Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 226, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 September 1915 — The Czar’s Spy [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Czar’s Spy

The Mystery of a Silent Love

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

SYNOPSIS. — 2 — The yacht Lola. narrowly escapes wreck hi Leghorn harber. Gordon Gregg, locum tenens for the British consul, ts called upon by Hornby, the Lola's owner, anil dines aboard with him and his friend. Hylton Chater. Aboard the yacht he ao. cidentally sees a room full of arms and ammunition and a torn photograph of a young girl. That night the consul's safe Is robbed and the Lola puts suddenly to sea. The police find that Hornby Is a fraud and the Lola’s name a false one.

CHAPTER I—Continued. "Unfortunately the telegraphic replies from England are only to hand this morning,” he went on, “because Just before two o’clock this morning the harbor police, whom I specially ordered to watch the vessel, saw a boat come to the wharf containing a man and woman. The pair were put ashore, and walked awa f into the town, the woman seeming to walk with considerable difficulty. The boat returned, and an hour after, to the complete surprise of the two detectives, steam was suddenly got up and the yacht turned and went straight out to sea." "Leaving the man and the woman?”

“Leaving them, of course. They are probably still in the town. The police are ijow searching for traces of them.” "But could not you have detained the vessel?” I suggested. “Of course, had I but known, } could have forbidden her departure. But as her owner had presented himself at the consulate, and was recognized as a respectable person, I felt that I could not interfere without some tangible information —and that, alas! has come too late. The vessel is a pwift one, and has already seven hours start of us. I’ve asked the admiral to send out a couple of torpedo-boats after her, but, unfortunately, this is impossible, as the flotilla is sailing in an hour to attend the naval review at Spezia.”

I told him how the consul’s safe had been opened during the pight, and he sat listening with wide-open eyes. "You dined with them last night,” he said at last “They may have surreptitiously stolen your keys.” “They may,” was my answer. “Probably they did. But with what motive?”

The captain of the port elevated his shoulders, exhibited his palms, and declared: "The whole affair from beginning to end is a complete and profound mystery."

CHAPTER 11. * Why the Safe Was Opened. That day was an active one in the questara, or police office, of Leghorn. Detectives called, examined'the safe, and sagely declared it to be burglarproof, had not the thieves possessed the key. Probably while I sat at dinner on board the Lola my keys had been stolen and passed on to the scarred Scotsman, who had promptly gone ashore and ransacked the place while I had remained with his master smoking and unsuspicious, but as far as Francesco and I could ascertain nothing whatever had been taken. The de? tective on duty at the railway station distinctly recollected a thin, middleaged man, accompanied by a lady in deep black, passing the barrier and entering the train which left at three o’clock for Colle Salvetti to Join the Rome express. They were foreigners, therefore he did not take the same notice of them as though they had been Italians.

The description of the Lola, its owner, his guest, and the captain were circulated by the police to all the Mediterranean ports, with a request that the yacht should be detained. Yet if the vessel were really one of mystery, as it seemed to be, its owner would no doubt go across to some quiet anchorage on the Algerian coast out of tlie track of the vessels, and calmly proceed to repaint, rename and dißguise his craft so that it would not be recognized in Marseilles, Naples, Smyrna, or any of the ports where private yachts habitually call. For purposes of their own the police kept the affair out of the papers, and when’ Frank Hutcheson stepped out of the sleeping car from Paris on to the platform at Pisa a few nights afterwards, I related to him the extraordinary story. "The scoundrels wanted these, that’s evident,” he responded, holding up the small, strong leather hand-bag he was carrying, and which contained his jealously-guarded ciphers. “By Jove!" he laughed, “how disappointed they must have been!" "It may be so," I said, as we entered the midnight train for Leghorn. “But my own theory is that jthey were searching for some papertir other that you possess.”

"What can my papers concern them?” exclaimed the jovial, roundfaced consul. ‘1 don’t keep bank notes in that safe, you know. We fellows in the service don’t roll in gold as our public at home appears to think." “No. But you may have something la there which might be of value to them. YouTe often the keeper of valuable documents belonging to Englishmen abroad, you know.” "Certainly. Bat there’s nothing la */ * -

there just now. No, my dear Gordon, depend upon it that the yacht running ashore was all a blind. They did it so as to be able to get the run of the consulate, secure the ciphers, and sail merrily away with them.” “But the man and the woman who left the yacht an hour before she sailed, and who slipped away into the country somewhere! I wonder who they were? Hornby distinctly told me that hp and Chater were alone, ana yet there was evidently a lady and a gentleman on board. I guessed there was a woman there, from the way the boudoir and ladies’ saloon were arranged, and certainly no man’s hand decorated a dinner table as that was decorated.”

“Yes» That’s decidedly funny,” remarked the consul thoughtfully. “They showed a lot of ingenuity.” "Ingenuity! I should think so! The whole affair was most cleverly planned.” “You said something about an armory.” “Yes, there were Maxims stowed away in one of the cabins. They aroused my suspicions.” “They would not have aroused mine,” replied my friend. “Yachts carry arms for protection in many cases, especially if they are going to cruise along uncivilized coasts where they must land for water or provisions.” I told him of the torn photograph, which caused him some deep reflection.

“I wonder why the picture had been torn up. Had there been a row on board —a quarrel or something?” “It had been destroyed surreptitiously, I think.” “Pity you didn’t pocket the fragments. We could perhaps have discovered from the photographer the Identity of the original.” “Ah!” I sighed regretfully. “I.never thought of that. I recollect the name of the firm, however.” “I shall have to report to London the whole occurrence, as British subjects are under suspicion,” Hutcheson

said. “We’ll see whether Scotland Yard knows anything about Hornby or Chater. Most probably they do. I’ll write a full report in the morning if you will give me minute descriptions of the men, as well as of the captain, Mackintosh."

Next morning the town of Leghorn awoke to find itself gay with bunting, the Italian- and English flags flying side by side everywhere, and the consular standard flapping over the consulate in the piazza. In the night the British Mediterranean fleet, cruising down from Malta, had come into the roadstead, and at the signal from the flagship had maneuvered and dropped anchor, forming a long line of gigantic battleships, swift cruisers, torpedoboat destroyers, torpedo-boats, dis-patch-boats, and other craft extending for several miles along the coast. Lying still on those calm paters was a force which one day might cause nations x to totter, the overwhelming force which upheld Britain’s right in that oft-disputed sea. 1 had taken a boat out to the Bulwark, the great battleship flying the admiral’s flag, and was sitting on deck with my old friend Capt. Jack Duraford of the Royal Marines. Each year when the fleet put into Leghorn we were inseparable, for in long years past, at Portsmouth, wo had been close friends, and now he was able to pay me annual visits at my Italian home. He way on duty that morning, therefore qould not get ashore till after luncheon. •HI dine, with yon, of course, tonight, old chap,” he said. “And you must tail me all the news. We’re in

here for six days, and I was half a mind to. run home.”

“Your time’s soon up, isn’t it?” I remarked, as I lolled back in the easy deck-chair, and gazed away at the white port and its background of purple Apennines. The dark, good-looking fellow, in his smart summer uniform leaned over the bulwark, and said, with a slight sigh, I thought: “Yes. This is my last trip to Leghorn, I think. I go back in November, and I really shan’t be sorry. Three years is a long time to be away from home. You go next week, you say? Lucky devil to be your own master! I only wish I were. Year after year on this deck grows confoundedly wearisome, I can tell you, my dear fellow.” Durnford was a man who had written much on naval affairs, and was accepted as an expert on several branches of the service. The admiralty do not encourage officers to write, but in Durnford’s case it was recognized that of naval topics he possessed a knowledge that was of use, and, therefore, he was allowed to write books and to contribute critical articles to the service magazines. He had studied the relative strengths of foreign navies, and by keeping his eyes always open he had, on many occasions, been able to give valuable information to our naval attaches at the embassies.

• “I go as soon as you’ve sailed. I only stayed because I promised to act for Frank,” I said. “And, by Jove! a funny thing occurred while I was in charge—a real first-class mystery.” “A mystery—tell me,” he exclaimed, suddenly interested. “Well, a yacht —a pirate yacht, I believe it was —called here.” “A pirate! What do you mean?” “Well, she was English. Listen, and I’ll tell you the whole affair. It'll be something fresh to tell at mess, for I know how you chaps get played out of conversation.” “By Jove, yes! Things slump when we get no mail. But go on —I’m listening,” he added, as an orderly came up, saluted, and handed him a paper. “Well,” I said, “let’s cross to the other side. I don’t want the sentry to overhear.” “As you like —but why such mystery?" he asked, as we walked” together to the other side of the spick-and-span of the gigantic battleship. * » “You’ll understand when I tell you the story.” And then, standing together beneath the awning, I related to my friend the whole of the curious circumstances.

"Confoundedly funny!"he remarked with his dark eyes fixed upon mine. "A mystery, by Jove, it is! What name did the yacht bear?” "The Lola.” "What!" he gasped, suddenly turning pale. "The Lola? Are you quite sure it was the Lola —L-o-l-a?” "Absolutely certain,” I replied. “But why do you ask? Do you happen to know anything about the craft?” He paused a moment, and I could see what a strenuous effort he was making to avoid betraying knowledge. "It's —well—” he said hesitatingly, with a rather sickly smile. "It’s a girl’s name —a girl I once knew. The name brings back to me certain memories.” “Pleasant ones—l hope.”

"No. Bitter ones —very bitter ones,” he said in a bard tone, striding across the deck and back again, and I saw in his eyes a strange look, half of anger, half of de6p regret. Was he telling the truth, I wondered? Some tragic romance or other cbncerning a woman had, I knew, overshadowed his life in the years before we had become acquainted. But the real facts he had never t revealed to me. Outwardly he .was as merry as the other fellows who officered that huge floating fortress; on board he was a typical smart marine, and on shore he danced and played tennis and flirted just as vigorously as did the others. But a heavy heart beat beneath his uniform. When he returned to where’l stood I saw that his face had changed; it had become drawn and haggard. He more the appearance of a man who had been struck a blow ‘that had Staggered him, crushing out all life and hope. "What's the matter, Jack?” I asked. “Come! Tell me—what ails you?” "Nothing, my dear old chap,” he answered hoarsely. "Really nothing—only a touch of the blues just for a moment,” he added, trying hard to smile. "It’ll pass.”

“What I’ve just told you about that yacht you. You can)t deny it” He started. His mouth was, I saw, hard set He knew something concerning that mysterious craft but would not tell me.

“Why are you silent?” I asked slowly, my eyes fixed upon my friend the officer. "I have told you wnat I know, and I want to discover the motive of the visit of those men, and the reason they opened Hutcheson’s safe.” “I admit that I have certain grave suspicions,” he said at last, standing astride with his hands behind his bach, his sword trailing on tbs white

deck. "You «ay that the yacht was called the Lola—painted gray with a black fUnneL" “No, dead white, with a yellow funnel." "Ah! Of course," he remarked, as though to himself. "They would repaint and alter her appearance. But the dining saloon. Was there a long carved oak buffet with a big, heavy comice with three gilt dolphins in the center —and were there not dolphins in gilt on the backs of the chairs — an armorial device?"

"Yes,” I cried. "You are right. I remember them! You’ve surely been on board her!” “The captain, who gave his name to you as Mackintosh, is an undersized American of a rather low-down type?” “I took him for a Scotsman.” "Because he put on a Scotch accent," he laughed. "He’s a man who can speak a dozen languages brokenly, and pass for an Italian, a German, a Frenchman, as he wishes.” “And the —the man who gave his name as Philip Hornby?" Dumford’s mouth closed with a snap. He drew a long breath, his eyes grew fierce, and he bit hi* lip.

“Ah! I see he is not'exactly your friend," I said meaningly. “You are right, Gordon—he is not my friend," was his slow, meaning response. "Then why not be outspoken and tell me all you know concerning him? Frank Hutcheson is anxious to clear up the mystery.” “Well, to tell you the truth, I’m mystified myself. I can’t yet discern their motive.” “But at any rate you know the men,” I argued. "You can at least tell us who they really are.” He shook his head, still disinclined, for some hidden reason, to reveal the truth to me. “You saw no woman on board?” he asked suddenly, looking straight into my eyes. "No. Hornby told me that he and Chater were alone."

“And yet an hour after you left a man and a woman came ashore and disappeared! Ah! If we only had a description of that woman it would reveal much to us.” “She was young and dark-haired, so the detective says. She had a curious fixed look in her eyes, which attracted him, but she wore a thick motor veil, so that he could not clearly discern her features.” "And her companion?” "Middle-aged, prematurely / gray, with a small, dark mustache." Jack Durford sighed and stroked his chin.

“Ah! J%st as I thought,” he exclaimed. “And they were actually here, in this port, a week ago! What a bitter irony of fate!” "I don’t understand you,” I said. "You are so mysterious, and yet you will tell me nothing!"

“The police, fools that they are, have allowed them to escapei and they will never be caught now. Ah! you don’t know them as I do! They are the cleverest pair in all Europe. And they have the audacity to call their craft the Lola—the Lola, of all names! Gordon, let me be frank and open with yqu, my dear old fellow. I would tell you everything—everything —if I dared. But I cannot —you understand!” And his final words seemed to choke him. . , I stood before him, open-mouthed in astonishment.

“You really mean —well, that you are in fear of them —eh?” I whispered. He nodded slowly in the affirmative, adding: “To tell you the truth would be to bring upon myself a swift, relentless vengeance that would overwhelm and crush me. Ah! my dear fellow, you do not know—you cannot dream —what brought those desperate men into this port. I can guess—l can guess only too well —but I can only tell you that if you ever do discover the terrible truth —which I fear is unlikely—you will solve one of the strangest and most remarkable mysteries of modern times.”

“What does the mystery concern?" I asked, in breathless eagerness. "It concerns a woman.”

CHAPTER 111. The “Over the Water.” I had idled away a pleasant month up in Boston, and from there had gone north to the Lakes, and it was one hot evening in mid-August that I found myself again in London, crossing St. James’ square from the Sports club. I had just turned into Pall Mall when a voice at my elbow suddenly exclaimed in Italian: "Ah, signore!—why, actually, my padrone!” And looking around I saw a thinfaced man of about thirty, dressed in neat but rather shabby black, whom I instantly recognized as a man who had been my servant in Leghorn for two years, attar which he had left to better himself.

“Why, Olinto!” I exclaimed, surprised, as I halted. "You —in London—eh? Well, and how are you getting on?”

“Most excellently, signore," he answered in broken English, smiling. “But it is so pleasant for me to see my generous padrone again. What fortune it is that I should pass here at this very moment!” “Where ar you working?" I inquired. "At the Restaurant Mllona, in Oxford street —only a small place, but we gain discreetly, so I must not complain. I live over in Lambeth, and am on my way home.” - When we halted before the National gallery prior to parting I made some inquiries regarding Anaida, the

blkck-eyed, good-losing housemaid whom he had married. "Ah, signore!" he responded in a voice choked with emotion, dropping into Italian. "It is the one great sorrow of my life. I work bard from early morning until late at night, but what is the use when I see my poor wife gradually fading away before my very eyes? The doctor says that she cannot possibly live through the next winter. Ah! how delighted the poor girl would be if she could see the padrone again!” I felt sorry for him. Arpiaa had been a good servant, and had served

me well for nearly three years. Old Rosina, my housekeeper, had often regretted that she had been compelled to leave to attend to her aged mother. The latter, be told me, had died, and afterwards he had married her. He asked so wistfully that his wife might see me once more that, having nothing very particular to do that evening, and feeling a deep sympathy for the poor fellow in his trouble, I resolved to accompany him to his house and seo whether I could not, in some slight manner, render him a little help. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

“The Scoundrels Wanted These, That’s Evident.”

“What!” He Gasped Suddenly Turning Pale, “the Lola?”