be careful.”
“I will be.”
“All right. I’ll do my best for you. Hold yourself ready to start at
any minute. When the chance comes it won’t wait.”