The more she pondered the various puzzling aspects of the case, the more everything seemed to center upon Poubalov, and she shuddered with apprehension as Litizki's characterization of him recurred to her. He was, indeed, a terrible enemy.
Having in mind only the known facts in the case, and disregarding utterly all inferences and conjectures, she tried to reason along various lines, in the hope that thus a theory might be set up which should command sufficient respect to justify a new departure in her search. She began with the fact that Ivan had made every preparation for marriage—and there a new thought presented itself. He had surrendered his room; he must, therefore, have packed his belongings; had they been disturbed? This might be a matter of infinite significance, and one that she would attend to without delay.
"Louise," she said (they were at the breakfast table and her cousin was lingering over her coffee while Clara was absorbed in thought), "will you go downtown with me again to-day?"
"Of course, dear," replied Louise; "I will be ready in ten minutes."
Louise was relieved at Clara's suggestions. She had been hopelessly wondering what Clara could find to do next, and she dreaded for her cousin's health should there prove to be no active work upon which she could concentrate her faculties. She left the room to prepare for the day's jaunt, and Clara resumed her thinking.
Every preparation for marriage, and a start actually made for the church. Then an accident that somebody had prepared. Who? There must have been somebody who had a great object to attain in preventing the marriage, or in getting possession of Ivan. Suppose it were Poubalov, what then? With the insight he himself had given her into his character, would he not do everything possible to throw her off the right track? If he had abducted Ivan, would he hesitate to abduct Litizki if he found that the little tailor was in his way?
It was vain to speculate for a reason for Poubalov's main action; that must lie in his capacity as a paid spy of a government with which Ivan, apparently, had been at one time in conflict. His subsequent actions, so far as she knew them, were all explainable on the theory that he had had to do with Ivan's disappearance.
And so her thoughts revolved around Poubalov, finding at every turn a trace of obliquity that was wholly in consonance with his character and his confessed methods.
Clara felt that her reasoning was bringing her to no definite end, although her brain teemed with courses of action that might have been possible could she have commanded the services of a corps of shrewd, faithful detectives. It is generally so with persons who have a great task to accomplish; they find themselves with more plans than resources, more brains than hands. Clara had just come to the sensible conclusion that, compelled to work substantially alone, she would undertake exactly one thing at a time, and, having chosen a line of inquiry, would follow it uninterruptedly to the end, when a servant announced that a man had called to see her.
"I couldn't catch his name, Miss Clara," said the servant, "but I'm afraid he's a beggar, he looks so forlorn and seedy."