Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 230, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 September 1915 — The Czar's Spy [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Czar's Spy

The Mystery of et Silent Love

By Chevalier WILLIAM LE QUEUX

Author of “The Closed Book,” etc.

SYNOPSIS. The yacht Lola narrowly escapes wreck, hi Leghorn harbor. Gordon Gregg, locum tanens tor the British consul. Is called upon by Hornby, the Lola’s owner, and dines aboard with him and his friend, Hylton Chater. Aboard the yacht he accidentally sees a room full of arms and ammunition and a torn photograph of a young girl. That night tho 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. Gregg visits Capt. Jack Durnford of the marines aboard his vessel, and is surprised to learn that Durnford knows, but will not reveal, the mystery of the Lola. "It concerns a woman.” CHAPTER lll—Continued. He thanked me profusely when I consented to go with him. "Ah, signor padrone!” he said gratefully, "she will be so delighted. It is so very good of you." We hailed a hansom and drove across Westminster bridge to the address he gave—a gloomy back street off the York road, one of those narrow, grimy thoroughfares into which the sun never shines. A low-looking, evil-faced fellow opened the door to us and growled acquaintance with Olinto, who, striking a match, ascended the worn, carpetless stairs before me, apologizing for passing before me, and saying in Italian: "We live / at the top, signore, because It is cheaper and the air is better.” "Quite right,” I said. “Quite right. Qo on." And I thought I beard my cab driving away. It was a gloomy, forbidding, unlighted place Into which I would certainly have hesitated to enter had not my companion been my trusted servant, but contrary to my expectations, the sitting-room we entered on the top floor was quite comfortably furbished, clean and respectable, even though traces of poverty were apparent A cheap lamp was burning upon the table, but the apartment was unoccupied. Olinto,, In surprise, passed Into the adjoining room, returning a moment later, exclaiming: "Armlda must have gone out to get something. Or perhaps she is with the people, a compositor and his wife, who live on the floor below. They are very good to her. I’ll go and find her. Accommodate yourself with a chair, signore.” And he dre# the best chair forward for me, and dusted it with his handkerchief. I allowed him to go and fetch her, rather surprised that she should be well enough to get about after all he had told me concerning her illness. Yet consumption does not keep people in bed until its final stages. Olinto returned In a few moments, saying that his wife had evidently gone to do asome shopping In the LowerMarsh. "I hope you are not pressed for time, signore?” he said apologetically. "But, of course, the poor girl does not know the surprise awaiting her. She will surely not be long.” "Then I*ll wait*” .1 said, and flung myself back into the chair he had brought forward for me. ——— “I have nothing to offer you, signor padrone," he said, with a laugh. "I did not expect a visitor, you know." "No, no, Olinto. I’ve only just had dinner. But tell me how you have fared since you left me.”

“Ah!" he laughed bitterly. "I had many ups and downs before\l found myself here in London. The sea did not suit me —neither did the work. I managed to work my way from Genoa to London. My first place was scullion In a restaurant in Tottenham Court road. Afterwataq I to the Milano, and I hope to get into one of the big hotels very soon—or perhaps the grillroom at the Carlton." , "111 see what I can do-'for you," I said. "I know several hotel managers who might have a vacancy." "Ah, signore!” he q-ied, filled with gratification. "If you only would! A word from you would secure me a good position. I can work, that you know—and I do work. I will work—for her sake. "Yes," he said in a hoarse voice, his manner suddenly changing. "You have tonight shown me, signore, that you are my friend, and I will, in return, show you that lam yours.” And suddenly grasping both my hands,, he pulled me from the chair in which I was sitting, at the same time asking in a low intense whisper: "Do you always carry a revolver here in England, as you do in Italy!" “Yes," I answered in surprise at his action and his Question. "Why 7” "Because there is danger here," he answered in the .same low earnest tone. “Get your weapon ready. Yoa may want it." **l don’t understand," I said, feeling my handy Colt in my back pocket to make sure It was there. "Forget what I have said —all— all that I have told you tonight, sir,” he ta i<| -i have not explained ,the whole truth. You are in peril—in deadly peril!" / "How?" I exclaimed breathlessly, surprised his extraordinary change of manner and his evident apprehension lest something should befall me.. “Walt, and' you shall see,” he whisr pared. "But first tall me, signore, that yea will forgive me for tijie part I have played in this dastardly affair. I, like yourself, fell innocently into the hands*

“My enemies! Who are they?” “They are unknown, and for the present must remain so. But if you doubt your peril, watch —” and taking the rusty fire-tongs from the grate he , carefully placed them on end in front of the deep old armchair in which I had eat, and then allowed them to fall against the edge of the seqt, springing quickly back as he did so. In an instant a bright blue flash shot through the place, and the irons'fell aside, fused and twisted out of all recognition. I stood aghast, utterly unable for the moment to sufficiently realize how narrowly I had escaped death. "Look! See here, behind!" cried the Italian, directing my attention to the back legs of the chair, where, on bending with the lamp, I saw, to my surprise, that two wires were connected, and ran along the floor and out of the window, while concealed beneath the ragged carpet, in front of the chair, was a thin plate of steel, whereon my feet' had rested. Those who had so ingeniously enticed me to that gloomy house of death had connected up the overhead electric light main with that innocent looking chair, and from some unseen point had been able to switch on a current of sufficient voltage to kill fifty men. I stood stock-still, not daring to move lest I might come Into contact with some hidden wire, the slightest touch of which must bring instant death upon me. “Your enemies prepared this terrible trap for you,” declared the man who was once my trusted servant. “When I entered into-the affair I was not aware that It was to be fatal. They gave me no inkling of their dastardly intention. But there is no time to admit of explanations now, signore,” he added breathlessly, in a low desperate voice. "Say that you will not prejudge me,” he pleaded earnestly. "I will not prejudge you until I’ve heard your explanation,” I said. "I certainly owe my life to you tonight" “Then quick! Fly from this house this instant. If you are stopped, then use your revolver. Don’t hesitate. In a moment they will he here upon you." "But who are they, Olinto? You must tell me," I cried in desperation. “Dio! Go! Go!" he cried, pushing me violently towards the door. "Fly, or we shall-both die —both of us! Run downstairs. I must make feint of dashing after you.” I turned, and seeing his desperate dagerness, precipitately fled, while he ran down behind me, uttering fierce imprecations in Italian, as though I had escaped him. A man in the narrow dark passage attempted to trip me up as I ran, but 1 fired point blank at him, and gaining the door unlocked it, and an instant later found myself out In the street. It was the narrowest escape from death that I bad ever had In all my life —surely the strangest and most remarkable adventure. What, I wondered, did it mean ? Next morning I searched up and down Oxford street for the Restaurant Milano, but could not find it. I asked shopkeepers, postmen and policemen; I examined the London directory at the bar of the Oxford Music hall, and

made every Inquiry possible. But all was to no purpose. No one knew of such a place. There were restaurants in plenty in Oxford street, from the Frascati down to the humble coffeeshop, but nobody had ever heard of the "MUano.” I drove over to Lambeth and wandered through the maze of mean sheets off the York road, yet for the lire of me I could not decide into which house I had been taken. There were a dozen which seemed to me that they might be the identical house from which I had so narrowly escaped with my life. Gradually it became impressed upon me that my ex-servant had somehow gained knowledge that I was in London, that he had- watched my exit from the club, and that all his pitiful story regarding Armida was false. He was the envoy of my unknown enemies, who had so ingeniously and so relentlessly plotted my destruction. My unknown enemies had secured the services of Olinto in their dastardly plot to kill me. With what motive? That day I did my business in the city with a distrust of everyone, not knowing whether I was not followed or whether those who sought my life were not plotting some other equally ingenious move whereby 1 might go innocently to my death. I endeavored to discover OUnto by every possible means during those stifling days that followed. The heat of London was. to me, more oppressive than the fiery sunshine of the old-world Tuscany, and everyone who could be out of town had. left for the country or the sea. Defeated in every Inquiry, and my business at last concluded in London, I went up to Dumfries on a duty visit which I paid annually to my uncle. Sir George Little. Bach time I returned from abroad I was always a welcome guest at Greenlaw, and this occasion proved no exception, .for the country houses of Dumfries aye always gay in August in prospect of the shooting. "Some aew“people have taken Rannoch castle. Bather alee they sum.*

remarked my aunt as we were sitting together at luncheon the day after my arrival. "Their name is Leithcourt, and they’ve asked me to drive you over there to tennis this afternoon.” “I’m not much of a player, you know, aunt In Italy we don’t believe in athletics. But if It’s out of politeness, of course. I’ll go.” “Very well,” she said. “Then I’ll order the victoria for three." “There are several nice girls, there, Gordon,” remarked my uncle mischievously. “You have a good time, so -don’t thins you are going to be bored.” "Nt> fear of that,” was my answer. And at three o’olock Sir George, his wife, and myself set out for that fine old historic castle that stands high on the Bognie. When we drove into the grounds we found a gay party in summer toilettes assembled on the ancient bowling green, now transformed into a modern tennis lawn. Mrs. Leithcourt and her husband, a tall, thin, gray-headed man, both came forward to greet us. They were a merry crowd. The Leithcourts were entertaining a large house party, and their hospitality was on a scale quite in keeping with the fine old place they rented.

Tea was served on the lawn by the footmen, and, tired of the game, I found myself with Muriel Leithcourt, a bright, dark-eyed girl with tightlybound hair, and wearing a cotton blouse and flannel tennis skirt. “I know Italy slightly," she said. "I was in Florence and Naples with mother last season." And then we began to discuss pictures and sculptures and the sights of Italy generally. I discerned from her remarks that she had traveled widely; indeed, she told me that both her father and mother were never happier

than when moving from place to place in search of variety and distraction. We had entered the huge paneled hall of the castle, and had passed up the quaint old stone staircase to the long banqueting hall with its paneled oak ceiling. It was pleasant lounging there In the cool old room after the hot sunshine outside, and as I gazed around the place I noted how much more luxurious and tasteful it now was to what it had been in the days when I had visited its owner several years before.* "We are awfully glad to be up here," my pretty companion was saying. “We had such a busy season in London." And then she went on to describe the court ball, and two or three of the most notable functions abbut which I had read in my English paper beside the Mediterranean. * She attracted me on account of her bright vivacity, quick wit and keen sense of humor, her gossip interested me, and as the golden sunset flooded the handsome old room I sat listening to her, inwardly admiring her innate grace and handsome countenance. I had no idea who or what her father was —whether a wealthy manufacturer, like so many who take expensive shoots and give big entertainments in order to edge their way Into society by its back door, or whether he was a gentleman of means and of good family. I rather guessed the latter, from his gentlemanly bearing and polished manner. His appearance, tall and erect, was that of a retired officer, and bis clean-cut face was one of marked distinction. I was telling my pretty companion something of my ’Own life, how, because I loved Italy so well, I lived in Tuscany in preference to living in England, and how each year I came hopie for a month or two to visit my relations and to keep in touch 1 with things. Suddenly she said: ‘1 was once in Leghorn for a few hours. We Were yachting in the Mediterranean. I love

die sea —aufl yacnnug is good fun. If you oaly get decent weather.” The mention of yachting brought back to my mind the visit of the Lola and its mysterious sequel. "Your father has a yacht, then?” I remarked, with as little concern as I could. "Yes. The Ins. My uncle Is cruising on her up the Norwegian Fiords. For us it is a change to be tore, because we are so often afloat." “So you must have made many long voyages, and seen many odd corners of the world, Miss Leithcourt?" I remarked, my interest in her increasing, for she seemed so extremely intelligent and well informed. “Oh, yes. We’ve been to Mexico, and to Panama, besides Morocco. Egypt and the west coast of Africa.” "And you’ve actually landed at Leghorn!" I remarked. "Yes, but we didn’t stay there more than an hour —to send a telegram, I think it was. Father said there was nothing to see there. He and I went ashore, and I must say I was rather disappointed." “You are quite right. The town itself is ugly and uninteresting. But the outskirts —San Jacopo, Ardenza and Antigniano are all delightful. It was unfortunate that you did not see them. Was it long ago when you put in there ?”

“Not very long. I really don’t recollect the exact date," was her reply. "We were on our way home from Alexandria.’’

“Have you ever, In any of the ports you’ve been, seen a yacht called the Lola?" I asked eagerly, for it occurred to me that perhaps she might be able to give me Information. “The Lola!” she gasped, and Instantly her face changed. A flush overspread her cheeks, succeeded next moment by a deathlike pallor. "The Lola!” she repeated in a strange, hoarse voice, at the same time endeavoring strenuously not to exhibit any apprehension. "No. I have never heard of any such a vessel. Is she a steam yacht? Who’s her owner?” I regarded her in amazement and suspicion, for I saw that mention of the name had aroused within her some serious misgiving. That look In her dark eyes as they fixed themselves upon me was one of distinct and unspeakable terror. What could she possibly know concerning the mysterious craft?

"I don’t know the owner’s name,” I said, still affecting not to have noticed her alarm and apprehension. “The vessel ran aground at the Meloria, a dangerous shoal outside Leghorn, and through the stupidity of her captain was very nearly lost.” “Yes?” she gasped, In a half-whisper, bending to me eagerly, unable to suf-. flciently conceal the terrible anxiety consuming her. “And you—did you go aboard her?”

“Yesi” was the only word I uttered. A silence fell between us, and as my eyes fixed themselves upon her, I saw that from her handsome mobile countenance all the light and life had suddenly gone out, and I knew that she was in secret possession of the key to that remarkable enigma that so puzzled me. Of a sudden the door opened, and a voice cried gayly: “Why, I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Muriel. Why are you hidden here? Aren’t you coming?” We both turned, and as she did so a low cry of blank dismay involuntarily escaped her. < Next instant I sprang to my feet. The reason of her cry was apparent, for there, in the full light of the golden sunset streaming through the long open windows, stood a broad-shoul-dered, fair-bearded man in tennis flannels and a Panama hat —the fugitive I knew as Philip Hornby! I faced him, speechless.

CHAPTER IV. - In Which the Mystery Increases. Neither of us spoke. Hornby started quickly as soon as his eyes fell upon me, and his face became blanched to the lips, while Muriel Leithcourt, Quick to notice the sudden change in him,, rose and introduced us in as calm a voice as she could command. “I don’t think you are acquainted,” she said to me with a smile. "This is Mr. Martin Woodroffe — Gordon Gregg.” We bowed, exchanging greetings as strangers, while, carefully watching, I saw how greatly the minds of both were relieved. They shot meaning glances at each other, and then, as he chatted with the daughter of the house, he cast a quick, covert glance at me, and then darted a meaning look at her—a look of renewed confidence, as though he felt that he had successfully averted any suspicions I might have held. We talked of the prospects of the grouse and the salmon, and from his remarks he seemed to be as keen at sport as he had once made out himself to be at yachting. While I was carefully watching the rapid working of his mind, Leithcourt himself entered and joined us. Host and guest were evidently on the most intimate terms. Leithcourt addressed him as “Martin," and while they were talking Muriel suggested that we should stroll down to the ten nis courts again, an invitation which, much as I regretted leaving the two men, I was bound to accept Among the party strolling and lounging there prior to -departure were quite a number of people I knew, people who baa shooting boxes in the vicinity and wgrg my uncle’s friends. In Scotland there 18 always a hearty hospitality among the sporting folk, and the laws

of 0-<o.t« mr t«M rigorous OUM they are in England. I was standing chatting with two ladies who were about to take leave of their hostess, when Leithcourt returned, but alone. Hornby had not accompanied him. Was it because he feared to again meet me? In order to ascertain something regarding the man who had so mysteriously fled from Leghorn, I managed by the exercise of a little diplomacy to sit on the lawn with a young married

woman named Tennant, wife of a cavalry captain, who was one of the house party. After a little time I succeeded in turning the conversation to her fellow guests, and more particularly to the man I knew as Hornby. “Oh! Mr. Woodroffe is most amusing,” declared the bright little woman. "He’s always playing some practical joke or other. After dinner he is usually the life and soul of our party.” “Yes,” I said r “I like what little I have seen of him. He’s a very good fellow, I should say. I’ve heard that he’s engaged to Muriel,” I hazarded “Is that true?” (TO BE CONTINUED.)

In an Instant a Bright Blue Flash Shot Through the Place.

I Regarded Her in Astonishment and Suspicion.