This was getting serious, and I adopted a simple expedient to give him the slip for the present. I hailed a droshky and bade the fellow drive to a certain street, not far from that where Mishka’s café was situated. We started off at the usual headlong speed, and presently, as we whirled round a corner, I called on the driver to stop, handed him a fare that must have represented a good week’s earnings, and ordered him to drive on again as fast as he could, and for as long as his horse would hold out.
He grinned, “clucked” to his horse, and was off on the instant, while I turned into a little shop close by, whence I had the satisfaction, less than half a minute after, of seeing a second droshky dash past, in pursuit of the first, with the spy lolling in it. If my Jehu kept faith—there was no telling if he would do that or not, though I had to take the risk—monsieur le mouchard would enjoy a nice drive, at the expense of his government!
In five minutes I was at the café, where I dropped my coin; it rolled to a corner and the waiter picked it up, while I sipped my tea and grumbled at the scarcity of lemon. I asked the prescribed question when he restored the piece; and almost immediately Mishka himself joined me. This was better than I had dared to hope, for I knew I could speak to him freely; in fact I told him everything, including the ruse by which I had eluded my vigilant attendant.
“You must not try that again,” he said, in his sulky fashion. “It has served once, yes; but it will not serve again. When he finds that you have cheated him he will make his report, and then you will have, not one, but several spies to reckon with; that is, if they think it worth while. Still you have done well,—very well. Now you must wait until you hear from my master.” Mishka never mentioned a name if he could avoid doing so.
“But can’t you give me some idea as to where she is likely to be?” I demanded. To wait, and continue to act my part, as if there was no such person as Anne Pendennis in the world and in deadly peril was just about the toughest duty imaginable.
“I can tell you nothing, and you, by yourself, can do nothing,” he retorted stolidly. “If you are wise you will go about your business as if nothing had happened. But be in your rooms by—nine o’clock to-night. It is unlikely that we can send you any word before then.”
Nine o’clock! And it was now barely noon! Nine mortal hours; and within their space what might not happen? But there was no help for it. Mishka had spoken the truth; by myself I could do nothing.
It was hard—hard to be bound like this, with invisible fetters; and to know all the time that the girl I loved was so near and yet so far, needing my aid, while I was powerless to help her,—I, who would so gladly lay down my life for her.
Who was she? What was she? How was her fate linked with that of this great grim land,—a land “agonizing in the throes of a new birth?” If she had but trusted me in the days when we had been together, could I have saved her then? Have spared her the agony my heart told me she was suffering now?