NEW TACTICS.
From that time on, Simmons redoubled his vigilance; and at seven o’clock
the taciturn and lynx-eyed Matschka returned to the job.
Grail had hoped that possibly their opportunity would come at breakfast,
but in this he was destined to be disappointed. Only one of them was
permitted to eat at a time, a single arm being freed sufficiently to
allow them to feed themselves, and the big Russian standing warily at
hand to check the first suspicious movement.
Moreover, since it was not deemed wise to draw attention by starting a
fire in the shack, the repast consisted solely of cold bread and meat,
and no table implements which might have proved of some service were
handed out.
The day wore on in a succession of frustrated hopes. Ten o’clock brought
Simmons on as sentinel again, but, warned by his previous experience, he
was, if no less loquacious, decidedly more watchful. The end of his
shift at one o’clock found the prisoners as far as ever from a solution
of their problem, and the time at their disposal half gone.
Practically their sole hope lay now in what scheme they could frame up
to circumvent Simmons when he again came on from four to seven; and
Grail by this time had about come to the conclusion that Simmons was
almost as difficult to circumvent as Matschka.
Perhaps, however, came the thought, he could be won or brought over to
their aid. The deserter had dropped one or two remarks which rather
indicated that he was not altogether satisfied with the bargain he had
made, and was chafing under the autocratic rule of his Muscovite
employer.
Recalling these symptoms of discontent, and reflecting, too, that
Simmons would no doubt sell out his present associates as readily as he
had the former ones, the adjutant set himself to pondering the arguments
and promises which he considered would prove most persuasive.
By a stroke of luck, he had an opportunity to use them sooner than he
had expected.
About two o’clock, Minowsky appeared with a message from their leader
directing Matschka to return to Brentford, and surrender himself to the
police.
“All you’ve got to do, he says,” explained the emissary, “is to stick to
it that you don’t know Simmons, and that, if he used your room, it was
entirely without your knowledge or consent. They haven’t got any real
evidence against you, and the worst you can get, the chief says, in a
couple of days behind the bars. Anyhow, you’ve got to do it, he says, to
throw off the detectives. While they’re busy trying to get something out
of you, they won’t be poking around in the other directions, and maybe
stumbling onto something that would hurt.”
The big Russian, trained to military obedience, did not hesitate, or
even question the order. With an indifferent grunt, he arose, and at
once prepared to accompany the other back to town.
Left thus alone in charge of Simmons, Grail lost no time in commencing
his overtures; and Cato, promptly scenting what was in the wind, ably
seconded his efforts.
For a time, Simmons paid little heed to them. He was busy poring over a
newspaper which Minowsky had brought, and from his unhappy expression it
was evident that he was far from pleased with what he read.
Finally, he cast the sheet from him, and sat nursing his knees in moody
silence.
“By golly, it begins to look to me like I was picked for the goat,” he
muttered resentfully. “What I done ain’t a patch to what the rest of the
crowd is up to, and it was all for their benefit, too. Yet, do they try
to protect me in any way? Are they trying to hand the cops any false
steer, as the chief promised they would? Naw, they ain’t. Instead, this
stiff of a Pepernik, when they question him, comes out and gives me the
worst kind of a black eye; says he’s seen me hanging around the rooming
house often, and that he caught me once in his own room, being only kept
from handing me over to the police by my claiming that the door was
open, and I come in by mistake.
“Does that look like they was protecting me?” he demanded. “If they
wanted to do what was right, would I be sitting here shivering for fear
the detectives might pop in on me at any minute? No; I’d be a thousand
miles away, with a good disguise on me, and plenty of money in my
pocket.
“Why, how do I know”--he sprang to his feet and began excitedly pacing
the floor--“but what the whole crowd is making a duck right now, and
leaving me to hold the bag? Maybe this calling off Matschka is just a
stall to give him a chance to blow with the rest. All the chief really
wanted was to get the colonel. As he himself said, he didn’t have
nothing against you two.”
Needless to say, Grail and Cato both sympathized with his complaints,
and played upon his apprehensions, until finally when he seemed
sufficiently worked up, the adjutant made a flat-footed proposition.
“Turn State’s evidence on the crowd, while you have a chance, Simmons,”
he urged. “Don’t let them give you the worst of it. Right now you have
everything in your own hands, and by telling the truth and giving up
this gang to justice, you yourself will get off scot-free, or with only
a few years’ imprisonment at the most. To-morrow it may be too late.”
With these and many other persuasions they sought to convince him; but
Simmons, although manifestly impressed, still hesitated.
“I don’t dare,” he whimpered. “That captain told me what would happen to
me if I ever turned on him. There’s Russian spies all over this country,
he says, and every one of them would make it his special business to
hunt me down and get me. They never forget, he says, and they never give
up; and, believe me, what he says they do when they finally land you is
enough to make your blood run cold.”
Grail almost found it in his heart to pity the poor wretch thus tossed
between contrary fears; but the important thing with him, of course, was
to gain his freedom, and he labored all the more assiduously to allay
the dread inspired by Rezonoff’s threats, and at the same time urge the
advantages of coming over to the side of the law.
It was a purely commercial argument, however, which finally won the day.
“Simmons,” he said abruptly, “if you will release Cato and myself
immediately, I will give you a thousand dollars the moment we get back
to the fort.”
For a minute longer the man wavered. Then the prospect of a
thousand-dollar spree in Brentford’s gilded resorts overcoming even his
terror of Russian vengeance, he bent over the prisoners, and began
fumbling at the knots.