Frank Siegel was one of those enthusiastic journalists to whose zeal
the press of America owes its distinctive position. Enterprise,
unhampered by too much discretion, was the gospel which had been
hammered into him. Be first, down the other fellow, make the scoop,
get the facts, discreetly if possible, but get them, serve hot for the
public taste, and let all else go hang. The editor and the public will
forgive anything except a beat for the opposition show.
Siegel lived up to this. All the world and everything in it was to him
so much copy; and he looked at everything with an eye, and that a very
sharp one, for its newspaper possibilities.
When off duty his eye could also appreciate a beautiful face, and he
was charmed by Helga, who did her utmost to win her way into his favour.
In particular, she was sympathetic in regard to his present
disappointment at having left Petersburg at the moment of a Nihilist
trouble.
“I’d give a sackful of dollars to get at the bottom of a Nihilist
show,” he exclaimed. “Either side, Government or the other. What a
country this would be for a pressman, if they weren’t so tight lipped!
I’ve sent some stuff across, but of course I’ve had to pad it a lot.”
“What have you heard about this, M. Siegel?” asked Helga.
“The conductor gave it away to me. There was a telegram telling him to
look out for a woman on the train--and a man, too, he thought; but he
wasn’t clear. It seems a swoop was made on a haunt last night, and a
lot of arrests there and elsewhere followed. But they wanted the woman
most, and she’d gone.”
“Oh!” I murmured, and Helga and I exchanged glances.
“Lord, what asses those Russian police must be. Imagine what a mess
we should have if we muddled our press inquiries as they do their
business. They should apprentice a few of their fellows to the
Screecher, and let ’em learn the art of making beats.”
“Beats, M. Siegel?” asked Helga, puzzled.
He explained the enormous virtues of exclusive news, and gave her a
telling illustration.
“If this were the States, which thank God it isn’t--I can say that
safely as none of us are Russians--what would happen? Probably we
should have known all about this raid before it was ordered; but assume
we hadn’t, and it caught us by surprise. Well, we should have had some
one on the spot right there, and the moment we heard the birds had
flown we should have wired our men to watch every train--this one for
instance, most likely with a recognizable description of the fugitives.
Say, Harper, wouldn’t it be bully to do the trick with no machinery and
spot them on the train. What a scoop!” and he laughed pleasantly.
“The fugitives might not relish such a press,” said I, with more
meaning than he divined.
“I’m going to have a try,” he replied. “Do you remember Marvyn, Harold
Marvyn, at Harvard; that thin dark chap we used to call the spectre?
He’s at the Embassy here, and I’ve wired him to wire me a description
of them if he can get it. I’m going to look for ’em at the frontier,
and if I don’t find ’em there, I’m off back to the capital to look up
things. I wish I’d never come away; worse luck.”
“You would like to hand them over to the police, M. Siegel?” asked
Helga.
“Gee wiss, no, madame. If we were in the States, yes; but here, what
are the police to me? I’m thinking of the Screecher and the interview I
could get.” Helga laughed and said:
“And being in Russia, monsieur, if you interfered you would probably be
clapped into one of their gaols as an accomplice.”
“Say, Harper,” he cried, turning to me, “wouldn’t that be just lovely!
Gee, think of the headlines. Russia’s prisons from the inside. I could
make half a column of them. Ah, I wish it could be worked,” and he
sighed.
“You have some queer ambitions, Siegel,” I said. “You might find it
easier to get in than to get out again. There’s Siberia, you know--not
exactly a pleasure resort, either.”
“I came through there. Looks all right from the outside; what they let
you see of it, you know; but I’d like to scratch the surface off.”
“You might not have far to look for the fugitive Nihilists, M. Siegel,”
said Helga steadily.
“Don’t excite his zeal,” I put in hastily.
“Can you help me, really?” he cried.
“I am one and M. Denver is the other,” she replied calmly.
He stared at her and then at me in amazement, and laughed.
“You’re pulling my leg,” he said.
“I don’t know what that means, but what I say is true,” replied Helga.
He turned serious then, being convinced.
“Just light the gas for me, Harper,” he said.
“It is true. We are both Nihilist suspects and are making a bolt for
the frontier;” and I went on to tell him something of what had got us
into the mess.
“Can I use it?” he asked, his first thought naturally, for the
Screecher.
“No, not our part; but if you care to take a hand you can use your own
experience.”
“It’s the chance of a lifetime. Of course I will,” he declared at once,
adding characteristically: “I may do you a turn at the same time.”
Then Helga told her plan and we discussed it together. Siegel’s
enthusiasm rose and fell as the risk of his being arrested in mistake
appeared greater or less. Indeed he was just as anxious to be caught as
I was to escape; and in the end we came to an arrangement.
Siegel was to take my place as Harper C. Denver and to carry my
passport, and I was to take his. Helga was to remain Madame de Courvaix
and to act independently of us both; and we were all to travel in
separate carriages and endeavour to pass the barriers at the frontier
alone.
“I am candid with you, M. Siegel,” said Helga; “I think you will be
stopped. M. Denver’s name is known and we ought to have had another
passport. I think I shall get through, and I’m sure he will. And that
is my principal concern.”
“I’ll try and act up to the part,” said Siegel gleefuly.
“If you are stopped, I shall not attempt to get through,” I said to
Helga.
“But that is just what you must do. You must go first. Think, if we are
both stopped, how disastrous it may be. You will take these with you;”
and she handed me the papers which had played so great a part in the
past few days. “With these, and your freedom and your Embassy at your
back, you will gain the Emperor’s presence, and then his friendship for
you should do the rest. It is our one sound chance.”
“But it looks like deserting you,” I protested. “You ask too much. It’s
cowardly.”
“What could you do if we were both detained? You must do this. You
must. And you must be the first to pass the barrier.”
“Say, Harper, you can give the thing the necessary colour by asking for
that wire from Marvyn for me.”
I gave in, reluctantly; and at Dunaberg, the next stop, feeling
something like a coward I left the carriage to find a seat elsewhere.
“Courage, my friend,” said Helga, giving me her hand with a smile.
“Courage, and we shall make the rest of the journey to Berlin safely
and together.”
“Pray God it will be so,” I answered.
“This is just bully,” cried Siegel in the highest spirits. “See me do
the conspirator when you two are through. I hope to glory they won’t
let me pass.”
During the remaining run to the frontier I was profoundly anxious and
miserable. I knew Helga would not have taken such a step as to bring
Siegel into the matter if she had not felt there was real danger for
us both; and that she gave into my care the papers which were of such
vital import, showed that she regarded her own chances as very doubtful.
I had unbounded confidence in her wit and ready resource. She would get
through if any one could; but the gate was a very narrow one. If the
new development came from Kalkov, as I could not doubt, she was so well
known that a personal description of her would be sent in full.
And then I perceived the shrewdness of her present manœuvre. Siegel and
I were sufficiently alike for a written description of one to pass for
that of the other. We were both clean shaven, somewhere about the same
build and height and colour; and when I read his description in his
identity paper--drawn up for the purpose of his long journey through
Russian territory--I saw it was quite possible to apply it to me.
When we reached Vilna the official preparations began. A number of men
were at the depot and made a careful scrutiny of the passengers, and
eventually all of them boarded the train. One got into the compartment
where I sat with Siegel’s writing case open on my knee.
He watched me write for a time and then asked me for a light.
I handed him Siegel’s matchbox--a curio he had picked up in China--and
made a commonplace remark in execrable Russian. I had heard Siegel’s
Russian.
“Monsieur speaks French?” he asked me politely, returning the box.
“Un poo, pas bocoo.” He recognized the accent immediately and smiled.
“Je suis Americain; San Francisco, voo savvy.”
“German, perhaps?” he ventured.
“Ya wohl, etwas; aber Englisch am besten;” and I laughed.
“I speak English,” he answered, “and have been in England.”
“Been in America?”
“No, sir.”
“Ah!” and I smiled indulgently as if he had missed Heaven.
“You are a writer?” he asked next with pleasant inquisitiveness.
“Yes. I’m Siegel of the Screecher; which means that,” I added in reply
to his look of bewilderment, and gave him one of Siegel’s cards.
“Screecher is American for Eagle,” I explained. “And what are you?”
But he was not communicative. He smiled and gestured deprecatingly, as
if he were of no importance.
“Just a private individual.”
“Travelled much?”
“No, not far. To England and in France and in Germany.”
“Ah, I’ve just been round the world;” and I rattled away with a general
description of many things I did not know and many places I had not
seen; but I took care to say nothing about any part of European Russia.
What did I think of Petersburg? I had only stayed there long enough
to see my friend Harold Marvyn at the Embassy. If I’d known I’d have
stayed longer; and I skated on to the thin ice of the Nihilist raid,
playing Siegel’s part as he had performed for us. I ended by saying I
was expecting a telegram from the Embassy at Kovna--could he tell me
how to get it quickly?
He could and did and offered to help me. On this I became
professionally confidential. I told him my wish to know more of the
Nihilist business, and asked him whether it would probably be worth my
while to return to Petersburg; and so managed that he was led to ask
all about me and my newspaper. Then I showed him enough to convince him
of my good faith.
I watched him gradually lose interest in me and my concerns; and I knew
from this that any suspicions or hopes about me, with which he had
entered the carriage were dissipated. I was not a Nihilist; no credit
was to be gained from detecting and arresting me; and he wished to
bother himself no more about me.
We were in this stage of the proceedings, and I was wondering whether
Siegel had also been interviewed and if so with what results, when my
companion said we were close to Kovna and that I had better put my
things together. He was kind enough to assist me and I noticed that he
was at great pains to see as many of my papers as he could and to read
them. I gave him ample opportunity; and an easy-going fool he no doubt
thought me in consequence.
At Kovna his confidence in my good faith communicated itself to the
other officials and my path was made easy in consequence. He walked
with me to the barrier; a significant glance or two passed between him
and the officials; a very cursory look was taken at my passport and I
was through.
I had not risked looking for either Helga or Siegel; but when I had
passed through I hung about and soon made a discovery which filled me
with concern.
A great distinction was made between the men and the women. Scarcely
any difficulty was made in regard to the men; some sharp glances and a
few questions at the most. But all the women between twenty and fifty
years of age were taken away for separate examination.
I saw Helga come up, hand over her passport, and submit to the close
and searching scrutiny with a kind of impatient frankness that was
admirable acting. But she was led away like the rest for further
examination of her papers.
I was waiting with an anxiety which can be imagined for her to appear
again, when I was witness of the little comedy in which Siegel played
the chief part.
He had put up his coat collar and drawn down his cap so that as little
of his face as possible was to be seen, and he came striding along
casting quick suspicious glances on all sides, much after the manner of
the conventional conspirator of burlesque.
In this way he tried to thrust his way past the officials. Any one
with the faintest sense of humour would have seen he was fooling; but
humour is not the strong point of Russian officialism. The men by the
barrier whispered together as he approached and then clustered close
like wasps round an over ripe peach.
“Your passport, monsieur, if you please,” said one, stopping him.
“Passport, what do you mean?” he asked in a truly cosmopolitan language.
“Your passport; you know what that is,” said the man trying French.
“Haven’t one,” he answered. He told me afterwards he had intentionally
torn up mine, thinking he had better leave the officials to connect him
with me. “Americans don’t want passports.”
“Your name, monsieur.”
“Shan’t tell you. I’m an American, that’s enough. Don’t you interfere
with me,” he said threateningly; and made as if to go on.
Half a dozen hands were thrust out instantly to stop him. One man tried
to see more of his face and was glancing at a paper. He whispered
something to his colleague, who asked--
“Will you raise your hat, monsieur?”
“No, I won’t.”
“You cannot pass, monsieur.”
“We’ll see about that;” and he drew his hands from his pockets and
clenched his fists. I really feared he was going to show fight.
“Will you step this way, if you please, monsieur?” said an elderly man
coming forward. Apparently a man in higher authority.
“What for?” asked Siegel brusquely.
“There has probably been some mistake which I can put right for you,”
was the suavely spoken reply. “You can then resume your journey.”
“All right,” said Siegel, after a moment’s pause; and the two went off
followed by several of the other men.
“Do you think it is?” asked one of the officials at the barrier of his
colleague.
“I’m sure it is,” was the reply. “He’ll resume his journey all right,
but--” he jerked his thumb backwards and winked. And the incident was
closed so far as the public were concerned.
The women passengers were now beginning to come out from a separate
door; but I saw nothing of Helga and my hopes for her safety ebbed as
the number of the women increased.
Some of them were speaking of their examination, and I heard to my
dismay that in more than one case there had been a most rigorous
personal search. They were loud in protest at the indignity.
“She actually made me take down my hair to see if I had anything
concealed in it,” said a German woman to a friend, as the two passed
me. “You never saw such a disgraceful scene.”
Still there was no sign of Helga; and keen though I was for news of
her, when we were told the train would soon start, I dared not linger
lest I should draw attention and suspicion upon myself.
I was in a fever of anxiety during the last few minutes as I stood by
the door of the car straining my hungry eyes in vain for a sight of her.
Then the detective who had been on the train with me came along, his
face wearing a satisfied expression. He caught sight of me, smiled and
nodded as he passed, then stopped, turned and came up and spoke.
“Bon voyage, monsieur. Then you are not going back?”
“I’m still in two minds. But I suppose it’s nothing serious.”
I spoke as indifferently as I could.
“Oh no--not for your country. I don’t know, though. I could give you
some news.”
“I’m always ready for that,” I replied with an eager smile.
“I’m a police agent,” he said, as if the admission would astound me. I
was therefore promptly astounded.
“You!” I cried. “Impossible. Why, I thought----” and left the thought
to his imagination.
“What _did_ you think?” He chuckled.
“I put you down for a merchant or a landowner. But a police agent!”
and I waved my hand in amazement. “I’ve always heard you are the
smartest men in Europe. Now I know it. A police agent!” I was lost in
wonderment.
“Do you know what I thought you were?”
“You didn’t take me for another, I suppose?” It was a joke and he
enjoyed it and laughed.
“No, I thought you were a Nihilist!”
“A Nihilist! Well, that’s worse than ever. An American a Nihilist?”
The thing was incredulous as my tone showed.
“They come from all countries, monsieur. I was looking for a countryman
of yours, a Mr. Damper--no, Denver.”
“Great Scott. You don’t mean it!”
“We caught him, too. He was in the train; and a woman too--one of the
most dangerous Nihilists in the Empire.”
“A woman! Oh, you police agents are wonderful! But do you mean that
women are in this?”
“They are often the worst. She is a pretty woman, too, this one. You’d
better get in, monsieur, there’s the signal--unless you think of going
back to Petersburg.”
“When is the next train?”
“Starts in an hour from now. But you can catch the return mail at
Insterburg.”
“Perhaps that’ll be better. I can get my baggage. If I do come back I
shall look out for you,” I said, as I got into the carriage.
“I am going back at once to Vilna. Bon voyage, monsieur.”
“Good-bye. A pretty woman you say? Will it go hard with her, do you
suppose?” I asked in a compassionate tone as the train moved.
He shook his head and smiled significantly.
“She’ll go to the mines, if what they say is true.”
That was what that infernal old Kalkov had said; and he was making his
words good.
And it was from that I had to save her.
Thank God she had been shrewder than I; and that I was free to make my
effort.
If I had been in Siegel’s place--and then despite the tragedy I thought
of the comedy and smiled.
But the smile was very fleeting.