was but dimly illumined by a glimmer of light that came in through the window from the courtyard below. The serjeant struck a match and lighted his lantern; the aspect of that room then presented itself in all its squalor and hideousness: an iron bedstead, covered with a ragged, coloured counterpane, stood out from the centre of the wall opposite; to the right as they entered, an earthenware stove with the tiles mostly cracked and loose; then a coarsely painted chest, the drawers of which were mostly open, displaying a medley of dirty laces and faded ribbons; two or three chairs in a rickety condition propped against the walls, and a table with a broken ewer and cracked basin, completed the furniture of this abode of misery and degradation; the floor was bare, the boards unwashed and rough; on the window-sill stood a mirror and two or three pots of powder and cosmetics, while on the chest of drawers lay a litter of papers and two or three faded photographs.
Iván stood gazing round in horror. It had never been his misfortune to witness the type of misery, sordid and abject, that was depicted by this bare room, by the tawdry scraps of ribbon, the half-empty, evil-smelling pots of cosmetics, and his mind reverted to the exalted notion he and his comrades had of the "people," of the poor, who were in the future to frame laws and rule empires, the "people" about whom they talked so much, and knew so little, the "people" whose men and women lived like this.
Then, pulling himself together, he gazed blankly round him. Save for that chest of drawers, which appeared half empty, he could see nothing wherein the Emperor's candlesticks could have been hidden, and a cold perspiration stood on his forehead as he turned to Meyer and asked him what course he intended to pursue.
The serjeant once more shrugged his shoulders; then, pointing to the bed, he ordered his man to turn the paillasse over.
"Would you like to search that chest of drawers?" he smiled, sarcastically addressing Volenski. "My impression is that the bird has flown and taken her treasures with her."
Iván waited not for a second offer; he was already emptying the drawers, throwing ribbons and rags in a confused heap on the floor. Hope was fast dwindling away; this golden opportunity, from which he had expected so much, was proving futile. The splendid chance he would have had in this dark room, if only the candlesticks were to fall in his hands, was not to be his after all. Half fainting with the closeness of the atmosphere, and the nerve-strain consequent on the bitter disappointment he was experiencing, Iván dared not let the serjeant see his face, frightened lest the astute detective should notice his strange agitation, and jump at conclusions, which he might afterwards communicate to his chief.
"It seems to me," said Meyer at last, "that we are wasting our time here; the woman has evidently taken with her what valuables she had stolen, either because she is always prepared for a police raid during her absence, or she may actually have gone to dispose of them. Anyhow, monsieur," he added, "with your permission, we will leave the matter for the present, and report proceedings to the chief."
Iván had completely emptied the drawers, and was now impatiently turning over the letters and papers that were lying in a confused heap on the top of the chest. A half-torn, almost wholly faded photograph had riveted his attention. A somewhat coarse, large featured woman's face, with dark, provoking eyes, and a wide, laughing mouth. He wondered, as he looked at it, whether this was the woman who held his fate and that of his comrades in one of those clumsy, low-bred hands, and whether he would ask Serjeant Meyer if this was Grete Ottlinger.
"Is this the woman?" he asked at last, with sudden determination, turning towards the police officer and holding out the photograph.
"Yes! it is," replied Meyer, after a hasty glance. "No beauty, is she?" he added, with a laugh.
Then the other man having opened the door, the serjeant stood, evidently impatient to be gone, his lantern in his hand dimly lighting the dark passage beyond. Volenski with a sudden impulse slipped the photograph into his pocket, and throwing a last hopeless look at the squalid abode he had entered so full of hope, followed Meyer down the narrow stairs.
He was loth to give up all hope; his was a sanguine and buoyant disposition, that refused to give way to despair. A plan had already formed in his brain, a confused idea that would require the quietness of the deserted streets to order and to organise.
"As we have not found anything belonging to me up there," he said to Serjeant Meyer, as the latter prepared to step into the cab that was waiting for them outside, "I don't think there is any necessity for me to follow you to His Excellency's office. What do you think?"
"You know best, monsieur, of course," replied Meyer. "I have a very short report to make about the woman's absence, together with every article of stolen property; also the fact that our two fellows are no doubt on her track, as I do not see them anywhere about. His Excellency must then decide, if it is worth while going to the 'Kaiser Franz' to-night on the chance of finding her there, or leave the matter alone till her return."
"I should think the latter is by far the wisest course," said Iván hastily; "however, that is none of my business. Will you tell his Excellency that, as my property has not been found, I will call on him again to-morrow morning, and in the meanwhile will communicate with Madame Demidoff?"
Serjeant Meyer and his assistant bowed to Iván as they stepped into thefiaker. Volenski waited a few moments till the sound of the wheels died out in the distance, then, taking a cigarette from his case, he lighted it with great deliberation and sauntered off towards the Ringstrasse with an anxious but determined look on his young face.
Chapter XI
Poor Volenski had begun to look very haggard and careworn; the mental strain of the past few days was beginning to tell upon him. He was paying less attention to his dress, there was an absence of elasticity in his step, and an almost furtive look in his usually so frank, if dreamy, eyes. He realised this, as, having reached the brilliantly lighted cafés that enliven both sides of the Opern and Kolowrátring, he caught sight of his own figure in one of the tall pier-glasses beyond the windows of the shops, and noticed the untidy look of his cravat, the dusty appearance of his clothes. He looked at his watch; it was barely nine o'clock–time enough to pay a flying visit to his hotel and remedy the obvious defects of his toilet, before he sallied forth to accomplish the task he had in a moment's resolution set himself to do.
It was with the greatest care that he proceeded to change his clothes for the conventional black and white of evening attire, not forgetting the bouquet in his buttonhole, nor the fine handkerchief peepinig from the pocket of the coat. He wished to look the perfect type of the young man about town, idle, elegant, and gay–a rôle he had played so much during the greater part of his life that it had become second nature; and especially he wished to leave absolutely behind him all traces of the harassed conspirator, who feels himself tracked, and dreads at every turn to meet his doom.
There was no doubt that since the fatal moment when the candlesticks were stolen on the Austrian frontier, fate loomed dark against him and his friends, and he had been alone to face the dangers and difficulties, to battle against relentless chance. The most adverse coincidences had surrounded him from the first, and when luck appeared to be on the turn, some untoward, wholly unforeseen event occurred, to dash any hope he may have had to the ground. First the Cardinal's unfortunate idea of entrusting Madame Demidoff with the candlesticks, then the robbery at Oderberg, next the escape of one of the thieves wiith the very articles that were of such paramount importance; finally the one grand opportunity he would have had to-night, but for Grete Ottlinger's wonderful luck, or foresight, in taking the booty along with her.
But from all this chaos of mischance the unfortunate young man had
