The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, May 29, 1904, Page 3

stump of his tenth cigarette into the grate in his bedroom and produced his writing materials. rhat, 1 think, ought to fall into line neatly,” he muttered, “and it has the advantage of leaving a loophole for that poor beggar to crawl through.” The letter which he proceeded to write was addressed to a firm in Pall and ran as follows: sirs—I require a sult of chain mail es for a fan § feet 9 i me: it in three days CHAPTER XIL COUNTERPLOT. On the south side of the Seine, in a quiet street not a stone’s throw from evard Saint Germain, there is a baker's shop which in the early days 1896, prospered. exceeding Let us call the street the Rue Cass Tete, and assign the name of Griat— Veuve Grigot—to the proprietre the shop. Neither of those appellations i to be found in the directorv, but this will be the Kkinder course in view of possible inquiry by the police into the nature of the aforesaid prosperity On the face of things this took shape in an increase of the number of the widow’s customers. The street =0 quiet, so shy and retiring in its habits, that perhaps none of the neighbors noticed it; but had they =0 they e have wondered at the frequency with which the half-glass door swung and fro admitting strangers who were not of the Rue Casse-Tete. They, neighbors, devoured the Veuve Grigot's moldy loaves, with maledic- because they were cheap and near. It would not have occurred to them that the fame of the dingy bak- was such as to attract. outsiders other streets, least of all outsiders overcoats and shiny silk hats. Not that the dwellers in the Rue Casse-Tete would have had real cause for wonderment on that head, for the good widow made no addition to her “bake” to meet an extra demand, and the sudden influx of customers did not even cause a diminution of her normal stock And, what was still more strange, “‘these others,” the new cus- tomers, though they undoubtedly went the shop, were not to be seen ing out again—at least without an inconscionable long wait—by those vho saw them enter. And all day long nd far into the night Pierre Grigot, he widow's black-browed som, with vhose name rumor coupled wild do- in the far-off Commune days, stood guard at the foot of the stairs ynd the inner door that separated he shop from the house. About the time of street-lamp light- g, in the late afternoon of Tuesday, e Tth of October, a tall man, envel- ped from head to heel in a military oak, but wearing a civilian hat well ed down over his eyes, entered the p, and, paying no heed to the frowsy old woman behind the counter, walked straight through to the inner ioor. Opening and shutting it behind m, he was for a moment in darknes: 11 the gleam of Plerre Grigot's bull ve lantern shone full in his face. The iim outline of the ex-Communard's hulking frame was just visible, block- ng the narrow stairway. For five seconds Pierre's ferocious glared In doubt, then his hideous es broke Into a forbidding grin. Bon soir, monsieur,” he gurgled, dof- fing a floury cap of rabbit’s skin. “You me not often, like some of them, and I did not recognize you. Pass you please; Madame waits.” she is alone?” asked the visitor, and, g answered in a leering affirmative, ascended the stairs and knocked at door opposite the landing. A silvery ce bade him enter, and he found self in a tawdry apartment—larger might have been expected, since it ed the shop as well as the lower of the dwelling-house. The Prin- s Olga Palitzin, its sole occupant, ith Qutstretched hand. “You good Boris,” she said little coolng laugh. “I knew could trust you to keep rour And has fortune favored your deavors’ You have obtained passes?” Dubrowski flung open his cloak and produced several slips of paper, which he lald on the table. It was a long ta- le, with chairs close together on either side, very much after the style of the room in the Rue St. Pol at Boulogne. “Yes,” he sald, “I have got the passes, and In the names you gave me. 7 do trust that you will be careful, though, Olga—for my sake as well as your own. It is a big risk to run— nerely for a little sight-seeing—for an sficer of the household to procure passes in false names.” The Princess was eagerly scrutiniz- £ the slips of paper which had been signed *“Mohrenheim” by the Russian FEmbassador and bore also the vise of the Prefect of the Paris police. Have no fear; I will be discretion it- self,” she said gayly. “I have a long score against that ruffian Delaval as it but it would be unbearable if the spicion incurred by me on his behalf arred me from the pleasure of the pectacle which I have come specially I only occupy this garret so as to enjoy unmolested the delight of viewing my beloved sovereign among the splendors of Versailles.” “Well, you will have your whim,” sald Dubrowski. “But once more let me ask—you are quite sure of these friends of yours?” £he shook the papers playfully in his face, then stood un tiptoe, and drawing down his head, whispered the names of several personages well known in Rus- sian society. ““There, you foolish boy, that ought to allay your suspicions,” she laughed. “They are not like poor me, under an undeserved cloud, but they prefer to share my incognito for the fun of the adventure. And now tell me the ar- rangements, Boris—when the Tsar is to arrive at Versailles, what he is to do when he is there, and where is the best the tions, ery fro with a that I word. en- the to see. spot to get a close sight of him and the dear Empress? They tell me that his Majesty is looking thin and worried.” “He is not looking quite himself,” as- sented Boris, and he proceeded with much detail to catalogue the pro- gramme of the visit to Versailles on the morrow, which was to be the closing function of the Tsar's stay in Paris. The Princess put to him many trifling questicns, as when she asked with a merry laugh if the Emperor would wear the grey overcoat which had become so familiar to the Parisians in the last few days. For this Dubrowski would not vouch, though he expressed the opinion that it was probable. At length he rose’ to go. His demeanor now, as it had been throughout the interview, and a previous one that they had had, was brusque, despite an obvious’struggle to be civil. Doubtless Olga accounted for this by the three weeks' break in her correspcndence with him. “Farewell,” he said. “I must return he Embassy, or I shall be missed.” 3y the beautiful Thma, eh?” the Princess murmured with a heartless laugh. “How are things between you now, my Boris? I had forgotten to ask.” He was bending over her hand, and she must have noticed that his touch was icy cold. “It is not fitting that you and I should discuss Mademoiselle Vassili,”” he re- plied gravely. And without waiting to hear the half-mocking retort which was flung after him, he closed the door and descended the stairs, guided only by a stream of lizht from the‘lantern of the villainous sentinel below. Sc, scarcely returning Pierre Grigot's hoarse “Au revoir, monsieur,” he passed through the shop into the quiet street. But it was not to the Russian Em- bassy that he first turned his steps. Crossing the river by the Pont des Arts he passed the Louvre, and, plunging in- to the network of streéts behind, en- tered the courtyard of a highly respect- able apartment-house a few doors from the Rue Marcel. As he disappeared under the archway, a dark shadow which had flitted in his wake all the way from the Rue Casse-Tete hovered for a moment on the pavement and then made off with all haste to the Russlan Embassy. Running up tc the second floor, Du- browski knocked at the outer door of one of severcl small suites, and was at once admitted by Fortescue in person, who for good reason had rented a com- fortably furnished sitting-room and bedroom in preference to going to a hotel. Ostensibly the mission which had brought him to the French capital was the same as that which had taken him to Breslau, though if his business was to watch the Tsar’s reception with official British eves he performed his tagk in a singular manner. Since his arival in Paris three days before, he had not once left his apartments, his meals being brought to him from a neighboring restaurant by the con- cierge. “Well, my frlend, you have been to sthe baker's shop? You have given them the passes?’ he said, proffering his cigarette-case. “That is well. And you do not think that the Princess was dissatisfied with your behavior? You made it sufficiently cordial?” “I am no play actor, but I did my best,” replied Boris stoutly. “I came near to spoiling it all, though, at the end, when she spoke scornfully of Ilma. Falsge lover as I have been, it raised my gorge to hear that pure name slighted by those murderous lips.” “I am glad to hear you say that,” said Fortescue, “but T trust that you concealed your feelings at the time, Dubrowski, and did not scowl as you are doing at the reminiscence?” The familiarity of the Englishman's man- ner was now that of one friend for an- other, and lacked the contemptuous tone which he had used at Blairgeldie. That the Russian understood in his slow, heavy way, and was duly grate- ful for ndt being held by his new ally in as great loathing as that in which he held himself, was apparent in his mel- ancholy smile. “She did not notice; I was leaving her when I felt like that,” he replied. “And she would only deem me sulky because of her recent néeglect. Thifyis a new experience for Olga Palitzin. She is too sure of her mastery over men to fear rebellion from one whom she has once held in thrall—especially from such a blind fool as 1.” “Come, come, my friend, you must have courage, and not depreciate your- self too much,” Fortescue was begin- ning, when an interruption occurred in a rat-tat on the outer door. Thrusting a revolver which lay on the table into the pocket of his coat, he kept one hand on the weapon, while with the other he drew the latch and opened ever so slightly. Then he flung the door wide, exchanged a few words with the messenger, who had brought a bulky parcel, and reshot the boit. “A needless precaution, as it hap- pened,” he smiled. “If you will excuse me I will carry this into the other room.” And he disappeared with the parcel into the sleeping apartment, re- turning immediately. “And now, Dubrowski, you have done your part, and it remains only for you to witness the result,” he said. “What I am doing, as you are aware, is aimed at putting an end to Miss Metcalf’s danger, but if you benefit indirectly by what happens no one. will be more pleased than 1.” There was a hint in Fortescue's voice that his departure was desired, and Bo- ris adjusted his cloak and wrung the attache’s hand. “You have stood my friend, whatever be the result,” he sald warmly. Then, as his host began to unlatch the door for him, he added: “Forgive me for wanting to be reassured again. In the arrangements which you have made with Restofski for the arrest, you are certain there is no danger to the Tsar?” “Rest easy on that score,” replied Fortescue, patting him on the shoulder. “At the eventful moment his Majesty will be resting after the labors of the day in the security of his apartments in the chateau—half a mile from the scene. You, who know the preciseness with which his programmes are ad- hered to, should be confident of that.” “And you yourself—shall you be pres- ent at the taking of the arch-traitress and her gan®” ) “I shall endeavor to be, but you must not lock for me with any certainty, since my position in the affair is unoffi- cial, said Fortescue. “Be at the spot indicated at the time agreed upon, and you shall see what you shall see.” As soon as the aide-de-camp had gone Fortescue retired into his bedroom and inspected, without unfastening, the parcel which he had réceived. It was rather bulky, and tied with stout string, the knots of which he noted with satisfaction were sealed. —The paper, and general neatness of the package, suggested a purchase from some high- class tradesman who was in the habit of serving wealthy customers. After measuring the parcel with his eye, For- tescue placed it in the bottom drawer of the chest and turned the key. There was barely room for it. % “It will be safer there; for, if T 'mis- take not, there will be sharp eyes about directly,” he said to himself. “That re- pentant youth is pretty certain to have been shadowed from the Rue Casse- Tete, and Volborth will be here hot- foot to learn the cause of his visit.” And in prompt confirmation of his surmise, there came a tap at the outer door; and using the same caution as be- fore, he admitted the chief agentsof the section. He wore no disguise, and by the gardenia in his button and jaunty cane, looked for all the world as if he had been idling away his afternoon on the bculevards. Whereby he did him- self less than justice, for that was far from being the case. “Dubrowski has been here?” he said, after a brief salutation. “Yes; sit down and I will tell you about it,” replied Fortescue, adding mentally: “I've gbt to dish you, Paul— for your own good—without lying to you, and it will take me all my time.” But aloud he proceeded: “Our Borig was faquiring about my movements to- morrow—whether he was likely to see me at Versailles.” “I was aware of that,” came Vol- borth’s startling assertion, which, how- ever, he qualified somewhat by adding: “At least, that was a natural deduc- tion from his occupation this after- noon. He came straight to you from a half-hour’s eall upon Olga Palitzin at their Number 4 Centre.” Fortescue had ny himself upen a couch, but at this be raised hirself upon his ’bow. “That is not very com- fortable hearing,” he szid, putting what he could of fear into the gaze with which he regarded his informant. “How long are you going to subject me to the sensaticn of being hunted, Paul? I was hugging myself with the notion that they had not discovered my ad- drees’ in Paris.” “They probably know it now that they have had Dubrowski's brains to pumpereplied Volbogth. “It was to wafn you on that acgount # redouble vigllance that ' I ‘hastened hither. T wish you had not come to Paris, Spen- cer, on this quixotic errand; your pres- ence increases my anxieties tenfold." For the excuse of a government “mis- sion” would not have sufficed for Vol- borth, and Fortescue had aecounted for his trip to him by a wish to draw off the Nihilists from Laurz to himself. In this he spoke the truth, though hardly “the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.” “Well, T am keeping pretty close,” he B ““And what is your theory as to Olga’s plans, Paul2 What does her re- unfon with Dubrowski portend, think you?" “Mischief, undoubtedly; though whether they are flying at you or at higher game, I have no evidence yet,” was the reply. ‘“Probably both,” Vol- borth added after a pause, as though he had decided to impart a further confidence. “Fer this I may tell you, relying on your secrecy. Dubrowski has obtained passes In false names for the entire gang to be admitted to the park and terraces at Versailles to- morrow. His Majesty and the conspir- ators will be go tightly hedged apart that I do not apprehend any danger to him; but T trust that you will not go there, Spencer.” “As I have told you before, Paul, I am not partial to being hunted,” For- tescue replied; and befere Volborth could press him for a more definite statement of his intentions, he ehanged the subject to his anxiety about Laura Metcalf. He had instructed an emi- nent firm of private detectives to keep an eye on Blairgeldie, but he protested that he wished he could be as certain that Laura would be as careful as he should be himself. With this and much more on the same head he so contrived to swamp the non-committal answer as to his own intentions, that Volborth, who was very sensitive at any Insinuation of having exposed Laura to danger, hastened to reagsure him. “You need feel no alarm about Miss Metcalf at present,” he sald. “All the active agents of the gang are here in Paris, and they are under close sur- velllance. The Palitzin herself, Anna Tchigorin, Weletski, Serjov, Krasno- vitch, and Delaval, are being watched to and from the Rue Casse-Tete by Restofski and his men In conjunction with the French police. When they fail here, as they have failed before, it will be time enough to get nervous about Blairgeldie—and then only if’ they succeed in scattering.” Fortescue made a wry face, and re- plied with an impressiveness which gained its object In being rememberfd afterwards. . “A prospective danger is not more enjoyable than a present one, when it threatens the Wwoman you love—you must understand that, Volborth,” he said. “However, you have refused to remove that danger by arresting these people till it sults you; and, being in honor bound, I could not go behind your back to have them arrested in England, so we need not discuss it further.” The topic was not congenial to Vol- borth, and with a renewal of his warn- ing he rose to go. Fortescue made no attempt to detain him, excusing the alacrity with which he went to open the door by the announcement that they would probably meet later, as he was going to dine at the British Em- bassy, In order to accompany the staff to the gala performance at the Theatre Francais. “I have a mesage for Mademoiselle Vassili from Miss Metcalf—no treason, only a girl’s message; and it will be’an opportunity of delivering it,” he ex- plained. “I am glad that I am not your rmoth- er; though you ought_to be safe enough with the Embassy folk,” said Volborth. “Inside the theater there is no possi- bility of risk, but watch ycurself on the way home.” When he was gone Fortescue threw himself into a chalr, and indulged in a hearty laugh. “For sheer, cold-blooded squandering of the average man in the interests of a cause, commend me to the Russlan po- lice system,” he safd to himself. “Here is this fellow, who I really believe has as much affection for me as he can fecl for anything, quite aware of my peril, yet he wont lift a finger to abate it, be- cause, forsoo'h, it would entail a breach of his methods.” He sat still for some minutes, think- ing deeply; and then as he rose to change into evening dress, he added: “At least, T have not lied to him. I think that any impartial Englishman weuld allow that my end justified my means." It is unnecessary to describe the tur- moil of Gallic hysteria and interna- tional sentiment that marked the visit of the Tsar and Tsarina to the Theatre Francais on the night of October the 7th. The only part of the performance with which we have to do is the point when Mounet-Sully was gesticulating wildly on the stage in front of the red- cloaked artists grouped around the busts of Moliere, Racine and Corneille. When the ecstacy of the audience had been raised to fever heat by the bare- faced adulations of the ode which the rhymester was hurling at the Russian monarchs, Fortescue slipped from his fauteuil and made his way round to the lobby at the back of the grand-tier boxes. There he found Ilma Vassili awaiting him. “I have only a moment, or my moth- er, who is in there with Count Woron- zoff and some of the others, will miss me,"” she said, pointing to the docr of a box. “A moment will suffice, for I have committed qverything to writing,” re- plied Fortescue, handing her a sealed envelope. “All I'ask is that you carry out the instructions to the letter. You are sure of your ccurage, mademoi- selle?™ “Is is not for my dear mistress, for Laura, for you, monsieur, who have been.so kind, and just a little for poor Boris, that T am to be brave?” she re- plled with a grave smile. *“Yes, my courage shall not fail; have no fear of that.” “Then good-night, Mademoiselle Vas- sili, and may to-morrow bring luck,” said Fortescue, bowing low, for the benefit of the few spectators of their meeting, as he left her to return to his segt. He remained till the clcse of the per- formance, seeing nothinz of Volborth, either in the private box:s alloited to the imperial suite or among the obvi- ous mouchards—Russian and French— who thronged the lobbies and corridors. But in the portico, as he was’ leaving the theater with two attaches of the Embassy, he was touched on the arm and some one thrust a crumpled paper into his hand. It bore the words: “Take care. We have lost track of Delaval.” On reading this he smiled a rather ugly smile for a mild-mannered man, and immediately excused himself from further accompanying his companions. “So! my friend Volborth,” he mut- tered, as he turned his steps toward the telegraph office. “I am not sorry that to-night of all nights you should be taught that you are not infallible. But I must warn the detectives at Blair- geldie in case the ‘Yank,’ as Laura calls him, has doubled back in that di- rection.” The contingency made him self-con- centrated, and it was not till he had walked several blocks that he remem- bered the necessity of paying attention to his own surroundings. Almost sim- ultaneously was borne in upon him the consciousness that he was béing fol- lowed, and turning his head, without slackening his pace, He perceived that his visit to the telegraph office was not an immediate necessity. A convenient lamp shot its rays full on the face of the man behind, and showed the broad, pretentiously genial features of Delaval himself. The street through which Fortescue was taking a short cut was a quiet one, leading to still quieter byways, in which he anticipated that the attack ‘would be made. As he walked on with seeming carelessness he formed his plan and proceeded to put it in prac- tice by turning the next corner and diving into the first dark entry he came to. There he would wait, he told him- self, till his pursuer had passed, when he would slip out, while Delaval was halting in perplexity, and make the best of his way back to the glire of the boulevards, where it would be easy to lose himself in the crowd. Twenty, forty, sixty seconds sped by, and pid-pad round the corner came De- laval, brushing so close to his in- tended victim that the fumes of his whisky-laden breath were distinctly noticeable. He went on a dozen paces, then paused in doubt, and began to come slowly back, peering in to entries, and stopping at every step to listén. Fortescue saw that thé time was come for beating a retreat, and he was on the point of making a'dash for the corner when something happened that held him spell-bound. Two tall forms glided past, the shimmer of steel catch- ing his eve, and a moment later, as they met Delaval, he heard the muffled words ir a rich Irish tongue— “Traitor! That is for Boulogne.” And in another voice— “And that for those whom you be- trayed at Antwerp.” There followed a faint groan, and, un- able to contain himself, Fortescue looked from his hiding-place and saw his late pursuer limp and lifeless on the pavement. The two men were return- ing on their own tracks, and Fortescue would have drawn back, but perceiving that he had been seen he waited in the mouth of the entry not knowing what to expect. As the men came up raised his hat and said “We have saved you some inconveni- ence, sir, you will have noticed. It is not my business to be inquisitive about his reasons, but that gentleman wanted to glve you what he has got himself. Is it too much to expect that you will repay us by abstaining from raising an alarm?” “I shall consider that I have seen nothing, but I should advise you to make yourselves scarce,” replied For- tescue. ‘““You have certainly relieved me from a dilemma—not, I presume, out of any affection to myself?” “We know nothing of you, sir, except that any man who has incurred that dead scoundrel's enmity is entitled to cur respect,” replied the spokesman. “This is the fruit of an unfortunate al- liance between purely Irish and Con- tinental politics. He preferred the in- terests of the wrong half, and betrayed his compatriots to the English police— firstly, we believe, to save his own skin; secondly, to further a plot by whigh only alliens would benefit. You have not witnessed a murder, sir, but an execution—by order of the Revolu- tionary Brotherhood. Again he raised his hat theatrically, and taking his companion’s arm flitted away into the gloom of the opposite by- street. Fortescue also made haste to quit the dangerous neighborhood of the heap on the pavement. “What queer beggars these Fenians are,” he reflected as he presently turned into the Rue Montmartre. “He. didn't want me to split, but in case I did he couldn’t resist throwing in that adver- tisement of the ‘I. R. B Well, this shows that Melton's theory as to the giving away of that cheap lot at Boulogne and Antwerp was tolerably accurate. And what is more to the point, it leaves me one less to deal with to-morrow.” the nearest CHAPTER XIL EXPIATION. The fiber and staying-power of a CoolT's' tourist eager to get value for money is nothing to that required by the monarch of a friendly power “do- ing” a friendly capital. - Though the last day of the visit of “Le Grand Pe- tit Nicholas” to Paris' had arrived. there remained the art treasures of the Louvre to be inspected, the venerable Rosa Bonheur to be interviewed, and decorations to be sorted out.wholesale to hungry Republican officials before a start could be made for the crowning ceremony at Versailles. Thus it was not till nearly 2 o'clock that the pro- cession of carriages, with its escort of cuirasslers, filed away from the Rus- sian Embassy in the Rue de Grenelle. At Sevres a halt was made to enable the visitors to see the porcelain fac- tory, and here the absence of Vilborth first excited remark. As usual it was the police agent’s bete noir, the Coun- tess Vassili, who dragged the fact from the obscurity in which he had wished it to remain. The suite were clustered to- gether at the door of the furnace-room, while the Tsarina went through the pantomime of starting one of the fires with a decorated torch, and the old lady passed the time In her favorite amusement of “counting heads.” “All here but Paul Volborth,” she whispered, nudging Boris Dubrowski, who chanced ‘to be standing next to her. “As a social success that man’s days are numbered. Can you explain how it is that he has more license than any of the rest of us?” Ilma, at her mother’s elbow, heard the question, and involuntarily her eyes soyght Dubrowski's face. For the first time for weeks their glances met with something akin to friendly sym- pathy, and though her eves were in- stantly averted she awaited his reply with eagerness. “I am sure that none of us—that is, very few of us—appreciate the import- ance of Volborth's work,” he said. “There must be many things that he has to do, and to—to discover, that we can have no idea of.” The aide-de-camp had no trick of easy speech, but, clumsily expressed as was the double entendre, Ilma under- stood its meaning. Volborth's connection with the Third Section was, she knew, one of the few points on which Fortescue had not en- lightened Boris. The latter had no suspicion of the identity of the man who had appeared so opportunely in the grounds of Blairgeldie when the attache's life was threatened. But she recognized with a flutter at her heart that his reply to her mother was really meant for her—as an admission that her warnings at Vienna were accepted at last. And it pleased her to think that that acceptance had come spon- taneously without proof from outside— that day of all days. In the meanwhile Volborth was more than justifying Dubrowski's opinion that he was busily employed elsewhere. So closely and cleverly had he in- vested the shop of the Veuve Grigot with his spies, that every movement of the conspirators was known to him, while they themselves remained in ‘ignorance. that their rendezvous had been discovered. At an early hour, as a result of a newspaper report, Serjov had been traced to the Morgue, whence he had returned immed’ately to the Rue e : THE_SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CAL.. Casse-Tete with the news of Delaval's death. At the same time Volborth had been apprised that the man who had eluded espienage on the previous night was lying cold and stark and unclaimed on the marble slab. It soon became evident that the loss of their comrade was not to altar the plans of the Nihilists for the day. In- deed, such signs of activity became ap- parent that Volborth, in making the* usual division of his forces, decided to attach himself to the wing that was to keep in touch with the enemy, leaving to Restofski the command of those who were to hem in the Tsar. Keen as ever, not only to protect life, but to preserve the Empress from the horre of an attempt, he could not but be specially anxious on the last public ap- pearance of his imperial charges in the neighborhood of a populous center. If that day passed off quietly he promised himself an easy task at sleepy Darn stadt, and then, hey for the sweets of vietory! It made him impatient to think of it—of the scene which he pictured of Restofski’'s grip fastening on Olga Pa- litzin's white arm as soon as the Tsar was safe on his way to Holy Russia once more. Some such thought was in his mind Continued on Page Fifteen. JOE ROSENBERG’S. Never- Come- Undone HoseSupporter Wear them and you will more than appreciate them. 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