Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 224, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 September 1915 — The Czar’s Spy [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Czar’s Spy

The Mystery of & Silent Love

By Chevalier WILLIAM LE QUEUX Author of “The Closed Book,"etc.

CHAPTER I. Hi* Britannic Majesty’s Service. “There was a mysterious affair last Bight, signore.” “Oh!" I exclaimed. “Anything that interests us?"

“Tea, signore," replied the tall, thin Italian consular clerk, speaking with a strong accent “An English steam yacht ran aground on the Meloria about ten miles out and was discovered by a fishing boat that brought

the news to harbor. The admiral sent out two torpedo boats, which managed after a lot of difficulty to bring in the yacht safely, but the captain of the port has a suspicion that the crew were trying to make away with the vessel." “To lose her, you mean?” Francesco nodded. "Sounds curious,” t remarked. “Since the consul went away on leave things seem to have been humming—two Blabbing affrays, eight drunken seamen locked up, a mutiny on a tramp steamer, and now a yacht being cast away—a fairly decent list! And yet some stay-at-home people complain that British consuls are only paid to be ornamental! They should spend a week here, at Leghorn, and they'd soon alter their opinion.”

“Yes, they would, signore,” responded the thin-lipped old fellow with a grin, as he twisted his fierce gray mustache. Franceso Carducci was a wellknown character in Leghorn. An

honest, good-hearted, easy-going fellow, who for twenty years had occupied the same position under half a dozen different consuls. My old friend, Frank Hutcheson, his Britannic majesty's vice-consul at the port of Leghorn, was away on leave in England, his duties being relegated t» young Bertram Cavendish, the proconsul. The latter, however, had gone down with a bad touch of malaria, and I, the only other Englishman in Leghorn, had been asked by the consulgeneral in Florence to act as pro-con-sul until Hutcheson’s return.

It was mid-July, and the weather was blazing in the glaring sunblanched Mediterranean town. If you know Leghorn, you probably know the consulate, a large, handsome suite

of huge, airy offices facing the cathedral. The legend painted upon the door, "Office hours, 10 to 3,” gives one the Idea of an easy appointment, but such Is certainly not the case, for a consul’s life at a port of discharge must necessarily be a very active one. Carducd had left me to the correspondence for a half an hour or so, when he re-entered, saying: “There is an English signore waiting to see you." “Who is he?"

“I don’t know him. He will give no name, but wants to see the signore console." "All right, show him in," I Bald lazily, and a few moments later a tall, smartly-dressed,' middle-aged Englishman entered, and bowing. Inquired whether I was the British consul. When he had seated himself I explained my position, whereupon he said: "I couldn’t make much out of your clerk. He speaks so brokenly, and I don't know a word of Italian. But perhaps I ought to first introduce myself. My name is Philip Hornby," and he handed me a card bearing the name with the addresses "Woodcroft Park, Somerset Brook’s." Then he added: "I am cruising on board my yacht, the Lola, and last night we unfortunately went aground on the Meloria. Very fortunately for us a fishing-boat saw our plight and gave the alarm at port. The admiral sent out two torpedo-boats and a tug, and after about three hours they managed to get us off.” “And you are now in harbor?” “Yes. But the reason I've called is to ask you to do me a favor and write me a letter of thanks in Italian to the admiral, and one to the captain of the port —polite letters that I can copy and send to them. You know the kind of thing."

"Certainly,” I replied, the more interested in him on account of the curious suspicion that the port authorities seemed to entertain. He was evidently a gentleman, and after I had been with him ten minutes I scouted the idea that he had endeavored to cast away the Lola. I scribbled the drafts of two letters. “Fortunately, I left my wife in England, or g|e would have been terribly frightened,” he remarked presently. “There was a nasty wind blowing an night, and the fool of a captain seemed to add to our peril by every order he gave." I examined him critically as he sat facing me. He was about forty-five, with a merry, round, good-natured face, red with the southern sun, blue eyes, and a short, fair beard. His speech was refined and cultivated, and as we chatted he gave me the impression that as an enthusiastic lover of the sea he had cruised the Mediterranean many times from Gibraltar up to Smyrna. He had, however, never before put into Leghorn. After we bad arranged that his captain should come to me in the afternoon and make n formal report cf the,

accident, we went out together across the white sunny piazza to Nasi's. “We shall be here quite a week, I suppose,” be said as we were taking our vermouth. “We’re on our way down to the Oreek island, as my friend Chater wants to see them. The en-

gineer says there’s something strained that we must get mended. But, by the way," he added, "why don’t you dine with us on board tonight? Do. We can give you a few English things that may be a change to you.”

This invitation I gladly accepted lor two reasons. One was because the suspicions of the captain of the port had aroused my curiosity, and the other was because I had, honestly Bpeaking, taken a great fancy to Hornby. The captain of the Lola, a short, thickset Scotsman from Dundee, with a barely healed cicatrice across his left cheek, called at the consulate at two o’clock and made his report, which appeared to me to be a very lame one. He struck me as being unworthy his certificate, for he was evidently entirely out of his bearings when the accident occurred. The owner and his friend Chater were in their berths asleep, when suddenly he discovered that 1 the vessel was making no headway. They had, in fact, run upon the dangerous shoal without being aware

of it. A strong sea was running with a stiff breeze, and although his seamanship was poor, he was capable enough to recognize at once that they were in a very perilous position.

“Very fortunate it wasn’t more serious, sir,” he added, after telling me his story, which I wrote at his dictation for the ultimate benefit of the board of trade. "Didn’t you send up signals ojf distress?” I Inquired. “No, sir—never thought of it” "And yet you knew that you might be lost?” I remarked with recurring suspicion. The canny Scot, whose name was Mackintosh, hesitated a few moments, then answered: “Well, sir, you see the fishing-boat had sighted us, and we

saw her turning back to port to fetch help." “How long have you been in Mr. Hornby’s service?” I Inquired. “Six months, sir,” was the man’s

reply. "Before he engaged me, I was with the Wilsons of Hull, running up the Baltic. I’ve held my master’s certificate these fifteen years, sir. I was with the Bibbys before the Wilsons, and before that with the General Steam. I did eight years in the Mediterranean with them, when I was chief mate." "And you’ve never been into Leghorn before?” "Never, sir." I dismissed the captain with a dis-

tlnct impression that he had not told me the whole truth. Was It possible that an attempt had actually been made to cast away the yacht, and that it had been frustrated by the master of the felucca, who had sighted the vessel aground? How, I wondered, had the captain received that very ugly wound across the cheek? I was half-inclined to inquire of him. That evening when the fiery sun was sinking in its crimson glory I took a cab along the old sea-road to the port where, within the inner harbor, I found the Lola, one of the moat magnificent private vessels I had ever seen. Her dimensions surprised me. She was painted dead white, with shining brass everywhere. At the stem hung limply the British flag, at the masthead the ensign of the Royal Yacht squadron. On stepping on deck Hornby came forward to greet me, and took me along to the stern where, lying in a long wicker deck-chair beneath the awning, was a tall, dark-eyed, cleanshaven man of about forty. His keen face gave one the impression that he was a barrister. “My friend, Hylton Chater —Mr. Gordon Gregg," he said, introducing us. and the clean-shaven man exclaimed, smiling pleasantly: “Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Gregg. You are not a stranger by any means

to Hornby or myself. Indeed, we’ve got a conple of your books on board. But I had no idea you lived out here." “At Ardenza,” I said. “Three miles along the sea-shore. Tomorrow I hope you’ll both come and dine with me." “Delighted, I'm sure,” declared Hornby, and then we began chatting about the peril of the previous night, Hornby telling me how he had copied the two letters of thanks in Italian and sent them to their respective addresses. - "Wdll, you certainly did the right thing to thank the admiral.” I said. "It’s very unusual for him to send out torpedo-boats to help a vesselJn distress. That is generally lefts to the harbor tug." “Yes, I feel that It was mdst kind Of him. That’s why I took all the trouble to write. I don’t understand a word of Italian, neither does Chater.” ) "But yon have Italians on board?” I remarked. “The two Bailors who rowed me out are Genoese, from their accent." Hornby and Chater exchanged glances—glances of distinct uneasiness, I thought A

Then the owner of the Lola said: “Yes, they are useful for making arrangements and buying things in Italian ports. We have a Spaniard, a Oreek, and a Syrian, all of whom act as interpreters in different places.” “And make a handsome thing in the way of secret commissions, I suppose?” I laughed. “Of course. But to cruise In comfort one must pay and be pleasant,” declared Hornby.

“Did you have any trouble, with the customs here?” I inquired.

“They didn’t visit us,” he said with a smile, and at the same time he rubbed hiß thumb and finger together, the action of feeling paper money. This increased my surprise, for I happened to know that the Leghorn customs officers were not at all given to the acceptance of bribes. They were too well watched by their superiors. If the yacht had really escaped a search, then It was a most unusual thing. Besides, what motive could Hornby have in eluding the customs visit? They would, of course, seal up his wines and liquors, but even if they did, they would leave him out sufficient for the consumption of himself and his friends.

No. Philip Hornby bad some strong motive in paying a heavy bribe to avoid the vißit of the dogana. If he really had paid, he must have paid very heavily: of that I was convinced. Was it possible that some myßtery was hidden on board that splendidly appointed craft? Presently the gong sounded, and we went below Into the elegantly fitted saloon, where was spread a table that sparkled with cut glass and shone with silver. Everywhere it was apparent that none but an extremely wealthy man could afford such a magnificent craft

Hornby took the head of the table, and we ate one of the choicest and best cooked dinners it has ever been my lot to taste. Chater and I drank wine of a brand which only a millionaire could keep in his cellar, while our host, apparently a most abstemious man, took only a glass of iced Cinciano water.

From his remarks I discerned that, contrary to my first Impression, Hylton Chater was an experienced yachtsman. He owned a craft called the Alicia, and was a member of the Cork Yacht club. He lived In London, he told me, but gave me no Information as to his profession. It might be the law, as I had surmised. “You’ve seen our ass of a captain, Mr. Gregg?” he remarked presently. “What do you think of him?” "Well,” I said rather hesitatingly, “to tell the truth. I don't think very

much of his seamanship—nor will the board of trade when his report reaches them." “Ah!" exclaimed Hornby, "I was a fool to engage him. From the very first I mistrusted him, only my wife somehow took a fancy to the fellow, and, as you know, if you want peace you must always please the women. In this case, however, her choice at, most cost me the vessel, and perhaps our lives Into the bargain.” 1 “The captain seems to have bad a nasty cut across the cheek," I remarked, whereupon my two companions again exchanged quick, apprehensive glances. , "He fell down the other day," explained Chater, with a rather sickly smile, I thought- “His face caught the edge of an iron stair in the engine room and caused a nasty gash.” I smiled within myself, for I knew too well that the ugly wound in the captain's face had never been inflicted by falling on the edge of a stair. But I remained silent, being content that they should endeavor to mislead me.

After dessert dao »•«>rvea we rose, and In the.summer twilight, when all the ports were opened, Hornby took me over the vessel. As be was conducting me from bis own cabin to the boudoir ws passed a door that had been blown open by the wind, and which he hastened to close, not, however, before I had time to glance within. To my surprise I discovered that it was an armory crammed with rifles, revolvers and amn jnition *lt had not been intended that I should see that interior, and the reason why the customs officers had been bribed was now apparent I passed on without remark, making believe that I had not discerned anything unusual, and we entered the boudoir. Chater having gone back to the saloon to obtain cigars. The dainty little chamber bore everywhere the trace of having been arranged by a woman’s hand, although no lady passenger was on board. Just as we had entered, and I was admiring the dainty nest of luxury, Chater shouted to his host asking for the keys of the cigar cupboard, and Hornby turned back along the gangway to hand them to his friend, leaving me alone for a few moments. I stood glancing around, and as I did so my eyes fell upon a quantity of photographs, framed and unframed, that were scattered about —evidently portraits of Hornby’s friends. Upon a small side table, however, stood a heavy oxidized silver frame, but empty, while lying on the floor beneath a couch was the photograph It had contained, which had apparently been taken hastily out, torn first in half and then in half again, and cast away.

Curiosity prompted me to stoop, pick up the four pieces and place them together, when I found them to form the cabinet portrait of a sweet-looking and extremely pretty English girl of eighteen or nineteen, with a bright, smiling expression, and wearing a fresh morning blouse of white pique. About the expression of the pictured face was something which I cannot describe —a curious look in the eyes which was at the same time both attractive and mysterious. In that brief moment the girl’s features were indelibly impressed upon my memory. I looked at the back of the torn photograph, and saw that it had been taken by a well-known and fashionable firm in New Bond street

Next second, however, hearing Hornby’s returning footsteps, I flung the fragments hastily beneath the couch where I had dlscqvered them. Why, I wondered, had the picture been destroyed—and by whom? Afterwards on deck I purposely led the conversation to Hornby’s family, and learned from him that he had no children.

“You’ll get the repairs to your engines done at Orlando’s, I suppose?” I remarked, naming the great ship-build-ing firm of Leghorn. “Yes. I have already given the order. They are contracted to be finished by next Thursday, and then we shall be off to Zante and Ohio.” For what reason, I wondered, recollecting that formidable armory on board. Already I had seen quite sufficient to convince me that the Lola, although outwardly a pleasure yacht, was built of steel, armored in its most vulnerable parts, and capable of resisting a very sharp fire, It was past midnight when, having bade the strange pair adieu, I was put ashore by the two sailors who had rowe4 me out and drove home along the sea-front, puzzled and perplexed Next morning, on my arrival at the consulate, old Francesco, who had entered only a moment before, met me with blanched face, gasping: > “There have been thieves here In the night, signore! The signore con sole’s safe has been opened!” “The safe!" I cried, dashing into Hutcheson’s private room, and finding to my dismay the big safe, wherein the seals, ciphers and other confidential documents were kept, standing open, and the contents in disorder, as though a hasty search had been made among them.

Was it possible that the thieves had been after the admiralty and foreign office ciphers, copies of which the chancelleries of certain European powers were endeavoring to obtain? I smiled within myself when I realized how bitterly disappointed the burglars must have been, for a British consul when-he goes on leave to England always takes his ciphers with him, and deposits them at the foreign office for safekeeping. Hutcheson had, of course, taken his, according to the regulations. Curiously enough, however, the door of the consulate and the safe had been opened with the keys which my friend had left in my charge. Indeed, the small bunch still remained in the safe door.

In an instant the recollection flashed across my mind that I had felt the keys in my pocket while at dinner on board the Lola. Had I lost them on my homeward drive, or had my pocket been picked? While we were engaged in putting the scattered papers in order the door bell rang, and the clerk went to attend to the caller. In a few moments he returned, saying: “The English yacht left suddenly last night, signore, and the captain of the port has sent to Inquire whether you know to what port she is bound.” “Left!” I gasped in amazement. “Why, I thought her engines were disabled!” A quarter of an hour later . I was sitting in the private office of the shrewd, gray-haired functionary who had sent this messenger to me. “Do you know, signore commendatory" he said, "some mystery sur-

round* us**- ,—o. A>* »* *»t Um Lola, for yesterday we telegraphed to Lloyd's, In Londou, and this morning I received a reply that no such yacht appears on their register, an 4 that the name is unknown. The police have also telegraphed to your English police inquiring about the owner, Slg*

nore Hornby, with a like result. There is no such place as Woodcroft Park, in Somerset, and no member of Brook’s club of the name of Hornby.” I sat staring at the official, too amazed to utter a word. Certainly they had not allowed the grass to grow beneath their feet. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

It Was an Armory, Crammed With Rifles and Ammunition.

“The Safe!" I Cried, Dashing Into Hutcheson’s Private Office.