Some three quarters of an hour later an answer came from the next station that the train had been detained for a careful search, but that no such woman could be found on it.
While that search was in progress Clara, her disguise removed, entered the “conspiracy house,” where Olga had been waiting for her, in case she should have found it inconvenient to board the train.
“There you are!” Olga said, in despair, as she beheld her friend’s smiling face in the doorway. “What has happened?”
“It’s a fizzle, that’s all. But it might have been worse than that. There is a St. Petersburg fellow at the station. He knows me.”
“Did he see you?” Olga demanded breathlessly.
“I should say he did,” Clara replied with another smile. “Well, I thought it was all up. Gracious! didn’t my feet grow weak under me. But my star has not gone back on me yet, it seems. I got into one of the cars just as the third bell was heard. I was sure he was close behind me, but, when I turned around, looking for a seat, I saw he was not there. He must have gone to another car for the moment, or something. Anyhow, I tried to get out again. I thought I had nothing to lose, and—here I am. But look here, Olya[E], are you sure there is nobody outside?”
“I think I am,” Olga answered firmly. “Why?”
“I thought I saw a queer looking individual as I turned into this street. I must have been mistaken. Still, I confess, the presence of that fellow in this town is anything but a pleasant surprise to me. I don’t like it at all. I wonder why we have not heard from Masha about him.”
The reason they had not heard from her was simply this, that the invasion of the St. Petersburg detectives had had such an overbearing effect on everybody in the local gendarmerie that her brother had become unusually reticent on the affairs of his office even at home.