When off duty his eye could also appreciate a beautiful face, and he was charmed by Helga, who did her utmost to win her way into his favour.
In particular, she was sympathetic in regard to his present disappointment at having left Petersburg at the moment of a Nihilist trouble.
“I’d give a sackful of dollars to get at the bottom of a Nihilist show,” he exclaimed. “Either side, Government or the other. What a country this would be for a pressman, if they weren’t so tight lipped! I’ve sent some stuff across, but of course I’ve had to pad it a lot.”
“What have you heard about this, M. Siegel?” asked Helga.
“The conductor gave it away to me. There was a telegram telling him to look out for a woman on the train—and a man, too, he thought; but he wasn’t clear. It seems a swoop was made on a haunt last night, and a lot of arrests there and elsewhere followed. But they wanted the woman most, and she’d gone.”
“Oh!” I murmured, and Helga and I exchanged glances.
“Lord, what asses those Russian police must be. Imagine what a mess we should have if we muddled our press inquiries as they do their business. They should apprentice a few of their fellows to the Screecher, and let ’em learn the art of making beats.”
“Beats, M. Siegel?” asked Helga, puzzled.
He explained the enormous virtues of exclusive news, and gave her a telling illustration.
“If this were the States, which thank God it isn’t—I can say that safely as none of us are Russians—what would happen? Probably we should have known all about this raid before it was ordered; but assume we hadn’t, and it caught us by surprise. Well, we should have had some one on the spot right there, and the moment we heard the birds had flown we should have wired our men to watch every train—this one for instance, most likely with a recognizable description of the fugitives. Say, Harper, wouldn’t it be bully to do the trick with no machinery and spot them on the train. What a scoop!” and he laughed pleasantly.