“Pretty cool cheek of him to come here!” said Cyril to himself. “I wonder he didn’t make use of my name as a reference. Now, what was the object of this, I should like to know?”
But his curiosity remained unsatisfied, and he thought no more of either the O’Malachy or Sergeivics until Paschics presented himself as soon as he entered his office the next morning. A glance at the detective’s face showed Cyril that he was bubbling over with news, and he looked about for eavesdroppers, and made sure that the door and windows were shut, before he would allow him to tell his tale.
“According to your Excellency’s orders, I shadowed Peter Sergeivics yesterday,” began Paschics. “In the afternoon I saw him leave the Villa by the servants’ entrance, and take the road to the town. While still in the grounds, however, he was met by an elderly gentleman of military appearance, walking with a slight limp.” Cyril uttered an exclamation. “As your Excellency has surmised, I recognised this person as the Scythian officer who was arrested by mistake some time ago, and set at liberty immediately afterwards. Perceiving by his livery that Sergeivics belonged to the household, he stopped him, and apparently requested him to point out to him the principal architectural features of the Villa; for Sergeivics gave up his intention of proceeding to the town, and escorted him round the gardens, exhibiting the chief points of interest. I must confess with regret that I could not succeed in following them sufficiently closely to hear their conversation. At last Colonel O’Malachy presented Sergeivics with a handsome pourboire, and departed. I discovered afterwards that he had tried to gain admission to the interior of the Villa, but had been refused an entrance.”
Cyril nodded. “I saw that myself,” he said.
“After this, your Excellency, Sergeivics returned to the servants’ quarters, and did not go out again until the evening. Following upon his steps, I tracked him to a tavern in a low part of the town. Having seen him seated at one of the tables, I hurried to the lodging of an acquaintance of mine near at hand, and borrowed from him the long coat, high boots, and fur cap of a droschky-driver. With the aid of the wig and false beard which I always carry about with me, my disguise was complete, and I entered the tavern and sat down at the same table as my quarry. I then noticed that the table was close to the end of a passage, in which was a door. From time to time one of the men in the room would enter the passage and disappear through the doorway. Again, several persons came in one by one from the street, and, believing themselves unnoticed, also slipped through. Among these, I am certain, was Colonel O’Malachy. He was disguised in a country cloak and cap; but I could not mistake his limp, nor his white moustache. I observed that all who passed in at this mysterious door were subjected to some test. They knocked, I think, in a peculiar scraping manner; but I cannot be sure of this, owing to the distance and to the noise around me, and also to the necessity of not appearing to watch too closely. Moreover, certain questions, which also I could not hear, were asked and answered before the door was opened. Then, as it seemed to me, a badge of some kind was exhibited, which was worn on the under-side of the left-hand lapel of the coat, and admission was immediately granted. All this time, your Excellency, I was behaving as though I had already drunk too much brandy, and offering to treat Sergeivics and the other guests. The Thracians, as your Excellency knows, do not become hilarious when excited by liquor; but I was talkative and inclined to be quarrelsome. Sergeivics tried to shake me off, and when he thought he had directed my attention to a group of fresh arrivals, rose and endeavoured to slip down the passage. But I caught him by the coat, and said in a drunken voice, ‘Not so fast, my friend. There seems to be something interesting going on in there, and I should like to come too.’ He looked at me as though he could have killed me, but bent over the table and fixed me with his eye. ‘Look here,’ he said, ‘I have no business to tell you what it is; but you have been so liberal with the brandy that I don’t mind letting you know in confidence. You have heard of the Freemasons?’ ‘Oh yes,’ I said; ‘they worship the devil, and their rites are proscribed.’ ‘Stuff!’ he said; ‘that is what the priests tell you. Count Mortimer himself is a Freemason, and therefore the police have orders to wink at their doings, in spite of the law. This is one of their lodges, and I am a member, so you see I can’t take you in, much as I should like.’ I gave a tipsy grunt, and let him go, when he vanished down the passage at once. I sat there some time longer, talking and treating, and saw other people go in, some of them officers, as I knew by their walk, and others, I am sure, priests. Then, fearing to arouse suspicion, I staggered out, and, taking up a position from which I could watch the place, tracked Sergeivics back to the Villa about an hour and a half later. That is my report, your Excellency.”
“And a very good one it is. I shall require you again presently, Paschics. You can go now, and tell Sergeivics that I want him.”
“But your Excellency does not intend to tax the man with his treachery? He will be desperate—and he is probably armed.”
“So am I,” was the brief response; and Paschics retired. When Sergeivics entered the room, Cyril was seated at his writing-table, looking for something in one of the drawers.
“Ah, Peter Sergeivics—wait a minute,” he said, glancing up. “By the way, what’s that on the left-hand lapel of your coat?”
The man’s face turned pale, and his hand went up in a terrified snatch. Finding nothing, he recollected himself immediately.