The Red Symbol Page 6

  CHAPTER IV

  THE RIVER STEPS

  "This was found in Carson's pocket?" I asked, steadying my voice with aneffort.

  He nodded.

  I affected to examine the portrait closely, to gain a moment's time.Should I tell him, right now, that I knew the original; tell him also ofmy strange visitant? No; I decided to keep silence, at least until afterI had seen Anne, and cross-examined the old Russian again.

  "Have you any clue to her identity?" I said, as I rose and replaced theblood-stained card on his desk.

  "No. I've no doubt the Russian Secret Police know well enough who sheis; but they don't give anything away,--even to me."

  "They sent you that promptly enough," I suggested, indicating thephotograph with a fresh cigarette which I took up as I resumed my seat.I had managed to regain my composure, and have no doubt that Southbourneconsidered my late agitation was merely the outcome of my natural horrorand astonishment at the news of poor Carson's tragic fate. And now Imeant to ascertain all he knew or suspected about the affair, withoutrevealing my personal interest in it.

  "Not they! It came from Von Eckhardt. It was he who found poor Carson;and he took possession of that"--he jerked his head towards thedesk--"before the police came on the scene, and got it through."

  I knew what that meant,--that the thing had not been posted in Russia,but smuggled across the frontier.

  I had met Von Eckhardt, who was on the staff of an important Germannewspaper, and knew that he and Carson were old friends. They sharedrooms at St. Petersburg.

  "Now why should Von Eckhardt run such a risk?" I asked.

  "Can't say; wish I could."

  "Where was he when poor Carson was done for?"

  "At Wilna, he says; he'd been away for a week."

  "Did he tell you about this Society, and its red symbol?"

  "'Pon my soul, you've missed your vocation, Wynn. You ought to have beena barrister!" drawled Southbourne. "No, I knew all that before. As amatter of fact, I warned Carson against that very Society,--as I'mwarning you. Von Eckhardt merely told me the bare facts, including thatabout the bit of geranium Carson was clutching. I drew my own inference.Here, you may read his note."

  He tossed me a half-sheet of thin note-paper, covered on one side withVon Eckhardt's crabbed German script.

  It was, as he had said, a mere statement of facts, and I mentallydetermined to seize an early opportunity of interviewing Von Eckhardtwhen I arrived at Petersburg.

  "You needn't have troubled to question me," resumed Southbourne, in hismost nonchalant manner. "I meant to tell you the little I know,--foryour own protection. This Society is one of those revolutionaryorganizations that abound in Russia, but more cleverly managed thanmost of them, and therefore all the more dangerous. Its members are saidto be innumerable, and of every class; and there are branches in everycapital of Europe. A near neighbor of yours, by the way, is undersurveillance at this very moment, though I believe nothing definite hasbeen traced to him."

  "Cassavetti!" I exclaimed with, I am sure, an excellent assumption ofsurprise.

  "You've guessed it first time; though his name's Vladimir Selinski. Ifyou see him between now and Monday, when you must start, I advise younot to mention your destination to him, unless you've already done so.He was at the Savage Club dinner to-night, wasn't he?"

  One of Southbourne's foibles was to pose as a kind of "Sherlock Holmes,"but I was not in the least impressed by this pretension to omniscience.He was a member of the club, and ought to have been at the dinnerhimself. If he had looked down the list of guests he must have seen"Miss Anne Pendennis" among the names, and yet I believed he had not theslightest suspicion that she was the original of that portrait!

  "I saw him there," I said, "but I told him nothing of my movements;though we are on fairly good terms. Do you think I'm quite a fool, LordSouthbourne?"

  He looked amused, and blew another ring before he answered,enigmatically: "David said in his haste 'all men are liars.' If he'dsaid at his leisure 'all men are fools,--when there's a woman in thecase'--he'd have been nearer the mark!"

  "What do you mean?" I demanded, hotly enough.

  "Well, I also dined at the Cecil to-night, though not with the'Savages,' and I happened to hear that you and Cassavetti--we'll callhim that--were looking daggers at each other, and that the lady, who wasremarkably handsome, appeared to enjoy the situation! Who is she, Wynn?Do I know her?"

  I watched him closely, but his face betrayed nothing.

  "I think your informant must have been a--journalist, Lord Southbourne,"I said very quietly. "And we seem to have strayed pretty considerablyfrom the point. I came here to take your instructions, and if I'm tostart at nine on Monday I shall not see you again."

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  "All right; we'll get to business. Here's the new code; get it off byheart between now and Monday, and destroy the copy. It's safer. Here'syour passport, duly _vised_, and a cheque. That's all, I think. I don'tneed to teach you your work. But I don't want you to meet with such afate as Carson's; so I expect you to be warned by his example. And youare not to make any attempt to unravel the mystery of his death. I tellyou that for your own safety! The matter has been taken up from theEmbassy, and everything possible will be done to hunt the assassin down.Good-bye, and good luck!"

  We shook hands and I went out into the night. It was now well pastmidnight, and the streets were even quieter than usual at that hour, forthere had been a sharp storm while I was with Southbourne. I had heardthe crash of thunder at intervals, and the patter of heavy rain all thetime. Now the storm was over, the air was cool and fresh, the sky clear.The wet street gleamed silver in the moonlight, and was all butdeserted. The traffic had thinned down to an occasional hansom orprivate carriage, and there were few foot-passengers abroad. I did notmeet a soul along the whole of Whitehall except the policemen, their wetmackintoshes glistening in the moonlight.

  But, as I reached the corner of Parliament Square, I saw, just acrossthe road, a man and woman walking rapidly in the direction ofWestminster Bridge. I glanced at them casually, then looked again, moreintently. The man looked like a sailor; he wore a pea-jacket and apeaked cap, while the woman was enveloped in a long dark cloak, and hada black scarf over her head. I saw a gleam of jewelled shoe-buckles asshe picked her way daintily across the wet roadway to the further cornerby the Houses of Parliament.

  My heart seemed to stand still as I watched her. At any other time orplace I would have sworn that I knew the tall, slender figure, theimperial poise of the head, the peculiarly graceful gait, swift but nothurried. I inwardly jeered at myself for my idiocy. My mind was so fullof Anne Pendennis that I must imagine every tall, graceful woman wasshe! This lady was doubtless a resident in the southern suburbs,detained by the storm, and now on her way to one of the all-night tramsthat start from the far side of Westminster Bridge. There was quite asuburban touch in a woman in evening dress being escorted by a man in apea-jacket. She might be an _artiste_, too poor to afford a cab home.

  Nevertheless, while these thoughts ran through my mind, I was followingthe couple. They walked so swiftly that I did not decrease the distancebetween us. Half-way across the bridge I was intercepted by a beggar,who whined for "the price of a doss" and kept pace with me, till I gotrid of him with the bestowal of a coin; but when I looked for the coupleI was stalking they had disappeared.

  I quickened my pace to a run, and at the further end looked anxiouslyahead, but could see no trace of them. There were more people stirringin the Westminster Bridge Road, even at this hour; street hawkersstarting home with their sodden barrows, the usual disreputable knot ofloungers gathered around a coffee-stall; but those whom I looked for hadvanished. Swiftly as they were walking they could scarcely havetraversed the distance between the bridge and the trams in so short atime.

  Had they gone down the steps to the river embankment? I paused andlistened, thought I heard a faint patter, as of a woman's high heels onthe stone steps, and ran down the
flight.

  The paved walk below St. Thomas' Hospital was deserted; I could see farin the moonlight. But near at hand I heard the plash of oars. I lookedaround and saw that to the right there was a second flight of steps,almost under the shadow of the first arch of the bridge, and leadingright down to the river.

  I vaulted the bar that guarded the top of the flight and ran down thesteps. Yes, there was the boat, with the sailor and another man pullingat the oars, and the woman sitting in the stern. The scarf had slippedback a little, and I saw the glint of her bright hair.

  "Anne! Anne!" I cried desperately.

  She heard and turned her face.

  My God, it was Anne herself! For a second only I saw her facedistinctly, then she pulled the scarf over it with a quick gesture; theboat shot under the dark shadow of the arches and disappeared.

  I stood dumbfounded for some minutes, staring at the river, and tryingto convince myself that I was mad--that I had dreamt the whole incident.

  When at last I turned to retrace my steps I saw something dark lying atthe top of the steps, stooped, and picked it up.

  It was a spray of scarlet geranium!