Part 53 (1/2)

”And what did you expect to learn by looking through the keyhole of my door?”

Servan laughed. ”Show me your badge of authority.”

The man fumbled in his upper pocket, hoping against hope that the muzzle of the revolver would waver.

”You're an ordinary thief,” declared the Russian; ”and as such I shall instantly hand you over to the hotel authorities unless you tell me exactly who and what you are.”

The man remained dumb. He hung between the devil and the deep sea. If he told the truth the organization would soon learn the truth; if he kept still he would be lodged in jail, perhaps indefinitely, for he hadn't a savory police record. Presently his nerve gave way in face of the steady eye and hand, and he confessed the why and wherefore he had sought the keyhole of Servan's room.

”We are after this butler. Wherever he goes we follow.”

”Well, you've wasted your time, my man. All I am here for is to take over some property Mr. Hargreave left in France for sale. I know nothing about your private feuds. Now, get out. But keep out of my way; I am not a peaceful man.”

The spy tumbled out as he had tumbled in, by an act of gravity; and Servan was alone. He spent two days in comparative idleness. Then things began to wake up.

For a long time the leather box across which was inscribed ”Stanley Hargreave” lay in peace undisturbed. A busy spider had woven a trap across the handle to the quaint lock. The box was still badly stained from its immersion in the salt water. At a certain time it was quietly withdrawn from its hiding place. It was stealthily opened. A hand reached in and when it withdrew a packet of papers was also withdrawn.

The box was again locked and lowered; and presently the spider returned to find that his cunning trap had been totally destroyed. With the infinite patience of his kind he began the weaving of another trap.

Perhaps this would be more successful than its predecessor.

Later Henri Servan received a telephone call. He was informed that his purpose in America would be realized by his presence at such and such a box that night at the opera. Further information could not be given over the telephone. Servan seemed well satisfied. He dressed carefully that evening, called up the office clerk and inquired if his box tickets for the opera had arrived. He was informed that they had.

Instantly the spy, who had dared to linger about the hotel, overhearing this conversation, determined to notify Braine at once. And at the same time, Norton, in disguise, determined not to lose sight of this man whom he had set himself to watch.

The spy left by one entrance and Jim by another. Jim had learned what he desired; that the Russian agent would be followed to the opera and that it was going to be difficult to hand the doc.u.ments to him. The spy entered a drug store and telephoned. Jim waited outside. When the man came out he strolled up the street and entered the nearest saloon.

Jim's work was done.

It was Braine's lieutenant, however, who took the news to Braine.

”We have succeeded.”

”Good!” said Braine.

”He will go to the opera. He will have a box. Doubtless they have arranged to deliver the papers there.”

”And the next thing is to get the number of his box.” This Braine had no difficulty in doing. ”So that's all fixed. He calls himself Servan and registers from Paris. I'll show the fool that he has no moujik to deal with this time.”

”And what are these doc.u.ments?” asked Olga.

”Ah, that's what we are so anxious to find out. Some papers are going to be exchanged between this Russian spy and Jones or his agents. That these papers concern us vitally I am certain. That is why I am going to get them if there has to be a murder at the opera to-night. Norton has been to Was.h.i.+ngton. He was seen coming out of the Russian emba.s.sy, from the secretaries of state and war and a dozen other offices. I've got to find out just what all this means.”

”It means that the time has come for us to fly,” said Olga. ”We have failed. I have warned you. We have still plenty of money left. It is time we folded our tents and stole away quietly. I tell you I feel it in my bones that there is a pit before us somewhere! and if you force issues we shall all fall into it.”

”The white feather, my dear.”

”There is altogether some difference between the white feather and common-sense caution.”

”I shall never give up. You are free to pack up and go if you wish.

As for me, I'm going to fight this out to the bitter end.”