LITIZKI BREAKS HIS APPOINTMENT.

In the brief interval that elapsed between the time when she turned from Poubalov and the moment she entered the library, Clara reflected that while her loyal heart would rebel at the story to be told by Billings, she must hear him patiently, and not permit her distrust of him to manifest itself. One can think to good purpose in even so short a time as it takes to walk across a room. Clara was fully resolved to be guided by her reason alone in dealing with Billings, and not to permit herself to doubt his story if it should prove, as was probable, that what he had to say tended to corroborate the detective's theory.

Yet, when she looked at him, all her woman's intuition rebelled. She saw a man perhaps twenty-five years old, with nothing whatever remarkable in his appearance; but in his eyes and attitude there seemed to be a consciousness of antagonism, as if he expected to be doubted, sharply cross-examined, and as if he were determined that nothing should shake his story. His sullen, dogged expression was a help to Clara in conquering her immediate aversion to him, and she began the critical interview with a move that surprised and embarrassed him.

He was sitting, holding his hat on his knees, at the farther side of the room. Clara crossed directly to him with outstretched hand, saying:

"I am Miss Hilman. You are Mr. Billings, I believe. I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you. Mr. Bowker may have told you how I hunted the city over to find you. Sit down, please; let me take your hat."

Billings had risen awkwardly as he saw that she was coming toward him, and, quite unaware of how she managed it, he found that she had taken one of his hands in her own. In his confusion he let his hat fall, picked it up hastily, and at last sat down again, feeling still the warm clasp of Clara's hand, while with bewildered eyes he saw this self-possessed, queenly young woman place his battered hat upon a table and draw up a chair opposite to him. He had not said a word. If he had come with any set phrases for beginning his story, they were completely driven from his mind.

Clara looked at him for a moment, and he averted his eyes.

"Were you acquainted with Mr. Strobel?" she asked presently, speaking in low tones that needed no art to color with the sadness that weighed upon her heart.

"No'm, I wasn't," replied Billings, with a quick glance at her.

"I am sorry for that," said Clara, "and yet it shows how kind you are to come here and tell me about this matter. I suppose you had to come a long way."

"I live in the North End," said Billings, uneasily. "Bowker told me to come."

"The North End is a long way off," she declared, "and I thank you just the same. I suppose you may have told Mr. Bowker so carefully about this that you are tired of the matter, but I should like very much to hear you myself. Do you mind telling me just what you told him?"

"That's what I come for," and Billings seemed to be considerably relieved. "I was driving down Park Street," he began, "when I saw that the coupÉ just in front of me had got into trouble. I went slow because people got around thick, and, besides, I wanted to see what was the matter. As I was looking, the man in the coupÉ clumb out and asked me was I engaged. I told him no, and he got in. He seemed to be in a hurry."

"One moment," interposed Clara, gently. The narration struck her as distinctly parrot-like, and if it were something that he had learned to recite, she preferred to break the thread of his story before he had come to the important part, rather than give him the advantage of establishing a statement in smooth order. If he were telling the truth, no manner of interruption could prevent him from eventually making himself understood; if he were lying, she must involve him in contradictions. So, without premeditation, Clara said:

"You are going just a little too fast for me, and I hope you will forgive me. Every detail, you know, seems important to me. Where had you been that morning, Mr. Billings?"

"Been to a funeral, miss," he answered promptly.

"Yes, so I understood; but where?"

"Out to Mount Auburn."

"That is quite a long way from Park Street, isn't it? It must be four miles."

"Yes'm, 'bout that."

"It was about eleven o'clock, or a little after, when Mr. Strobel's coupÉ broke down, and you had been to Mount Auburn and had just got back. I see. Where did you leave your passengers, the persons you took to the funeral, I mean?"

With a glance of sullen resentment Billings answered:

"At their house."

"Yes, Mr. Billings," and Clara smiled as if she were not in the least annoyed, "but that isn't telling where. I didn't ask for the street and number. Why should I? It was in Cambridge, was it not?"

After the slightest perceptible hesitation, Billings answered:

"No; 'twas in the West End."

"Ah, then you had come over Beacon Hill on your way somewhere. Where were you going, Mr. Billings?"

As Billings hesitated more noticeably, she continued:

"Do you have some regular place where you wait for passengers, or do you drive about picking them up where you find them?"

"I was going to the Old Colony Depot," said Billings, huskily.

"I see. Is it customary, Mr. Billings, for cabmen to leave the curtains of their carriages closely drawn after they leave a funeral party?"

"No, 'tain't, not long, but you wouldn't have me stop in front of the house to pull 'em up, would you?"

"Certainly not. You did quite right, doubtless. When did you first see the coupÉ?"

"At the corner of Beacon. It turned into Park Street just ahead of me."

"Where did Mr. Strobel tell you to take him?"

"To Dr. Merrill's church, Parker Avenue, Roxbury."

Billings didn't know it, but his examiner came very near to breaking down at this point. There was nothing as yet to show that the driver was not telling the truth, although Clara had prepared a trap for him that she intended to spring a little later, and the mention of the church where she was to be married brought up such a flood of emotions that it seemed as if she would choke. Then, too, whether Billings were practicing deceit or not, it was certain that for this moment at least she was following her lover's journey correctly, and she had arrived at that critical point where the change in his intentions, or in his power to act, occurred. So, it was in a very faint voice that she told Billings to go on. He immediately resumed his parrot-like narration:

"He seemed to be in a hurry, for he spoke quick. I closed the door on him, and got into my seat as fast as I could and whipped up. I wanted to get along myself, you see, 'cause it was quite a long drive, and I had to get back to the depot."

This last sentence sounded like a fresh thought interjected on the spur of the moment, for Billings spoke it slower than the rest, and glanced inquiringly at Clara, as if to see how she took it. She noticed the difference, but simply nodded, and Billings went on.

"Nothing happened till we got to Elliot Street. Then the gentleman opened the door and hollered 'Driver!' I pulled up a bit and turned round to see what he wanted. 'Driver!' says he, 'I've changed my mind. Take me to the Park Square Station.' 'All right, sir,' says I, and he closed the door again. So I druv 'im to the station, and he got out and give me a dollar and went inside, and that's all there is to it."

"I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Billings," said Clara; "I suppose you went directly to the Old Colony Depot after that?"

"Yes'm. That's where I went."

He rose as if there could be nothing more for him to say, but Clara was not done with him.

"Just one more question," she said; "sit down again, please. Did you see Mr. Strobel speak or bow to anybody at the station?"

"No'm. There wasn't many people about, and he hurried inside like as if his train was just going."

"Was there anybody there whom you knew?"

"Yes'm, and you can ask him. A feller named O'Brien, who works there, was just at the door as we drew up, and he says 'Hello' to me. He'll tell you he saw me land my passenger there, for he came forward, thinking to get the gentleman's bag to carry."

"Mr. O'Brien may have noticed where Mr. Strobel went after going into the station," mused Clara.

"Yes'm, he might. You might ask him."

"Thank you; I presume I shall. Now, Mr. Billings, I want to show you in some way that I appreciate your kindness in coming here to tell me this. I have had to drive about a great deal for two days, and shall have to use a carriage to-morrow. I shall be glad to employ you."

Billings flushed and shifted about uneasily.

"I can't, miss," he muttered.

"Why not, Mr. Billings?"

The driver stole a glance at her earnest face, and saw nothing there but sad surprise.

"Why not?" Clara gave the man no help by suggesting a possible excuse.

"My carriage is engaged—that is," he blurted, "I haven't got any carriage that would be fit for you."

"What is the matter with the one in which you took Mr. Strobel?"

"It got smashed up and is being repaired. You see," and he mumbled his words so that they were almost unintelligible, "the same day a party of toughs hired it; they were kind o' swell toughs, and they got on a racket, and the carriage was damaged. 'Tain't fit to use."

"Mr. Billings!" Clara spoke with a sudden energy that startled the driver, "was Mr. Strobel in the carriage when it was damaged?"

"No'm, no'm, he wan't," stammered Billings.

The explanation suggested an entirely new thought to Clara. Before her mental vision there came swiftly a picture of her lover struggling with somebody—might it not be Poubalov?—in the carriage itself. She seemed to see a violent conflict in which seats and fixtures gave way as men's bodies fell heavily. And Ivan was overpowered, his enemies triumphed, he was motionless, unconscious—perhaps fatally injured, and they had hidden him away somewhere lest their crime come to the light!

This was wholly unlike the vision she had seen on the evening of what should have been her wedding day; it had none of the aspects of an hallucination; for as the alarming details shaped themselves in her thoughts, she was conscious that Billings sat before her, looking frightened, and that he rose again to go. In this instance she was but following the suggestions brought out by her inquiry to what might be their logical, natural conclusion.

"I am sorry you cannot drive me to-morrow," she said, recovering and withdrawing her eyes, which had been fixed in a strained stare upon Billings for a very brief period. "Before you go, tell me the names and addresses of the persons you took to the funeral, please."

"I don't remember," replied Billings, uneasily. "I shall have to look up my book; 'tain't here."

"Will you do so?" asked Clara, pleasantly, convinced now that the man was lying; "and send the names to me, please. Will you do that to-night?"

"Yes'm," replied Billings reaching for his hat.

"And what is your address?"

Billings told her, and she laid her hand gently on his arm. An idea that had occurred to her vaguely when his name was announced as she stood before Poubalov, now recurred to her in the shape of a plan. She would have Billings confront the Russian, and watch their faces narrowly for some sign of recognition, or alarm.

"Will you come into the next room a moment?" she said, "I have something to show you."

There seemed to be a shade of suspicion in his eyes, but he made no objection, and Clara conducted him to the drawing-room. It was dark. With a premonition of disappointment, Clara found a match on the mantel and lit the gas. After a hasty glance around she opened the door to the dining-room.

"Lou!" she whispered eagerly, "have you seen Mr. Poubalov?"

"No," replied Louise, coming forward and entering the parlor; "has he gone? Then it must have been he!"

"Who? What have you seen? Wait, come into the hall. Will you sit down just a minute longer, Mr. Billings? I shall be but a moment."

Billings complied, and the young ladies passed quickly into the hall, where the first thing that Clara saw were Poubalov's hat and stick lying upon a table. She turned in the utmost wonderment upon her cousin.

"All I can say," said Louise, "is that I saw a man leap over the hedge into Mr. Jordan's grounds a short time after you went into the drawing-room to meet Poubalov. I couldn't tell who it was, couldn't even see that he had no hat on. I feared he might be a tramp, but thought then that he had been frightened away, and that there was no danger."

"He was frightened away?" murmured Clara, feeling her blood run cold; "he dared not face his man Billings!"

"I supposed," continued Louise, in agitation, "that Poubalov was with you. I heard no voices, but thought perhaps that you had gone into the library with him, for a door closed once."

"Yes, when Billings came. Oh! if Litizki were only here!"

"Why! what could he do?"

"I would have him follow Billings. Oh, I could cry! it is the one opportunity for solving this mystery that we have found, and now we are going to lose it!"

Louise was greatly distressed.

"Isn't there some way that you can detain Billings," she suggested, "until Litizki arrives?"

"No. He's been trying to get away for several minutes. It is just possible that Litizki may be near. I'll go out with Billings, as if to call at a neighbor's, and if I see Litizki will put him on the track at once."

She went upstairs for her hat, lingering over the preparation in order to give Litizki all possible opportunity to keep his appointment, and when she came down again Billings was in the hall.

"I can't wait no longer," he said gruffly.

"Very well," replied Clara; "I thank you again for calling. I am going as far as the next house, and you can escort me."

Billings scowled with disagreeable surprise. At the gate he waited to see which way she would turn.

"I'm not going that way, miss," he said, and started off at a rapid pace in the opposite direction.