A BAFFLING INTERVIEW
"It is less safe than the streets of London, perhaps," I said quietly,
in Russian. "But what of that? And how long is it since you left there,
my friend?"
He peered at me suspiciously, and spread his free hand with the quaint,
graceful gesture he had used before. I'd have known the man anywhere by
that alone; though in some ways he looked different now, less frail and
emaciated than he had been, with a wiry vigor about him that made him
seem younger than I had thought him.
"The excellency mistakes!" he said. "How should such an one as I get to
London?"
"That is for you to say. I know only that you are the man who wanted to
see Vladimir Selinski. And now you've got to come and see me, at once,
at the inn kept by Moses Barzinsky."
"Speak lower, Excellency," he stammered, glancing nervously around. "In
God's name, go back to your inn. You are in danger, as all strangers are
here; yea, and all others! That is why I warned you. But you mistake. I
am not the man you think, so why should I come to you? Permit me to go
on my way."
He made as if to move on, and I couldn't detain him forcibly and insist
on his accompanying me, for that would have drawn attention to us.
Fortunately there were few people hereabouts, but those few were
already looking askance at us.
An inspiration came to me. I thought of the red symbol that had dangled
from the key of Cassavetti's flat that night, and of the signal and
password Mishka had taught me in Petersburg.
In two strides I caught up with him, touched his shoulder with the five
rapid little taps, thumb and fingers in succession, and said in his ear:
"You will come to Barzinsky's within the hour,--'For Freedom.' You
understand?"
I guessed that would fetch him, for I felt him thrill--it was scarcely a
start--under the touch.
"I will come, Excellency; I will not fail," he answered promptly. "But
go you now,--not hurriedly."
I hadn't the least intention of hurrying, but passed on without further
parley, and reached the inn unhindered. Mishka had not yet returned, and
I told the landlord a pedler was coming to see me, and he was to be
brought up to my room at once.
As I closed the shutters I wondered if he would come, or if he'd give me
the slip as he did in Westminster, but within half an hour Barzinsky
brought him up. The landlord looked quite scared, his ear-locks were
quivering with his agitation.
"Yossof is here, Excellency," he announced, so he evidently knew my man.
I nodded and motioned him out of the room, for he hovered around as if
he wanted to stay.
Yossof stood at the end of the room, in an attitude of humility, his
gray head bowed, his dingy fur cap held in his skinny fingers; but his
piercing dark eyes were fixed earnestly on my face, and, when Barzinsky
was gone and the door was shut, he came forward and made his obeisance.
"I know the Excellency now, although the beard has changed him," he said
quietly. His speech was much more intelligible than it had been that
time in Westminster. "I remember his goodness to me, a stranger in the
land. May the God of our fathers bless him! But I knew not then that he
also was one of us. Why have you not the new password, Excellency?"
"I have but now come hither from England at the peril of my life, and as
yet I have met none whom I knew as one of us," I answered evasively.
"What is this new word? It is necessary that I should learn it," I
added, as he hesitated.
"I will tell you its meaning only," he answered, watching me closely.
"It means 'in life and in death,'--but those are not the words."
"Then I know them: _a la vie et a la mort_; is it not so?" I asked,
remembering the moment he spoke the names by which Anne was known to
others besides members of the League; for the police officer who had
superintended the searching of my rooms at Petersburg, and later, young
Mirakoff, had both mentioned one of them.
I had hit on the right words first time, and Yossof, evidently relieved,
nodded, and repeated them after me, giving a queer inflection to the
French.
"And where is she,--the gracious lady herself?" I asked. It was with an
effort that I forced myself to speak quietly; for my heart was thumping
against my ribs, and my throat felt dry as bone dust. What could--or
would--this weird creature tell me of Anne's present movements; and
could--or would--he tell me the secret of Cassavetti's murder? Through
all these weeks I had clung to the hope, the belief, that he himself
struck the blow, and now, as he stood before me, he appeared more
capable, physically, of such a deed than he had done then. But yet I
could scarcely believe it as I looked at him.
He met my question with another, as Mishka so often did.
"How is it you do not know?"
"I have told you I have but now come to Russia."
He spread his hands with a deprecatory gesture as if to soften his
reply, which, however, was spoken decisively enough.
"Then I cannot tell you. Remember, Excellency, though you seem to be one
of us, I have little knowledge of you. In any matter touching myself I
would trust you; but in this I dare not."
He was right in a way. Such knowledge as I had of the accursed League
was gained by trickery; and to question him further would arouse his
suspicion of that fact, and I should then learn nothing at all.
"Listen," I said slowly and emphatically. "You may trust me to the death
in all matters that concern her whom you call your gracious lady. I was
beside her, with her father and one other, when the Five condemned
her,--would have murdered her if we had not defended her. She escaped,
God be thanked, but that I only learned of late. I was taken, thrown
into prison, taken thence back to England, to prison again, accused of
the murder of Vladimir Selinski,--of which I shall have somewhat more to
say to you soon! When I was freed, for I am innocent of that crime, as
you well know, I set out to seek her, to aid her if that might be; and,
if she was beyond my aid, at least to avenge her. I was about to start
alone when I heard that she was no longer threatened by the League; that
she was, indeed, once more at the head of it; but I failed to learn
where I might find her. Therefore I go to join one who is her good
friend, in the hope that I may through him be yet able to serve her. For
the League I care nothing,--all my care is for her. And therefore, as I
have said, you may trust me."
He watched me fixedly as I spoke, but his gaunt face remained
expressionless; though his next words showed that he had understood me
well enough.
"I can tell you nothing, Excellency. You say you care for her and not
for the League. That is impossible, for she is its life; her life is
bound up in it; she would wish your service for it,--never for herself!
This I will do. If she does not hear otherwise that you are at Zostrov,
as you will be to-morrow--though it is unlikely that she will not have
heard already--I will see that she has word. That is all I can do."
"That must serve. You will not even say if she is near at hand?"
"Who knows? She comes and goes. One day she is at Warsaw; the next at
Wilna; now at Grodno; again even here. Yes, she has been here no longer
than a week since, though she is not here now."
So I had missed her by one week!
"I do not know where she is to-day, nor where she will be to-morrow; in
this I verily speak the truth, Excellency," he continued. "Though I
shall perchance see her, when my present business is done. Be patient.
You will doubtless have news of her at Zostrov."
"How do you know I am going there?"
"Does not all the countryside know that a foreigner rides with Mishka
Pavloff? God be with you, Excellency."
He made one of his quaint genuflexions and backed rapidly to the door.
"Here, stop!" I commanded, striding after him. "There is more,--much
more to say. Why did you not keep your promise and return to me in
London? What do you know of Selinski's murder? Speak, man; you have
nothing to fear from me!"
I had clutched his shoulder, and he made no attempt to free himself, but
drooped passively under my hand. But his quiet reply was inflexible.
"Of all that I can tell you nothing, Excellency. It is best forgotten."
There was a heavy footstep on the stair and next moment the door was
tried, and Mishka's voice exclaimed: "It is I. Open to me, Herr Gould."
There was no help for it, so I drew back the bolt. The door had no
lock,--only bolts within and without.
As Mishka entered, the Jew bowed low to him, and slipped through the
doorway. Mishka glanced sharply at me, muttered something about
returning soon, and followed Yossof, closing the door behind him and
shooting the outer bolt.