CHAPTER XXV.
A STUBBORN ANTAGONIST
"Stay just where you are, Michael," exclaimed Clara, "and don't let that man see your face."
Mike did as directed, pushing his head and shoulders far into the coupé and whispering:
"It isn't him, is it, miss, who's got anything to do with the case?"
"Yes," she replied in a low tone, while she and Paul kept as far back in the gloom of the carriage as they could; "have you ever seen him before?"
"Yes'm, he was down to the stables the day this gentleman called, askin' would I know the man who did the trick to me wheel."
"It was a ruse," muttered Paul; "he pretended to investigate in the same spirit that I did so as to throw suspicion from himself. If he has anything like the perceptions that we think he has, he will recognize this rig. Isn't it the same, Mike, with which you started to take Mr. Strobel to his wedding?"
"Identical, sir, horse an' all."
Poubalov had passed them during this brief conversation, and as none of them had ventured to look at him, they could not tell whether or not he recognized the turnout.
They could hear his rapid steps as he strode along, and there was certainly no pause to indicate that he had seen anything that surprised or interested him.
"I must know where he goes," said Clara. "Get on the box, Michael, and drive after him without letting him see, if you can help it, that you are following him. Let us know if he enters any house, but do not stop in front of it."
"Yes'm," replied Mike, closing the door.
He turned the vehicle about and drove slowly to the corner.
Poubalov had paused, ostensibly to buy a paper at a news-stand a little way up the street. He glanced back at the approaching vehicle, shrugged his shoulders, and moved on as rapidly as before. Mike reported this to Clara a few minutes later, when he had seen Poubalov board a Scollay Square car.
"He is satisfied that we are following him, then," said Clara, and she felt afraid as she recalled the threats that the spy had uttered to Paul.
Would he proceed promptly to put into execution whatever design he might have for injuring Ivan? Would not the disappointed passion that had led him to all but the commission of suicide now prompt him to murder his prisoner?
Clara sank back and covered her face with her hands, completely unnerved for the moment by the seeming imminence of catastrophe.
"When will the end come!" she moaned.
Mike looked on in honest and surprised distress, and Paul himself, knowing as he did the reasons for her excess of fear, was at his wits' end to suggest comfort.
Clara uncovered her eyes suddenly. They blazed with new determination.
"Michael," she cried, "could you overtake the car he is on?"
"I could try it, miss, but he's got a pretty good start."
"Try it, then. Don't spare the horse for just this once. If you come near to catching up, and he looks around, then drive more slowly, as if you were not able to keep up the pace, and finally stop altogether, let the car get away, and I'll tell you what to do next. Hurry!"
Mike did hurry.
The coupé started with a jolt as he lashed his astonished horse into a gallop.
"What's your plan, Miss Hilman?" asked Paul, who was at a loss to account for this projected maneuver.
"The man wants us to follow him," she replied, turning upon her companion almost fiercely in the intensity of her excitement. "He would lead us away from the scene of his operations, don't you see? Since he has discovered that you have been watching him, he has thought it all over, and he has concluded that it is more than likely that you tracked him to that street, for that was the street, wasn't it? Of course! Then he would naturally expect me to go there. I don't dream that he foresaw meeting us just now, but what I do believe to be the case is, that finding that house insecure for his purpose, he is now planning to remove his prisoner, and happening upon us as he did, he will do what he can to lead us away from it. Don't you see?"
"It sounds reasonable; and you plan, then, to make a pretense at a desperate effort to catch up with him, and when he has got away a considerable distance, to return to the house and investigate."
"That's it," and Clara again sank back, but this time her face expressed energy and confidence in success.
"I wonder how we are getting on," she said after a moment. They were dashing along Washington Street now at a furious rate, attracting attention from all passers. Paul tried to look ahead, but he could not do so without leaning far out of the coupé, and that did not seem to be advisable.
"Never mind," said Clara; "I think the driver can be trusted to play his part, if his horse doesn't play it for him by falling down from exhaustion. By the way, I had a letter from O'Brien this morning. You don't know who he is, do you? He is the employee at the Park Square Station who saw Billings drive up, and who says that a man left the carriage and went into the station. The detectives, you know, supposed that man to be Ivan. It's a small point, but O'Brien very kindly wrote to me when he discovered it. He says he was talking about the case with a fellow-workman who remembered the occurrence, and who says that shortly after Billings was seen by O'Brien, a closed carriage stopped at the Columbus Avenue entrance to the station, near the baggage rooms, you know, and that a man left the station and got in. Of course that was the carriage Billings drove, and the man was doubtless the same who got out at the front entrance. He had simply walked through the station, mingled with the crowd, perhaps going so far as to buy a ticket for New York, and then had rejoined his driver. Doesn't it seem clear?"
"It's a perfectly plausible explanation of the point, but it's a pity O'Brien's friend didn't turn up with it sooner. You might have been saved your journey to New York."
"I'm not sure about that. I am not sorry that I saw Lizzie White, although I never felt for an instant that Ivan had eloped."
The coupé was still rattling onward at the highest speed the horse could attain, but a moment after Clara had finished, it came to a sudden halt, and they heard a stern voice saying:
"You know better than to drive so fast in the street! I've a great mind to take you in."
Mike was protesting in characteristic fashion, inventing something about the necessity of catching a train, when Clara opened the coupé door and stepped out. A policeman stood at the horse's head, glaring with offended dignity at the driver.
"If there is any fault it is mine, officer," she said sweetly; "please scold me, for I told him to drive as fast as he could."
"That don't make no difference, ma'am," returned the policeman, instantly mollified, but still feeling it incumbent upon him to assert the majesty of municipal ordinances; "he's a regular, and he knew better. 'Tain't allowed to go so fast anywhere in Boston 'less it's on a race track."
"I'm very sorry," said Clara.
"Go on with you," commanded the policeman to Mike, "and be a little more careful. It would be rough on me, you see," he added to Clara, "if I wasn't to stop him."
Mike looked inquiringly down at his passenger.
"Come to the door a minute, Michael," she said, and returned to the coupé.
"That cop's too fresh to live," remarked Mike as he put his head in to receive instructions.
"Were we anywhere near the car?" asked Clara.
"Yes'm, we was most onto it, an' I was just goin' to pull up a bit when the cop got in his work."
"Could you see the man we were after?"
"Yes'm; he turned round, an' I guess he saw what the cop did, but I lost sight of him tryin' to keep me horse from treadin' on the cop's toes."
"It's just as well, then," said Clara, satisfied. "I'm rather glad the policeman stopped us, for now Poubalov will be certain why it was that we didn't catch up. You needn't hurry so now, Michael; drive back to the place where we started from."
"Where Patterson shook me, miss? All right. I'm on," and he clambered back to the box.
Nothing occurred to disturb their return journey, and when Mike again opened the door for instructions, Clara and Paul got out.
"We will go straight to the house and inquire for Patterson," said Clara, "and if we don't find him there, we'll ask all along the street."
"Whist, miss!" exclaimed Mike, in his eagerness gripping her arm; "there goes Patterson now!"
"Where?" she cried, looking, of course, in the wrong direction.
"Below there, him on the box of the closed carriage, miss. On my soul, it looks like the same – "
"Follow it quick, Michael," she said excitedly. "Come, Paul!" and she sprang into the coupé.
"I'll sit on the box with Mike," answered Paul, tremendously aroused; he was already climbing to a place beside the driver; "from here I can act quicker. Hit her up, Mike!"
So off they went on another pursuit, Mike treating his horse to more lash than he had ever experienced before.
"I don't believe you'll need to go so fast as to risk arrest," said Paul; "Patterson probably don't suspect that we are after him, and it would be better to go a little slower than to be stopped again by a policeman."
"I almost ran down one cop who tried to make me pull up before," responded Mike, through set teeth, "an' I wouldn't mind bein' took in myself if it wasn't for spoilin' the game. I'll look sharp, sir, never fear."
Patterson and his carriage had disappeared around a corner almost before the coupé had started, but they were soon in view again, jogging forward at a rather lively rate several blocks ahead.
"Will I overhaul him, sir, right away?" asked Mike. "I could do it by driving like sin."
"Don't risk it," answered Paul; "as long as he is in sight, I shan't worry if we gain a little at every block. Let's not drive fast enough to attract attention, for we may have a row when we catch him, and the less crowd around the better."
"If there's to be a fight," said Mike, with a hopeful grin, "I can do Patterson. I'm not even with him yet for doin' the trick to me wheel."
"All right. If it comes to a scrimmage, you look after him, and I'll try to attend to the passengers. I'll tell you just what we suspect, so that you can understand what you are to do. If we're not mistaken, Mr. Strobel is in that carriage, helplessly bound. There may be another man with him. In any case, we must get Strobel away and put him in the coupé. When that is done, you drive straight to Mr. Pembroke's. Don't wait for Miss Hilman or me if we don't happen to get in. We'll take care of ourselves. You look out for Mr. Strobel. Call the police to help if you need to, for we've nothing to fear from the law."
"I'm on," said Mike.
The chase went on to the perfect satisfaction of Palovna, who, with growing excitement, saw the distance between him and Patterson's carriage gradually decreasing. His one fear now was that Strobel would be found to be seriously injured, and he felt a great dread lest Poubalov in his madness had killed him! He would not dwell upon this thought, however, concentrating all his force on the struggle that would probably ensue when the closed carriage was at last overtaken.
They were now in Washington Street, and again going toward the city.
Patterson was less than a block away.
"Give it to him now, Mike," said Paul; "get right alongside and make him pull up."
Mike nodded and gave his horse a smart cut with the whip. He sprang forward at a gallop. Patterson was driving near the curb, and Mike took the outside. He drove close beside the closed carriage, in order to "pocket" his adversary and so compel him to pull up. The maneuver succeeded admirably.
Taken by surprise at the sudden appearance of a rapidly galloping horse very near his wheels, Patterson reined his pair nearer to the curb, uttering an impatient curse at the carelessness of the other driver. Mike forced him over still further, and Patterson was compelled in self-defense to stop.
As he did so he turned his head to tell Mike what he thought of him, and Paul recognized the stranger whom he had seen in conversation with Poubalov.
The two drivers exchanged angry words that would look rather worse in print, if possible, than they sounded, and Paul lost no time in descending to the ground. The vehicles were too close together to admit of going between them, so he ran around to the sidewalk and wrenched open the carriage door.
Then he stood stock still.
The carriage was empty.
Clara was beside him in an instant, and though her face fell, she exclaimed:
"Shut the door and stop the quarrel. I must speak to Patterson."
Everything had happened so quickly that the two drivers were still on their respective boxes, making remarks to each other, when Paul stopped upon the wheel beside Patterson and said:
"Mike, drive up to the curb just in front of us. Get down, Patterson. We've something to say to you."
Patterson looked down in surprise, glanced at Clara, shook his head and gathered up the reins for a fresh start.
Paul sprang from the wheel and caught the horses by the bits before they had taken a step.
Mike was carrying out instructions and was then just abreast of him.
"Mike!" said Paul in a loud voice, "don't stop, but pick up the first policeman you can find and bring him here in a hurry! We'll talk to this man in a cell if he won't wait here."
Patterson was unquestionably alarmed at this.
"What is it you want?" he asked in a surly tone.
"Get down, and the lady there will tell you," answered Paul.
Patterson prepared to obey, but just then a south-bound car stopped near them, and Poubalov alighted. He came rapidly toward the group, his dark face darker yet with passion.
"Stay on the box!" he commanded. He took off his hat, bowed stiffly to Clara, with one hand on the carriage door, and said:
"This is my carriage, Miss Hilman. Drive on, James," and before even quick-witted Clara could interpose a restraining word, the door had closed upon Poubalov, and the carriage rolled away.
CHAPTER XXVI.
HIDE AND SEEK
Clara's face was deathly pale, and in her heart anger burned as hotly at Poubalov's ceremonious insolence as it ached with this fresh blow to her hopes. Paul, blue with despair, feared for her, but she had not yet met the emergency that was too great for her to contend with, however unsuccessful she might be.
"We must waste no time here!" she cried stepping quickly forward to the coupé. "Return to that house, Paul, and search it; do what you think is best, according to developments. I am going to pursue Poubalov as I said I would. If I do not hear from you before the day is over, Paul, I shall go to that house myself. If you have to go downtown, leave word at Mrs. White's. Keep that carriage in view, Michael, but don't try to overtake it. Good-by, Paul!"
Her voice quivered with the desperation that had driven the tears to the brink of her eyes, and she hastily entered the coupé and pulled down the window curtains. Thus shut out from view, she gave way freely to her overstrained emotions, her soul seeming to be borne along on a rushing torrent of grief, and she felt that appalling desire, than which there is no more shocking experience of the heart, to throw herself into the arms of the lost loved one and find comfort there.
It was a great day for sturdy Mike. The regret that he hadn't had time just now to "lambast" his friend Patterson, was sweetly assuaged by the fact that he was still pursuing the loafer who did the trick to his wheel, and the hope that another opportunity would soon offer for a fine fight.
The chase exhilarated him, and the thought that he was called upon to champion a beautiful woman, made his fists ache to do valiant service upon somebody's head, Patterson's preferred, and he thumped his knees gently with his knuckles by way of practice, and kept his horse at a brisk trot a few rods behind Poubalov's carriage.
He was quite confident that he could "do" both driver and passenger if such a thing were necessary, and he longed heartily for an occasion to demand a trial of his prowess.
After having traversed a considerable distance, he pulled up, got down and gently opened the door.
"Whist, miss," he said, "they've stopped entirely."
"Where are we, and where are they?" asked Clara, now her composed self again.
"In Scollay Square," answered Mike, "and they're just foreninst the Crawford House. The gentleman's talkin' to Patterson. Now he's lookin' at me, bad luck to him!"
"I don't wish to come up to him," said Clara; "if he comes this way I shall be glad. You must have no fear if we talk angrily together."
"I'd like to – " began Mike, significantly.
"Yes, I know you would," she interrupted, "but we must have no trouble unless I give the word. I might do so if I thought a policeman would arrest him, and not you."
"As to that, miss," said Mike, ruefully, "any copper's more likely to pull in the poor cab-driver instead of the fine gentleman. My brother's on the force, an' if we was only on his beat, now!"
"Tell me what they are doing, please."
"The gentleman is going into the hotel. Patterson is starting away. Shall I follow him?"
Clara reflected just an instant.
"No," she answered. "Stay here. I'm not going to pursue another empty carriage."
"Huh!" chuckled Mike, "you're a keen one, sure, for that's just what he's wantin' you to do. Patterson has turned down Hanover Street."
"We'll wait until he comes back," said Clara, "if we have to spend the rest of the day here; but you watch the hotel – Stay! there's a side entrance to the Crawford House, isn't there? Can you place the coupé where you can see both doors?"
"Yes, but I don't know how long the police will let me stay there."
"Try it, please. If they make you move on, drive around the square and come back."
Mike accordingly drove up to the curb of Tremont Row, where he could look down Brattle Street. No policeman had disturbed him before Patterson turned from Cornhill into the square. He had driven around a few blocks, evidently for the purpose of testing the design of his pursuers. Clara wondered why Poubalov should permit such a chase to continue. It would have seemed more like him to come to her with some of his characteristic sophistry, and either appear to yield, or adopt an entirely different course. It must be that he had some plan in view to the execution of which Patterson and his closed carriage were essential.
Patterson drove to the front entrance of the hotel and waited, casting ugly glances across the square at Mike, who grinned complacently and shook his fist.
After a moment Poubalov came out, entered the carriage, and Patterson promptly drove away. It was plain as day that he had received his instructions while Poubalov stood on the side-walk at the time of their arrival there. He was to see whether Clara would persist in her pursuit, and if so he was to – and that remained to be seen.
Mike speedily resumed the reins, and again the chase was in progress. Patterson went down Hanover Street, and, without any apparent effort to distance his pursuer, kept on until he came to Fleet Street, which leads to one of the East Boston ferries.
He turned in there, and Mike lost a little by reason of a temporary jam of vehicles. As soon as he was out of it, he too went through Fleet Street, and saw, to his satisfaction, that Patterson was still but a short distance ahead.
With painful anxiety, however, he saw that Patterson was making for the ferry, before which a rapidly increasing line of vehicles stood waiting for a chance to cross. Mike whipped up energetically, and managed to beat several drays and express wagons on the way in, and when at last he had to pull up and take his place in line, Patterson's was the carriage directly in front of him.
"Smart, ain't ye, ye loafer!" said Mike, disdainfully.
Patterson did not notice this remark, or any other of the many with which Mike assailed him while they waited for an incoming boat to discharge its cargo. When at length the gates were opened for the waiting vehicles, Mike was on the alert to take advantage of any opening that might occur to enable him to forge ahead, but none occurred.
Policemen and ferry officials kept the teams to their places, and if Mike had attempted a trick, he would have been compelled to go back, and thus lose more than he could have gained.
One by one the carriages and wagons went on board, and just after Patterson had passed the barrier the gates were closed.
"Hold on there!" howled Mike, beside himself with disappointment and rage, "don't yees see I've got to get aboard?"
The gateman laughed and told him to make himself easy; and Patterson, from his place at the very stern of the ferryboat, stood up in his seat and beckoned to Mike ironically.
The unhappy chap fumed in vain and got down to tell Clara about it.
"We're shook, miss, shook entirely," he said despondently.
When Clara understood the unfortunate meaning of his words, and saw that Poubalov had won in another skirmish, she herself was in a quandary.
"There are two ferries, aren't there?" she asked. "Aren't they near enough together on this side to make it possible to watch both for their return? for, of course, they haven't gone to East Boston for any other purpose than to come back here again unperceived."
"That might possibly be done, miss," said Mike, after a look at the jam of vehicles behind him, "but we're in for a trip across anyways, for I couldn't turn 'round now. An' then, d'ye see, there's more ways to get back from East Boston. They might go over to Chelsea, an' come back by that ferry, or take a run around by road and bridge, so you'd best give 'em up as lost, miss, an' it's sorry I am to tell you so."
"Well," said Clara sighing, "if we have to cross, we can make inquiries on the other side, and possibly come up with them again. We'll try it."
Inquiries on the East Boston side were vain when they landed there ten minutes later.
No one to whom they spoke could remember whether a carriage such as they described had been across or not.
One man, anxious to parade information that he did not possess, thought vaguely that the carriage might have gone thus and so, and Clara instructed Mike to drive that way a short distance, and then to return to Boston by the other ferry.
This was done, and all trace of Poubalov having been lost, and but one more hope remaining to her – Paul's investigation of the house in Roxbury – she directed Mike to drive to Ashburton Place.
Paul had arrived at Mrs. White's a few minutes ahead of her.
"I waited for you," he said in a disheartened voice, "because I'm completely at a loss what to do next, not because I have anything of importance to say."
"Everything is of importance, Paul," replied Clara, finding herself now called upon to inspire her allies with courage as well as give them ideas. "You went to that quaint-looking house, of course?"
"Yes, it's an abandoned tavern – that is, it was formerly run as a hotel, but the enterprise was a failure, and it is now closed. I learned that much from a man who was passing while I stood under the balcony, waiting for somebody to answer my ring. He remarked that he didn't believe I'd find anybody at home, as the house had been practically deserted for some time."
"But we saw Poubalov come out of there this morning," urged Clara.
"I said as much to my informant, but he answered that it was probably somebody who had been looking it over with a view to purchase. Of course we know better, but it goes to show that neither Patterson nor anybody else lives there."
"Except Ivan, if he still lives," said Clara gravely.
"Don't think I forgot that possibility," returned Paul, earnestly. "I quietly tried the door after my informant had passed on; he didn't know the name of the owner, by the way. Of course the door was locked. I went around to the side and back, for there is a driveway there leading to stables that are apparently as little used as the tavern itself. Every door and every window was closed. I knocked and shouted, and then neighbors put their heads out of windows and advised me that I was making a noise to no purpose. If it had been night I would have burst open a door or window, and have gone through the house from roof to cellar, but that plan is rather impracticable by daylight."
"I wonder," said Clara, "if the law would allow a search of that building. I mean something to be done officially. I've heard of search-warrants."
"It's barely possible, and you might try it; but my idea, such as it is, would be to go there quietly to-night ourselves, and force an entrance."
"And in either case Poubalov might return during the day, and effect a change in the situation that would make the search useless."
"Yes," said Paul, gloomily, "I had thought of that."
"The house must be watched this afternoon," said Clara, decidedly, "but it is my very distinct impression that Poubalov will go to his lodging before he returns to Roxbury. It seems to me he must have been on his way there when he was compelled to make a long detour to elude us. And that means that I think his lodging should be watched as carefully as the abandoned tavern. Will you pass the afternoon in your room, Paul?"
"Certainly, unless there is a better way of watching there. You must remember that Poubalov has discovered my peephole."
"Then," said Clara, "we will borrow the little front hall room occupied by the young lady. Let us go down at once."
On this occasion Mrs. White had left them to themselves, much to Clara's relief, for she would not have cared again to discuss her plans in the good lady's presence. It was not that she distrusted Mrs. White's intentions, but she had proven before that she was exceedingly pliable in Poubalov's hands.
As they were ready to go, Clara sought Mrs. White to say good-by.
"I'm sorry you are going so soon," said the landlady; "I thought you and Mr. Palovna would want a long talk, and so I busied myself in the kitchen, for fear I couldn't help interrupting to tell you my own good news. I expect Lizzie home to-night."
"Do you, indeed?" exclaimed Clara; "I am really very glad for you."
"It seems better, doesn't it?" continued Mrs. White, anxious to talk to somebody, and eager for sympathy; "she hasn't told me a word in her letters about why she went away, but, of course, I suspected; and I think from the way she writes in the letter I got this morning that she feels better, poor thing! At any rate, she's coming, and I feel very happy, and I should be perfectly content if only you could be happy, too, Miss Hilman."
"That seems almost an impossible boon for me now," replied Clara, gently; "I shall come to see you and your daughter if she would like to have me."
"I am sure she would, Miss Hilman. Must you hurry?"
Every minute seemed so precious to Clara that she almost begrudged the brief interval spent in this exchange of courtesies. On the way to Bulfinch Place she told Paul again that she should manage to watch the tavern during the afternoon, "but," she added, "you are most likely to meet important developments, and you will know where to find me, either near the tavern, or at my uncle's. I shall try to watch the tavern in such a way as not to frighten off Poubalov should he wish to go in, but once he should enter, I shall follow him, you may be sure."
At the lodging-house Clara made herself known to the occupant of the front hall room, who was at the time home for luncheon.
Clara talked with her apart at length, telling her in a general way of her troubles, but not indicating her plans in detail.
The young woman had not come in contact with Poubalov at all, it seemed.
She hardly knew that he was a lodger in the house, and the upshot of it was that her sympathies were aroused, and Paul was installed in her room, where he could keep watch upon the roadway through the slats of the closed blinds. So once more Clara bade him good-by, and set forth on her own task.
Paul did not venture to keep himself awake by smoking in the young lady's room, and he therefore had a dreadfully hard time of it, for the entire afternoon passed without an event of any kind to break the monotony of his watch.
The young lady returned at six o'clock, and looked in for a moment before going to dinner. After that she sat gossiping with the landlady.
The sun set and twilight gathered, and Paul began to fear that Poubalov had changed his quarters without giving notice; but just before it was too dark to distinguish faces in the street below, a carriage stopped before the door and Paul saw that Patterson sat on the box.