Boothby Guy
The Red Rat's Daughter

CHAPTER XIII

It may very safely be taken for granted, I think, that the happiness or unhappiness, success or non-success, of one's life is brought about not so much by deliberate education or design, if I may so express it, as by some small event, the proper importance of which is far from being recognisable at the time. For instance, had Browne not undertaken that yachting cruise to Norway when he did, it is scarcely probable he would ever have met Katherine Petrovitch. In that case he would very possibly have married the daughter of some impecunious peer, have bolstered up a falling house with his wealth, have gone into Parliament, received a title in due course, and would eventually have descended to the family vault, in most respects a mediocre man. But, as Fate willed, he did go to Norway – met Katherine, fell in love with her, and now – But there, with such a long story before me, it will scarcely do for me to risk an anti-climax by anticipating. Let it suffice that, after he had said "good-bye" to Maas, he lunched at the club, deriving a certain amount of pleasure meanwhile from the knowledge that he was engaged in a business which, should it become known, would undoubtedly plunge him into a considerable amount of hot water! And when you come to think of it, how strange is the pleasure the human mind finds in the possession of a secret! In our childhood it is a joy second only to the delight of a new toy. Anarchism, Nihilism, Fenianism, and indeed the fundamental principle of every order of secret society, is the same thing, only on a larger and more dangerous scale, carried out by perverted imaginations and in the wrong direction. The fact, however, remains, that Browne, as I have said, derived a considerable amount of satisfaction from the feeling that he was, in a certain sense, a conspirator. Plainly as he had expressed himself to Katherine, however, it is extremely doubtful whether he himself realised how difficult and dangerous the task he had taken upon himself was likely to prove. The Russian Government, at the best of times, is like dynamite, a thing to be handled carefully; and one minute's consideration was sufficient to show him that the work he had pledged himself to undertake was not one that, in the event of things going wrong, would entitle him to the sympathy of his own Government. He thought of the Duke of Matlock, and wondered what he would say if it should ever become known that he, John Grantham Browne, had assisted in the escape of a Russian Nihilist from the island of Saghalien. He could very well imagine the pious horror of the Duchess when the various rumours, which would be certain to go the round of the clubs, should reach her ears. And this suggested a still more unpleasant reflection. What if he should fail in his attempt to rescue the man, and should find himself in the clutches of the Russian Bear? What would his fate be then? His own country could scarcely demand his release, seeing that he would, in all probability, be caught red-handed. He put the thought away from him, however, as having nothing to do with the case. It was Katherine's father who stood in need of assistance, and it was Katherine's happiness which was at stake. That was enough for him. With the remembrance of her gratitude, and of the look he had seen in her face, when he had promised to help her, still fresh in his mind, such a thing as counting the cost was not to be thought of. Having finished his lunch, he returned to his hotel, to find a note upon his sitting-room table. It was from Katherine. He opened it, with a feeling that was half eagerness and half fear in his heart, and read as follows:

"DEAR LOVE, – How can I make you see how good I think you are, and how little I deserve such treatment at your hands! There is no one else in the world who would do what you have done, and I shall thank God always for sending you to my assistance. Believe me, I know how much you are risking, and how much you are giving up, and are willing to forfeit, for my sake. Oh, if I could only repay you as you deserve! But, come what may, you will always have my love, and my life-long gratitude. To-night an old friend will be with us, who in happier days knew my father. Will you not come and let me introduce you to him?"

The letter was signed, "Your loving Katherine," and to Browne this seemed to be the pith and essence of its contents. How different it was from the note he had received that morning! They were as different as light and darkness, as black and white, as any simile that could be employed. In one she had declared that it was impossible for her ever to become his wife, and in the other she signed herself, "Your loving Katherine." Of course he would go that evening, not because the old man had been acquainted with her father, for he would have gone just as willingly if he had had a bowing acquaintance with her grandmother. All he wanted was the opportunity of seeing Katherine, of being in the same house and room with her, of watching the woman he loved, and who had promised to be his wife.

Accordingly, that evening after dinner, he hailed a cab and drove to the Rue Jacquarie. As he passed along the crowded thoroughfares, he could not help contrasting the different occasions on which he had visited that street. The first time had been on the night of his arrival in Paris, when he had gone there in order to locate the house; the next was that on which he had repaired there in response to the note from Madame Bernstein; then, again, on the morning of that happy day they had spent together at Fontainebleau; while the last was after that miserable letter he had received from Katherine, in which she bade him give up the idea that she could ever become his wife.

On this occasion it was indeed a happy young man who jumped out of the vehicle and nodded to the concierge as he passed her and ran up the stairs. When he knocked at the door of Madame's sitting-room, a voice from within told him to enter. He did so, to find Katherine, Madame, and an old gentleman, whom he had never seen before, seated there. Katherine hastened forward to greet him. If he had not already been rewarded for all the anxiety and pain he had experienced during the last few days, and for the promise he had given that morning, the look upon her face now would have fully compensated him.

"I thought you would come," she said; and then, dropping her voice a little, she added, "I have been watching the hands of the clock, and waiting for you."

But, even if Katherine were so kind in her welcome to him, she was not destined to have the whole ceremony in her hands, for by this time Madame Bernstein had risen from her chair and was approaching him. Browne glanced at her, and his instinct told him what was coming. Knowing the lady so well, he felt convinced she would not permit such an opportunity to pass without making the most of it.

"Ah, Monsieur Browne," she began, her voice trembling with emotion and the ready tear rising in her eye, "you cannot understand how we feel towards you. Katherine has told me of your act of self-sacrifice. It is noble of you; it is grand! But Heaven will reward you for your goodness to an orphan child."

"My dear Madame Bernstein," said Browne, who by this time was covered with confusion, "you really must not thank me like this. I do not deserve it. I am not doing much after all; and besides, it is for Katherine's sake, and that makes the difference. If we succeed, as I hope and trust we shall, it will be an adventure that we shall remember all our lives long." He stopped suddenly, remembering that there was a third person present who might not be in the secret. Being an ingenuous youth, the thought of his indiscretion caused him to blush furiously. Katherine, however, was quick to undeceive him.

"You need have no fear," she said; "we are all friends here. Let me introduce you to Herr Otto Sauber, who, as I told you in my letter, is an old friend of my father's."

The old man, sitting at the farther end of the room, rose and hobbled forward to take Browne's hand. He was a strange-looking little fellow. His face was small and round, his skin was wrinkled into a thousand furrows, while his hair was snow-white, and fell upon his shoulders in wavy curls. His age could scarcely have been less than seventy. Trouble had plainly marked him for her own; and if his threadbare garments could be taken as any criterion, he was on the verge of actual poverty. Whatever his nationality may have been, he spoke French, which was certainly not his mother-tongue, with considerable fluency.

"My dear young friend," he said, as he took Browne's hand, "allow me, as an old man and a patriot, to thank you for what you are about to do. I sum up my feelings when I say that it is an action I do not think you will ever regret." Then, placing his hand on the girl's shoulder, he continued: "I am, as I understand Katherine has told you, an old friend of her father's. I remember him first as a strong, high-spirited lad, who had not a base thought in his nature. I remember him later as a man of more mature years, whose whole being was saddened by the afflictions and wrongs his fellow-countrymen were suffering; and still later on I wished him God-speed upon his weary march, with his brother exiles, to Siberia. In God's good time, and through your agency, I look forward to welcoming him among us once more. Madame Bernstein tells me you love the little Katherine here. If so, I can only say that I think you are going the right way to prove it. I pray that you may know long life and happiness together."

The old gentleman was genuinely affected. Large tears trickled down his weather-beaten cheeks, and his voice became thick and husky. Browne's tender heart was touched by this unexpected display of emotion, and he felt a lump rising in his throat, that for a few seconds threatened to choke him. And yet, what was there to account for it? Only a young man, a pretty girl, a stout middle-aged lady in a puce gown, and a seedy old foreigner, who, in days long gone by, had known the young girl's father. After this little episode they quieted down somewhat, and Madame Bernstein proposed that they should discuss the question they had so much at heart. They did so accordingly, with the exception of the old gentleman, who sat almost silent. It was not until he heard her expound the subject, that Browne became aware of the extent and thoroughness of Madame's knowledge concerning Russia and her criminal administration. She was familiar with every detail, even to the names and family histories of the various governors and officers; she knew who might be considered venal, and whom it would be dangerous to attempt to bribe; who were lenient with their charges, and who lost no opportunity of tyrannizing over the unfortunates whom Fate had placed in their power. Listening to her one might very well have supposed that she had herself travelled every verst of that weary road. Plan after plan she propounded, until Browne felt his brain reel under the strain of it. A little before midnight he rose to leave, and Herr Sauber followed his example.

"If Monsieur Browne is walking in the direction of the Rue de l'Opéra, I should be glad of his company," he said. "That is to say, if he has no objection to being hindered by a poor old cripple, who can scarcely draw one foot after the other."

Browne expressed the pleasure such a walk would afford him; and, when they had bidden the ladies good-night, they set off together.

CHAPTER XIV

Once in the street the old man slipped his arm through that of his companion, and hobbled along beside him. "My dear young friend," he said, when they had been walking for some few minutes, "we are out of the house now, and able to talk sensibly together without fear of making fools of ourselves or of being overheard. First and foremost, tell me this: have you any notion of what you are doing?"

"Of course I am not very well up in it," Browne replied modestly; "but I think I know pretty well."

"Then, let me tell you this, as one who is probably more conversant with the subject than any man living: you know absolutely nothing at all!"

After this facer Browne did not know quite what to say. Herr Sauber stopped and looked at him.

"Has it struck you yet," he said, "that you, a young Englishman, without the least experience in such things, are pitting yourself against all the organization and cunning of the Great Russian Bear?"

"That point has certainly struck me," Browne replied.

"And do you mean to say that, knowing the strength of the enemy you are about to fight, you are not afraid to go on? Well, I must admit I admire your bravery; but I fear it is nearer foolhardiness than pluck. However, since you are determined to go on with it, let me give you a little bit of advice that may be of service to you. I understand you have not long enjoyed the honour of Madame Bernstein's acquaintance?"

Browne stated that this was so, and wondered what was coming next. He was beginning to grow interested in this queer old man, with the sharp eyes, who spoke with such an air of authority.

"Before I go any farther," continued the old gentleman, "permit me to remark that I yield to no one in my admiration for the lady's talent. She is an exceedingly clever woman, whose grasp of European politics is, to say the least of it, remarkable. At the same time, were I in your position, I would be as circumspect as possible in my behaviour towards her. Madame is a charming companion; she is philosophic, and can adapt herself to the most unpleasant circumstances with the readiness of an old campaigner. In matters like the present, however, I regret to say, her tongue runs riot with her, and for that reason alone I consider her little short of dangerous."

This may or may not have been the exact thought Browne had in his own mind. But the woman was Katherine's friend; and, however imprudent she might be, that circumstance alone was sufficient, in a certain sense, to make him loyal to her. Herr Sauber probably read what was passing in his mind, for he threw a glance up at him in his queer sparrow-like way, and, when he had eyed him steadfastly for a few seconds, continued what he had to say with even greater emphasis than before.

"I do not want you to mistake my meaning," he said. "At the same time, I have no desire to see the mission you have taken in hand turn out a failure. I have been acquainted with Madame Bernstein for more years than either she or I would probably care to remember, and it is far from my intention or desire to prejudice your mind against her. At the same time, I have known Katherine's family for a much longer period, and I must study them and their interests before all."

"But what is it of which you desire to warn me?" Browne inquired. "It seems to me that Madame Bernstein is as anxious to assist Katherine's father to escape as any of us."

"I sincerely believe she is," the old man replied. "In spite of the life she has led these twenty years, she still remains a woman, and impetuous. You must see for yourself that, in a matter like the present, you cannot be too careful. Let one little hint reach the Russian Government, and farewell to any chance you may stand of effecting the man's escape."

"But what am I to do to prevent her from giving them a hint?" asked Browne. "She knows as much as I do, and I cannot gag her!"

"But you need not tell her of all your plans," he answered. "Tell Katherine what you please; she has the rare gift of being able to hold her tongue, and wild horses would not drag the secret from her."

"Then, to sum up what you say, I am to take care that, while Katherine and I know everything, Madame Bernstein shall know nothing?"

"I do not say anything of the kind," said Herr Sauber. "I simply tell you what I think, and I leave it to your good sense to act as you think best. You English have a proverb to the effect that the least said is the soonest mended. When the object of your expedition is accomplished, and you are back in safety once more, you will, I hope, be able to come to me and say, 'Herr Sauber, there was no necessity to act upon the advice you gave me'; then I shall be perfectly satisfied."

"I must confess that you have made me a little uneasy," Browne replied. "I have no doubt you are right, however. At any rate, I will be most careful of what I say, and how I act, in her presence. Now, perhaps, you can help me still further, since you declare you are better acquainted with the subject than most people. Being so ignorant, I should be very grateful for a few hints as to how I should set to work." In spite of the old man's boast, Browne thought he had rather got the better of him now. He was soon to be undeceived, however.

"You intend to carry this through yourself, I suppose?" asked his companion. "If I mistake not, I heard you say this evening that you proposed to set sail at once for the Farther East. Is that so?"

"It is quite true," Browne replied. "I leave for London to-morrow afternoon, and immediately upon my arrival there I shall commence my preparations. You will see for yourself, if the man is so ill, there is no time to waste."

"In that case I think I can introduce you to a person who will prove of the utmost assistance to you; a man without whom, indeed, it would be quite impossible for you to succeed in your undertaking."

"That is really very kind of you," said Browne; "and, pray, who is this interesting person, and where shall I find him?"

"His name is Johann Schmidt," said Sauber, "and for some years past he has taken up his residence in Hong-kong. Since we are alone, I may as well inform you that he makes a speciality of these little affairs, though I am not aware that he has done very much in that particular locality in which you are at present most interested. New Caledonia is more in his line. However, I feel sure that that will make little or no difference to him, and I do not think you can do better than pay him a visit when you reach Eastern waters."

"But how am I to broach the subject to him? And how am I to know that he will help me? I cannot very well go to him and say straight out that I am anxious to help a Russian convict to escape from Saghalien."

"I will give you a letter to him," replied Herr Sauber, "and after he has read it you will find that you will have no difficulty in the matter whatsoever. For a sum to be agreed upon between you, he will take the whole matter off your hands, and all you will have to do will be to meet the exile at a spot which will be arranged, and convey him to a place of safety."

"I am sure I am exceedingly obliged to you," said Browne. "But will you answer me one more question?"

"I will answer a hundred if they will help you," the other replied. "But what is this particular one?"

"I want to know why you did not tell us all this, when we were discussing the matter at the house just now."

"Because in these matters the safest course is to speak into one ear only. If you will be guided by me you will follow my example. When no one knows what you are going to do, save yourself, it is impossible for any one to forestall or betray you."

By this time they had reached the corner of the Rue Auber. Here the old gentleman stopped and held out his hand.

"At this point our paths separate, I think," he said, "and I have the honour to wish you good-night."

"But what about that address in Hong-kong?" Browne inquired. "As I leave for England to-morrow, it is just possible that I may not see you before I go."

"I will send it to your hotel," Herr Sauber replied. "I know where you are staying. Good-night, my friend, and may you be as successful in the work you are undertaking as you deserve to be."

Browne thanked him for his good wishes, and bade him good-night. Having done so, he resumed his walk alone, with plenty to think about. Why it should have been so he could not tell, but it seemed to him that, since his interview with the old man, from whom he had just parted, the whole aspect of the affair to which he had pledged himself had changed. It is true that he had had his own suspicions of Madame Bernstein from the beginning, but they had been only the vaguest surmises and nothing more. Now they seemed to have increased, not only in number, but in weight; yet, when he came to analyse it all, the whole fabric tumbled to pieces like a house of cards. No charge had been definitely brought against her, and all that was insinuated was that she might possibly be somewhat indiscreet. That she was as anxious as they were to arrange the escape of Katherine's father from the island, upon which he was imprisoned, was a point which admitted of no doubt. Seeing that Katherine was her best friend in the world, it could scarcely have been otherwise. And yet there was a nameless something behind it all that made Browne uneasy and continually distrustful. Try how he would, he could not drive it from his mind; and when he retired to rest, two hours later, it was only to carry it to bed with him, and to lie awake hour after hour endeavouring to fit the pieces of the puzzle together.

Immediately after breakfast next morning he made his way to the gardens of the Tuileries. He had arranged on the previous evening to meet Katherine there, and on this occasion she was first at the rendezvous. As soon as she saw him she hastened along the path to meet him. Browne thought he had never seen her more becomingly dressed; her face had a bright colour, and her eyes sparkled like twin diamonds.

"You have good news for me, I can see," she said, when their first greetings were over and they were walking back along the path together. "What have you done?"

"We have advanced one step," he answered. "I have discovered the address of a man who will possibly be of immense assistance to us."

"That is good news indeed," she said. "And where does he live?"

"In Hong-kong," Browne replied, and as he said it he noticed a look of disappointment upon her face.

"Hong-kong?" she replied. "That is such a long way off. I had hoped he would prove to be in London."

"I don't think there is any one in London who would be of much use to us," said Browne, "while there are a good many there who could hinder us. That reminds me, dear, I have something rather important to say to you."

"What is it?" she inquired.

"I want to warn you to be very careful to whom you speak about the work we have in hand, and to be particularly careful of one person."

"Who is that?" she inquired; but there was a subtle intonation in her voice that told Browne that, while she could not, of course, know with any degree of certainty whom he meant, she at least could hazard a very good guess. They had seated themselves by this time on the same seat they had occupied a few days before; and a feeling, that was almost one of shame, came over him when he reflected that, in a certain measure, he owed his present happiness to the woman he was about to decry.

"You must not be offended at what I am going to say to you," he began, meanwhile prodding the turf before him with the point of his umbrella. "The fact of the matter is, I want to warn you to be very careful how much of our plans you reveal to Madame Bernstein. It is just possible you may think I am unjust in saying such a thing. I only hope I am."

"I really think you are," she said. "I don't know why you should have done so, but from the very first you have entertained a dislike for Madame. And yet, I think you must admit she has been a very good friend to both of us."

She seemed so hurt at what he had said that Browne hastened to set himself right with her.

"Believe me, I am not doubting her friendship," he said, "only her discretion. I should never forgive myself if I thought I had put any unjust thoughts against her in your mind. But the fact remains that, not only for your father's safety, but also for our own, it is most essential that no suspicion as to what we are about to do should get abroad."

"You surely do not think that Madame Bernstein would talk about the matter to strangers?" said Katherine, a little indignantly. "You have not been acquainted with her very long, but I think, at least, you ought to know her well enough to feel sure she would not do that."

Browne tried to reassure her on this point, but it was some time before she was mollified. To change the subject, he spoke of Herr Sauber and of the interest he was taking in the matter.

"I see it all," she said; "it was he who instilled these suspicions into your mind. It was unkind of him to do so; and not only that, but unjust. Like yourself, he has never been altogether friendly to her."

Browne found himself placed in somewhat of a dilemma. It was certainly true that the old man had added fresh fuel to his suspicions; yet he had to remember that his dislike for the lady extended farther back, even as far as his first meeting with her at Merok. Therefore, while in justice to himself he had the right to incriminate the old man, he had no desire to confess that he had himself been a doubter from the first. Whether she could read what was passing in his mind or not I cannot say, but she was silent for a few minutes. Then, looking up at him with troubled eyes, she said, "Forgive me; I would not for all the world have you think that I have the least doubt of you. You have been so good to me that I should be worse than ungrateful if I were to do that. Will you make a bargain with me?"

"Before I promise I must know what that bargain is," he said, with a smile. "You have tried to make bargains with me before to which I could not agree."

"This is a very simple one," she said. "I want you to promise me, that you will never tell me anything of what you are going to do in this matter, that I cannot tell Madame Bernstein. Cannot you see, dear, what I mean when I ask that? She is my friend, and she has taken care of me for so many, many years, that I should be indeed a traitor to her, if, while she was so anxious to help me in the work I have undertaken, I were to keep from her even the smallest detail of our plans. If she is to be ignorant, let me be ignorant also." The simple, straightforward nature of the girl was apparent in what she said.

"And yet you wish to know everything of what I do?" he said.

"It is only natural that I should," she answered. "I also wish to be honest with Madame. You will give that promise, will you not, Jack?"

Browne considered for a moment. Embarrassing as the position had been a few moments before, it seemed even more so now. At last he made up his mind.

"Yes," he said very slowly; "since you wish it, I will give you that promise, and I believe I am doing right. You love me, Katherine?"

"Ah, you know that," she replied. "I love and trust you as I could never do another man."

"And you believe that I will do everything that a man can do to bring about the result you desire?"

"I do believe that," she said.

"Then let it all remain in my hands. Let me be responsible for the whole matter, and you shall see what the result will be. As I told you yesterday, dear, if any man can get your father out of the terrible place in which he now is, I will do so."

She tried to answer, but words failed her. Her heart was too full to speak. She could only press his hand in silence.

"When shall I see you again?" Browne inquired, after the short silence which had ensued. "I leave for London this afternoon."

"For London?" she repeated, with a startled look upon her face. "I did not know that you were going so soon."

"There is no time to lose," he answered. "All our arrangements must be made at once. I have as much to do next week as I can possibly manage. I suppose you and Madame have set your hearts on going to the East?"

"I could not let you go alone," she answered; "and not only that, but if you succeed in getting my father away, I must be there to welcome him to freedom."

"In that case you and Madame had better hold yourselves in readiness to start as soon as I give the word."

"We will be ready whenever you wish us to set off," she replied. "You need have no fear of that."

Half an hour later Browne bade her good-bye, and, in less than three hours, he was flying across France as fast as the express could carry him. Reaching Calais, he boarded the boat. It was growing dusk, and for that reason the faces of the passengers were barely distinguishable. Suddenly Browne felt a hand upon his shoulder, and a voice greeted him with, "My dear Browne, this is indeed a pleasurable surprise. I never expected to see you here."

It was Maas.