CHAPTER XXII.
POUBALOV'S REVOLUTION.
Paul's heart seemed to stand still as he reflected on Poubalov's act.The original purpose of the spy in calling upon Strobel and instigatinghis abduction, was as much a mystery as ever, but it was one that couldbe explained on the ground of Poubalov's confessed relations with thegovernment with which Strobel had been in conflict. There was nothingpersonal in that; but here was an element of personal relationship thatmight lead to worse than complications.
Poubalov in love--no! not that sacred word; infatuated, rather, withClara Hilman.
What hope could there now be that the spy, having some day accomplishedthe purpose for which he had crossed the ocean to find Strobel, wouldset him free? In the very hopelessness of his passion would he notfirst murder Strobel, and then Clara herself? Paul felt sick withhorror as the possibility of these tragedies occurred to his mind. Theywere more than possible. With Poubalov's character in view, they seemedlike certainties. What could be done to avert them? What would Clarasay? How revolting, more than terrifying, would be the revelation thatthis subtle, conscienceless foe had dared to love her!
At first blush Paul felt that he could not tell Clara what he had seen.If there were only something that he himself could do to solve themystery of Ivan's disappearance, for only Strobel's presence in perfecthealth could serve to check the spy's villainous course. He heldabsolute command of the situation as long as he succeeded in keepingStrobel in hiding. As the sense of his helplessness grew upon him,like an insidious vine whose twining tendrils choke the growth of asapling, Paul wondered that poor Litizki's devotion had not the soonerdriven him to madness.
He saw that, with all its evils, the situation must be made clear toClara. He would continue his observations during the next forenoon, andthen report to her.
Poubalov had said that he would call in the evening; Clara, therefore,in the early afternoon went to see Mrs. White. She went with no purposeof accomplishing anything in the mystery, but rather as an act ofkindness to report how she had found Lizzie; but as she was about toturn into Ashburton Place, she saw Paul at the foot of the hill and shewaited for him to come up. He had just started for Roxbury.
"I have something to tell," he said in answer to her anxious look ofinquiry, "but I fear it is nothing that will be helpful, and it willcertainly be disagreeable."
"I was going to call on Mrs. White," responded Clara; "suppose you gowith me; but you can tell me what you have discovered before we go in."
"If you think best," and Paul hesitated.
"I do. Have no fear of me. Have I not learned to endure anything thatcan happen?"
"Poubalov loves you, Miss Hilman."
Clara blushed very faintly, looked straight into Paul's eyes for aninstant, then off at the house-tops, and answered:
"I felt it. How did you find out?"
Amazed and relieved, Paul told her.
"I have made myself a spy," he concluded, "but I felt that thecircumstances justified me."
"So I think, too," rejoined Clara. "Well, let us go on. I don't know atthis moment how to act, but I cannot help thinking that this will bringmatters to a crisis, and I hope, in spite of reason and fears, that itwill end happily. I wonder where Poubalov got my photograph."
Then she remembered that when the reporter, Shaughnessey, had returnedher photograph, it had been placed for the moment upon the mantel inthe drawing-room. The next day she had looked for it, and, not findingit at once, had supposed that Louise or a servant had put it away. Inthe stress of events she had thought no more about it; but Poubalov'scall and bareheaded flight had occurred after the return of thephotograph, and the natural and satisfactory explanation, therefore,was that he had stolen it.
"There is one more thing," added Paul as they walked along, "and Isuppose it shows that in order to circumvent this man one must havesleepless eyes and untiring vigilance. As soon as Poubalov went to bedlast night, I hurried out and got supper. It didn't take me long, for Iwas anxious to get to sleep, so that I might get up early enough thismorning to keep track of him. I rose before six, and took a preliminarypeep through my nail hole. Poubalov had gone, and up to just now, whenI left, had not returned."
"I think there is nothing lost," said Clara; "he is to call on me thisevening, and your discovery makes it certain that he will come. If youwill come out to the house ahead of him, I should like it ever so muchif you would follow him when he goes away."
They were at Mrs. White's door, and Paul preferred not to go in. Therewas nothing more to be said, and it seemed better that he should returnto Bulfinch Place, to observe Poubalov's doings, should he return.
Mrs. White, comparatively free from anxiety about her daughter, seemedmore than desirous of talking about Mr. Strobel.
"I had a letter from Lizzie last night," she said, "and she told mehow kind you were. I'm real glad you went to see her, 'cause it mustmake you feel so much more satisfied to know that Mr. Strobel did notrun away with her. And you know, Miss Hilman, I can't quite think thatthe dark gentleman, Mr. Pou--something, has anything to do with it. Heseems such a perfect gentleman."
"It is very hard to understand it all," responded Clara; "but whatmakes you think Poubalov is better than we have thought him?"
"Two or three things. Lizzie wrote me that he called to see her justafter you had gone away, and she says he seemed real earnest abouttrying to find Mr. Strobel, and was just as polite as could be."
"Doesn't she say anything more about his call than that?"
"No, except that he spoke very kindly, and didn't let her think that hehad suspected her of anything wrong."
"I should say not," remarked Clara, rather bitterly; "no one would knowbetter than he that Lizzie was not concerned in the affair."
"I don't see why, Miss Hilman. Why shouldn't he think what other peoplethought? I'm afraid he did, for last Thursday evening he called here,and we had a real good talk about it. He seemed----"
"Did you tell him I had gone to New York?" interrupted Clara, sharply,for she was impatient with these ingenuous statements of what Poubalovseemed to be.
"Land sakes, no!" replied Mrs. White, "but he told me he was going on,and when he suggested so kindly that he would look up Lizzie, and letme know how she was situated, I was glad to give him her address. Hehasn't been here since, though. Perhaps he hasn't got back yet."
Clara wondered wearily how stupidity should manage to flourish in aworld where people have to struggle so hard against one another, andthen she immediately reproached herself for the thought, recalling whata taxing puzzle Poubalov's character presented to herself. She made noeffort to undeceive Mrs. White--how could she with so little as sheherself actually knew?--but rather turned the conversation into simplechannels until she took her departure.
Paul arrived at Mr. Pembroke's about six o'clock, reporting thatPoubalov had been absent all day until late in the afternoon, and thatwhen he came in he immediately began preparations for going out again.
"I came along at once," said Paul, "lest he should get here ahead ofme."
Clara asked her uncle if he would like to meet the spy.
"No," he answered uneasily; "what good purpose would it serve?"
"I thought that perhaps you might read him better than I can," saidClara; "I don't see how we can help coming to a crisis this evening,and if you could help, we might bring about the release of Ivan all thesooner."
Mr. Pembroke was careworn, and all his utterances and actions had beenmarked by indecision since his return from New York.
"I am afraid I can do no good," he said with a sigh; "handle thesituation as best you can, Clara. I believe you will find yourhappiness restored to you shortly."
With that he shut himself in his library, and they saw no more of himthat night.
Poubalov acted more like himself than he did the day before, but it wasapparent to Clara that his confident self-possession was maintained byan effort.
"Must we begin where we left off yesterday?" he s
aid by way ofintroduction.
"You may begin where you please," responded Clara, "but you must tellme the truth. I think you are going to do so, Mr. Poubalov."
"I cannot remember that I have told you a single lie since I met you,Miss Hilman. It must be a strange admission for you to hear me make,that I am not certain when I have spoken truly and when falsely; butthat is the fault of the peculiar work that my emperor has set meto do, and it is not due in the present instance to any purpose ofdeceiving you. I am going to begin by telling you of a discovery that Ihave made since I began to work on this case--a discovery that to me,at least, is startling.
"My experience throughout all my life has been such as to makeme believe that honesty and sincerity did not exist save in thecharacters of simple-minded people whom it would be too harsh to callfools, and yet who are nothing short of fools when you look at themfrom the point of view of self-interest and material advancement.What have I found to be the chief requisite of leadership, whether inguiding the state, or seeking to wreck it, or in commerce? Craft, MissHilman, craft that suggests and includes indirect methods to attainends, the holding out of false hopes, the display of the gilded side ofthings, the concealment of the base material--in short, trickery, whichis but another name for treachery. I have believed that keen minds sawthe folly of what we call honesty, and to find candor in a person ofintelligence would have seemed to me an anomaly. I have discovered thatextraordinary combination, Miss Hilman, and have been stupefied to findthat my methods, however subtle, have availed nothing in opposition tothis unaffected, unconscious honesty. It is a revelation to my mindthat threatens to effect a revolution in my convictions."
"One moment, Mr. Poubalov," interrupted Clara; "your habit ofcircuitous approach to a point is still strong upon you, and accordingto your own admissions, it is out of place in conversation with me.Permit me, then, to help you adjust yourself to your incompleterevolution, and I will do so without any clever turns of phraseology.I am, then, the embodiment of this wonderful candor that you havediscovered. It would have taken you a long time to say it. I appreciatethe compliment. Go on, please."
There was a suspicion of a tremor in Poubalov's voice as he continued:
"Yes, you have said it, beating me, as usual, in the one part whereinI thought I was skilled. But I have to add, Miss Hilman, that havingdiscovered the existence of honesty associated with the highest orderof intelligence, I am astounded to find that I not only do not scornand despise it, I admire it--more than that, I am conquered by it; Iyield to it as a serf to the will of his master, and I worship herwho--" his voice railed him for an instant and then he concluded, "you,Miss Hilman."
Clara sat looking calmly at the spy, much as if she were regarding aplay in which he was an actor, or, as it seemed to him, as if she werestudying a strange anatomical specimen.
"This must be a remarkable experience for you," she said simply.
"It is a marvel!" he responded with great emphasis; "I, who knew onlyloyalty to my czar, find that there is something more potent to stir methan his beck, or his reward. I love, and with all the strength of mybeing!"
"It doesn't seem at all strange to me," she murmured, her voice low andmusical; "I have never rated you as less than a human being, though attimes you have seemed to fall infinitely below the standard of such menas it has been my good fortune to know."
Poubalov winced at this merciless thrust at his intense egotism, andClara went on:
"What I do not understand is why you should have been to the mortifyingpains of telling me about it, for it is a farce for such persons asyou and me to bandy words. Has your revolution so far progressed as toconvince you that it is worth while to waste energy?"
"A man must speak out when he loves as I do," said Poubalov,desperately. "I will not rave, as I have read that lovers do; I willstick to my logic; but I must confess that when I awakened to thisemotion, I could not help a day dream in which I saw you by my side,and the sight was sweet, it was inspiring, for it cannot be often thatminds of such caliber as ours are brought together and united for life."
"It will be better to return to your logic, Mr. Poubalov," said Clara,gently; his tones were passionate in spite of his evident effort, andshe had no desire to lead him on to a freer outburst. "Let us dismissthis experience of yours, in which, of course, I share only as adisinterested spectator. What have you done with the man I do love?"
Poubalov rose, and Clara expected to see him pace up and down the roomafter the manner of her uncle when he was agitated; but the spy stoodbefore her trembling in every limb.
"You have asked me the wrong question, Miss Hilman," he said hoarsely,"and I shall not answer it."
"Then," exclaimed Clara, "either leave me at once, or proceed inyour own way to tell me what I wish to know. I have been days in mysearch, and I can listen to you for the whole of this evening if it isnecessary in order to learn what I must know."
"Suppose I should tell you," said Poubalov, slowly, "that I can lay myhands upon Strobel at any moment. What would you say?"
"I should bid you to bring him to me."
Poubalov shook his head.
"I should not do it," he said.