CHAPTER XIII

A DOUBLE GAME AND ITS CONSEQUENCES

I went to the railway station, and from the time-table gathered that if

I left Abo by rail at noon I could be in Petersburg an hour before noon

on the morrow, or about four hours before the arrival of the steamer by

which the silent girl and her companion were passengers. This I decided

upon doing, but before leaving I paid a visit to my friend, Boranski,

who, to my surprise and delight, handed me my wallet with the Czar's

letter intact, saying that it had been found upon a German thief who had

been arrested at the harbor on the previous night. The fellow had, no

doubt, stolen it from my pocket believing I carried my paper money in

the flap.

"The affair of the English lady is a most extraordinary one," remarked

the Chief of Police, toying with his pen as he sat at his big table.

"She seems to have met this Englishman up at Tammerfors, or at some

place further north, yet it is curious that her passport should be in

order even though she fled so precipitately from Kajana. There is a

mystery connected with her disappearance from the wood-cutter's hut that

I confess I cannot fathom."

"Neither can I," I said. "I know the man who is with her, and cannot

help fearing that he is her bitterest enemy--that he is acting in

concert with the Baron."

"Then why is he taking her to the capital--beyond the jurisdiction of

the Governor-General?"

"I am going straight to Petersburg to ascertain," I said. "I have only

come to thank you for your kindness in this matter. Truth to tell, I

have been somewhat surprised that you should have interested yourself on

my behalf," I added, looking straight at the uniformed official.

"It was not on yours, but on hers," he answered, somewhat enigmatically.

"I know something of the affair, but it was my duty as a man to help the

poor girl to escape from that terrible place. She has, I know, been

unjustly condemned for the attempted assassination of the wife of a

General--condemned with a purpose, of course. Such a thing is not

unusual in Finland."

"Abominable!" I cried. "Oberg is a veritable fiend."

But the man only shrugged his shoulders, saying--

"The orders of his Excellency the Governor-General have to be obeyed,

whatever they are. We often regret, but we dare not refuse to carry them

out."

"Russian rule is a disgrace to our modern civilization," I declared

hotly. "I have every sympathy with those who are fighting for freedom."

"Ah, you are not alone in that," he sighed, speaking in a low whisper,

and glancing around. "His Majesty would order reforms and ameliorate the

condition of his people, if only it were possible. But he, like his

officials, are powerless. Here we speak of the great uprising with bated

breath, but we, alas! know that it must come one day--very soon--and

Finland will be the first to endeavor to break her bonds--and the Baron

Oberg the first to fall."

For nearly an hour I sat with him, surprised to find how, although his

exterior was so harsh and uncouth, yet his heart really bled for the

poor starving people he was so constantly forced to oppress.

"I have ruined this town of Abo," he declared, quite frankly. "To my

own knowledge five hundred innocent persons have gone to prison, and

another two hundred have been exiled to Siberia. Yet what I have done is

only at direct orders from Helsingfors--orders that are stern, pitiless

and unjust. Men have been torn from their families and sent to the

mines, women have been arrested for no offense and shipped off to

Saghalien, and mere children have been cast into prison on charges of

political conspiracy with their elders--in order to Russify the

province! Only," he added anxiously, "I trust you will never repeat what

I tell you. You have asked me why I assisted the English Mademoiselle to

escape from Kajana, and I have explained the reason."

We ate a hearty meal in company at the _Sampalinna_, a restaurant built

like a Swiss châlet, and at noon I entered the train on the first stage

of my slow, tedious journey through the great silent forests and along

the shores of the lakes of Southern Finland, by way of Tavestehus and

Viborg, to Petersburg.

I was alone in the compartment, and sat moodily watching the panorama of

wood and river as we slowly wound up the tortuous ascents and descended

the steep gradients. I had not even a newspaper with which to while away

the time, only my own apprehensive thoughts of whither my helpless love

was being conducted.

Surely to no man was there ever presented such a complicated problem as

that which I was now trying so vigorously to solve. I loved Elma Heath.

The more I reflected, the deeper did her sweet countenance and tender

grace impress themselves upon my heart. I loved her, therefore I was

striving to overtake her.

The steamer, I learned, would call at Hango and Helsingfors. Would they,

I wonder, disembark at either of those places? Was the man whom I had

known as Hornby, the owner of the _Lola_, taking her to place her again

in the fiendish hands of Xavier Oberg? The very thought of it caused me

to hold my breath.

Daylight came at last, cold and gray, over those dreary interminable

marshes where game, especially snipe, seemed abundant, and at a small

station at the head of a lake called Davidstadt I took my morning glass

of tea; then we resumed our journey down to Viborg, where a short,

thick-set Russian of the commercial class, but something of a dandy,

entered my compartment, and we left express for Petersburg.

We had passed by a small station called Galitsina, near which were many

villas occupied in summer by families from Petersburg, and were

traveling through the dense gloomy pine-woods, when my fellow-traveler,

having asked permission to smoke, commenced to chat affably. He seemed a

pleasant fellow, and told me that he was a wool merchant, and that he

had been having a pleasant vacation trout fishing in the Vuoski above

the falls of the Imatra, where the pools between the rapids abound with

fish.

He had told me that on account of the shore being so full of weeds and

the clearness of the water, fishing from the banks was almost an

impossibility, and how they had to accustom themselves to troll from a

boat so small as to only accommodate the rower and the fisherman.

Then he remarked suddenly--

"You are English, I presume--possibly from Helsingfors?"

"No," I answered. "From Abo. I crossed from Stockholm, and am going to

Petersburg."

"And I also. I live in Petersburg," he added. "We may perhaps meet one

day. Do you know the capital?"

I explained that I had visited it once before, and had done the usual

round of sight-seeing. His manner was brisk and to the point, as became

a man of business, but when we stopped at Bele-Ostrof, on the opposite

side of the small winding river that separates Finland from Russia

proper, the Customs officer who came to examine our baggage exchanged a

curious meaning look with him.

My fellow-traveler believed that I had not observed, yet, keenly on the

alert as I now was, I was shrewd to detect the least sign or look, and I

at once resolved to tell the fellow nothing further of my own affairs.

He was, no doubt, a spy of "The Strangler's," who had followed me all

the way from Abo, and had only entered my carriage for the final stage

of the journey.

This revelation caused me some uneasiness, for even though I was able to

evade the man on arrival in Petersburg, he could no doubt quickly obtain

news of my whereabouts from the police to whom my passport must be sent.

I pretended to doze, and lay back with my eyes half-closed watching him.

When he found me disinclined to talk further, he took up the paper he

had bought and became engrossed in it, while I, on my part, endeavored

to form some plan by which to mislead and escape his vigilance.

The fellow meant mischief--that I knew. If Elma was flying in secret and

he watched me, he would know that she was in Petersburg. At all hazards,

for my love's sake as well as for mine, I saw that I must escape him.

The ingeniousness and cleverness of Oberg's spies was proverbial

throughout Finland, therefore he might not be alone, or in any case, on

arrival in Petersburg would obtain assistance in keeping observation

upon me. I knew that the Baron desired my death, and that therefore I

could not be too wary of pitfalls. That fatal chair so cunningly

prepared for me in Lambeth was still vividly within my memory.

As we passed Lanskaya, and ran through the outer suburbs of Petersburg,

my fellow-traveler became inquisitive as to where I was going, but I was

somewhat unresponsive, and busied myself with my bag until we entered

the great echoing terminus whence I could see the Neva gleaming in the

pale sunlight and the city beyond. The fellow made no attempt to follow

me--he was too clever a secret agent for that. He merely wished me

"_sdravstvuite_" raised his hat politely and disappeared.

A porter carried my bag out of the station, and I drove across the

bridge to the large hotel where I had stopped before, the Europe, on the

corner of the Nevski Prospect and the Michael Street. There I engaged a

front room looking down into the broad Nevski, had a wash, and then

watched at the window for the appearance of the spy. I had already a

good four hours before the steamer from Abo was due, and I intended to

satisfy myself whether or not I was being followed.

Within twenty minutes the fellow lounged along on the opposite side of

the road, just as I had expected. He had changed his clothes, and

presented such a different appearance that at first sight I failed to

recognize him. He knew that I had driven there, and intended to follow

me if I came forth. My position was one of extreme difficulty, for if I

went down to the quay he would most certainly follow me.

Having watched his movements for ten minutes or so I descended to the

big _salle-à-manger_ and there ate my luncheon, chatting to the French

waiter the while. I sat purposely in an alcove, so as to be away from

the other people lunching there, and in order that I might be able to

talk with the waiter without being overheard.

Just as I had finished my meal, and he was handing me my bill, I bent

towards him and asked--

"Do you want to earn twenty roubles?"

"Well, m'sieur," he answered, looking at me with some surprise. "They

would be acceptable. I am a married man."

"Well, I want to escape from this place without being observed. There is

a disagreeable little matter regarding a lady, and I fear a fracas with

a man who is awaiting me outside in the Nevski." Then, seeing that he

hesitated, I assured him that I had committed no crime, and that I

should return for my baggage that evening.

"You could pass through the kitchen and out by the servants' entrance,"

he said, after a moment's reflection. "If m'sieur so desires, I will

conduct him out. The exit is in a back street which leads on to the

Catherine Canal."

"Excellent!" I said. "Let us go. Of course you will say nothing?"

"Not a word, m'sieur," and he gathered up the notes plus twenty roubles

with which I paid my bill, and taking my hat I followed him to the end

of the _salle-à-manger_ behind a high wooden screen, across the huge

kitchen, and then through a long stone corridor at the end of which sat

a gruff old doorkeeper. My guide spoke a word to him, and then the door

opened and I found myself in a narrow back slum with the canal beyond.

My first visit was to a clothier's, where I purchased and put on a new

light overcoat and then to a hatter's for a hat of different shape to

that I was wearing. I carried the hat back to a quiet alley which I had

noticed, and quickly exchanged the one I was wearing for it, leaving my

old hat in a corner. Then I entered a _café_ in order to while away the

hours until the vessel from Finland was due.

At four o'clock I was out upon the quay, straining my eyes seaward for

any sign of smoke, but could see nothing. The sun was sinking, and the

broad expanse of water westward danced like liquid gold. The light died

out slowly, the cold gray of evening crept on. A chill wind sprang up

and swept the quay, causing me to shiver. I asked of a dock laborer

whether the steamer was usually late, whereupon he told me that it was

often five or six hours behind time, depending upon the delay at

Helsingfors.

Twilight deepened into night, and the rain fell heavily, yet I still

paced the wet flags in patience, my eyes ever seaward for the light of

the vessel which I hoped bore my love. My presence there aroused some

speculation among the loungers, I think; nevertheless, I waited in

deepest anxiety whether, after all, Elma and Hornby had not disembarked

at Helsingfors.

Soon after ten o'clock a light shone afar off, and the movement of the

police and porters on the quay told me that it was the vessel. Then

after a further anxious quarter of an hour it came, amid great shouting

and mutual imprecations, slowly alongside the quay, and the passengers

at last began to disembark in the pelting rain.

One after another they walked up the gangway, filing into the

passport-office and on into the Custom House, people of all sorts and

all grades--Swedes, Germans, Finns, and Russians--until suddenly I

caught sight of two figures--one a man in a big tweed traveling-coat and

a golf-cap, and the other the slight figure of a woman in a long dark

cloak and a woolen tam-o'-shanter. The electric rays fell upon them as

they came up the wet gangway together, and there once again I saw the

sweet face of the silent woman whom I had grown to love with such

fervent desperation. The man behind her was the same who had

entertained me on board the _Lola_--the man who was said to be the

lover of the fugitive Muriel Leithcourt.

Without betraying my presence I watched them pass through the

passport-office and Custom House, and then, overhearing the address

which Martin Woodroffe gave the _isvoshtchik_, I stood aside, wet to the

skin, and saw them drive away.

At eleven o'clock on the following day I found myself installed in the

Hotel de Paris, a comfortable hostelry in the Little Morskaya, having

succeeded in evading the vigilance of the spy who had so cleverly

followed me from Abo, and in getting my suit-case round from the Hotel

Europe.

I was beneath the same roof as Elma, although she was in ignorance of my

presence. Anxious to communicate with her without Woodroffe's knowledge,

I was now awaiting my opportunity. He had, it appeared, taken for her a

pleasant front room with sitting-room adjoining on the first floor,

while he himself occupied a room on the third floor. The apartments he

had engaged for her were the most expensive in the hotel, and as far as

I could gather from the French waiter whom I judiciously tipped, he

appeared to treat her with every consideration and kindness.

"Ah, poor young lady!" the man exclaimed as he stood in my room

answering my questions, "What an affliction! She writes down all her

orders--for she can utter no word."

"Has the Englishman received any visitors?" I asked.

"One man--a Russian--an official of police, I think."

"If he receives anyone else, let me know," I said. "And I want you to

give Mademoiselle a letter from me in secret."

"Bien, m'sieur."

I turned to the little writing-table and scribbled a few hasty lines to

my love, announcing my presence, and asking her to grant me an interview

in secret as soon as Woodroffe was absent. I also warned her of the

search for her instigated by the Baron, and urged her to send me a line

in reply.

The note was delivered into her hand, but although I waited in suspense

nearly all day she sent no reply. While Woodroffe was in the hotel I

dared not show myself lest he should recognize me, therefore I was

compelled to sham indisposition and to eat my meals alone in my room.

Both the means by which she had met Martin Woodroffe and the motive were

equally an enigma. By that letter she had written to her schoolfellow it

was apparent that she had some secret of his, for had she not wished to

send him a message of reassurance that she had divulged nothing? This

would seem that they were close friends; yet, on the other hand,

something seemed to tell me that he was acting falsely, and was really

an ally of the Baron's.

Why had he brought her to Petersburg? If he had desired to rescue her he

would have taken her in the opposite direction--to Stockholm, where she

would be free--whereas he took her, an escaped prisoner, into the very

midst of peril. It was true that her passport was in order, yet I

remembered that an order had been issued for her transportation to

Saghalien, and now once arrested she must be lost to me for ever. This

thought filled me with fierce anxiety. She was in Petersburg, that city

where police spies swarm, and where every fresh arrival is noted and his

antecedents inquired into. No attempt had been made to disguise who she

was, therefore before long the police would undoubtedly come and arrest

her as the escaped criminal from Kajana.

For several hours I sat at my window watching the life and movement

down in the street below, my mind full of wonder and dark forebodings.

Was Martin Woodroffe playing her false?

Just after half-past six o'clock the waiter entered, and handing me a

note on a salver, said--

"Mademoiselle has, I believe, only this moment been able to write in

secret."

I tore it open and read as follows:--

DEAR FRIEND.--_I am so surprised. I thought you were still in Abo.

Woodroffe has an appointment at eight o'clock on the other side of the

city, therefore come to me at 8.15. I must see you, and at once. I am in

peril_.--ELMA HEATH.

My love was in peril! It was just as I had feared. I thanked Providence

that I had been sent to help her and extricate her from that awful fate

to which "The Strangler of Finland" had consigned her.

At the hour she named, after the waiter had come to me and announced the

Englishman's departure, I descended to her sitting-room and entered

without rapping, for if I had rapped she could not, alas! have heard.

The apartment was spacious and comfortable, thickly carpeted, with heavy

furniture and gilding. Before the long window were drawn curtains of

dark green plush, and on one side was the high stove of white porcelain

with shining brass bands, while from her low lounge-chair a slim wan

figure sprang up quickly and came forward to greet me, holding out both

her hands and smiling happily.

I took her hands in mine and held them tightly in silence for some

moments, as I looked earnestly into those wonderfully brilliant eyes of

hers. She turned away laughing, a slight flush rising to her cheeks in

her confusion. Then she led me to a chair, and motioned me to be

seated.

Ours was a silent meeting, but her gestures and the expression of her

eyes were surely more eloquent than mere words. I knew well what

pleasure that re-encounter caused her--equal pleasure with that it gave

to me.

Until that moment I had never really loved. I had admired and flirted

with women. What man has not? Indeed, I had admired Muriel Leithcourt.

But never until now had I experienced in my heart the real flame of true

burning affection. The sweetness of her expression, the tender caress of

those soft, tapering hands, the deep mysterious look in those

magnificent eyes, and the incomparable grace of all her movements,

combined to render her the most perfect woman I had ever met--perfect in

all, alas! save speech and hearing, of which, with such dastard

wantonness, she had been deprived.

She touched her red lips with the tip of her forefinger, opened her

hands, and shrugged her shoulders with a sad gesture of regret. Then

turning quickly to some paper on the little table at her side she wrote

something with a gold pencil and handed to me. It read--

"Surely Providence has sent you here! Mr. Woodroffe must have followed

you from England. He is my enemy. You must take me from here and hide

me. They intend to send me into exile. Have you ever been in Petersburg

before? Do you know anyone here?"

Then when I had read, she handed me her pencil and below I wrote--

"I will do my best, dear friend. I have been once in Petersburg. But is

it not best that we should escape at once from Russia?"

"Impossible at present," she wrote. "We should both be arrested at the

frontier. It would be best to go into hiding here in Petersburg. I

believed Woodroffe to be my friend, but I have found only this day that

he is my enemy. He knew that I was in Kajana, and was in Abo when he

learned of my escape. He went with two other men in search of us, and

discovered us that night when we sought shelter at the wood-cutter's

hut. Without making his presence known he waited outside until you were

asleep, and then he came and looked in at my window. At first I was

alarmed, but quickly I saw that he was a friend. He told me that the

police were in the vicinity and intended to raid the hut, therefore I

fled with him, first down to Tammerfors and then to Abo, and on here. At

that time I did not see the dastardly trap he had laid in order to get

me out of the Baron's clutches and wring from me my secret. If I

confess, he intends to give me up to the police, who will send me to the

mines."

"Does your secret concern him?" I asked in writing.

"Yes," she wrote in response. "It would be equally in his interests as

well as those of Baron Oberg if I were sent to Saghalien and my identity

effaced. I am a Russian subject, as I have already told you, therefore

with a Ministerial order against me I am in deadliest peril."

"Trust in me," I scribbled quickly. "I will act upon any suggestion you

make. Have you any female friend in whom you could trust to hide you

until this danger is past?"

"There is one friend--a true friend. Will you take a note to her?" she

wrote, to which I instantly nodded in the affirmative.

Then rising, she obtained some ink and pen and wrote a letter, the

contents of which she did not show me before she sealed it. I sat

watching her beautiful head bent beneath the shaded lamplight, catching

her profile and noticing how eminently handsome it was, superb and

unblemished in her youthful womanhood.

I watched her write the superscription upon the envelope: "Madame Olga

Stassulevitch, modiste, Scredni Prospect, 231, Vasili Ostroff." I knew

that the district was on the opposite side of the city, close to the

Little Neva.

"Take a drosky at once, see her, and await a reply. In the meantime, I

will prepare to be ready when you return," she wrote. "If Olga is not at

home, ask to see the Red Priest--in Russian, '_Krasny-pastor_.' Return

quickly, as I fear Woodroffe may come back. If so, I am lost."

I assured her I would not lose a single instant, and five minutes later

I was tearing down the Morskaya in a drosky along the canal and across

the Nicholas Bridge to the address upon the envelope.

The house was, I found, somewhat smaller than its neighbors, but not let

out in flats as the others. Upon the door was a large brass plate

bearing the name, "Olga Stassulevitch: modes." I pressed the electric

button, and in answer a tall, clean-shaven Russian servant opened the

door.

"Madame is not at home," was his brief reply to my inquiry.

"Then I will see the Red Priest," I said in a lower tone. "I come from

Elma Heath." Thereupon, without further word, the man admitted me into

the long, dark hall and closed the door with an apology that the gas was

not lighted. But striking a match he led me up the broad staircase and

into a small, cosy, well-furnished room on the second floor, evidently

the sitting-room of some studious person, judging from the books and

critical reviews lying about.

For a few minutes I waited there, until the door reopened, and there

entered a man of medium height, with a shock of long snow-white hair

and almost patriarchal beard, whose dark eyes that age had dimmed

flashed out at me with a look of curious inquiry, and whose movements

were those of a person not quite at his ease.

"I have called on behalf of Mademoiselle Elma Heath, to give this letter

to Madame Stassulevitch, or if she is absent to place it in the hands of

the Red Priest," I explained in my best Russian.

"Very well, sir," the old man responded in quite good English. "I am the

person you seek," and taking the letter he opened it and read it

through.

I saw by the expression on his furrowed face that its contents caused

him the utmost consternation. His countenance, already pale, blanched to

the lips, while in his eyes there shot a fire of quick apprehension. The

thin, almost transparent hand holding the letter trembled visibly.

"You know Mademoiselle--eh?" he asked in a hoarse, strained voice as he

turned to me. "You will help her to escape?"

"I will risk my own life in order to save hers," I declared.

"And your devotion to her is prompted by what?" he inquired

suspiciously.

I was silent for a moment. Then I confessed the truth.

"My affection."

"Ah!" he sighed deeply. "Poor young lady! She, who has enemies on every

hand, sadly needs a friend. But can we trust you--have you no fear?"

"Of what?"

"Of being implicated in the coming revolution in Russia? Remember I am

the Red Priest. Have you never heard of me? My name is Otto Kampf."

Otto Kampf!

I stood before him open-mouthed. Who in Russia had not heard of that

mysterious unknown person who had directed a hundred conspiracies

against the Imperial Autocrat, and yet the identity of whom the police

had always failed to discover. It was believed that Kampf had once been

professor of chemistry at Moscow University, and that he had invented

that most terrible and destructive explosive used by the revolutionists.

The ingredients of the powerful compound and the mode of firing it was

the secret of the Nihilists alone--and Otto Kampf, the mysterious

leader, whose personality was unknown even to the conspirators

themselves, directed those constant attempts which held the Emperor and

his Government in such hourly terror.

Rewards without number had been offered by the Ministry of the Interior

for the betrayal and arrest of the unseen man whose power in Russia,

permeating every class, was greater than that of the Emperor himself--at

whose word one day the people would rise in a body and destroy their

oppressors.

The Emperor, the Ministers, the police, and the bureaucrats knew this,

yet they were powerless--they knew that the mysterious professor who had

disappeared from Moscow fifteen years before and had never since been

seen was only waiting his opportunity to strike a blow that would

stagger and crush the Empire from end to end--yet of his whereabouts

they were in utter ignorance.

"You are surprised," the old man laughed, noticing my amazement. "Well,

you are not one of us, yet I need not impress upon you the absolute

necessity, for Mademoiselle's sake, to preserve the secret of my

existence. It is because you are not a member of 'The Will of the

People,' that you have never heard of 'The Red Priest'--red because I

wrote my ultimatum to the Czar in the blood of one of his victims

knouted in the fortress of Peter and Paul, and priest because I preach

the gospel of freedom and justice."

"I shall say nothing," I said, gazing at the strangely striking figure

before me--the unknown man who directed the great upheaval that was to

revolutionize Russia. "My only desire is to save Mademoiselle Heath."

"And you are prepared to do so at risk of your own liberty--your own

life? Ah! you said you love her. Would not this be a test of your

affection?"

"I am prepared for any test, as long as she escapes the trap which her

enemies have set for her. I succeeded in saving her from Kajana, and I

intend to save her now."

"Was it you who actually entered Kajana and snatched her from that

tomb!" he exclaimed, and he took my hand enthusiastically, adding--"I

have no further need to doubt you." And turning to the table he wrote an

address upon a slip of paper, saying, "Take Mademoiselle there. She will

find a safe place of concealment. But go quickly, for every moment

places you both in more deadly peril. Hide yourself there also."

I thanked him and left at once, but as I stepped out of the house and

re-entered the drosky I saw close by, lurking in the shadow, the spy of

"The Strangler of Finland," who had traveled with me from Abo.

Our eyes met, and he recognized me, notwithstanding my light overcoat

and new hat.

Then, with heart-sinking, the ghastly truth flashed upon me. All had

been in vain. Elma was lost to me.