A STUBBORN ANTAGONIST.

"Stay just where you are, Michael," exclaimed Clara, "and don't let that man see your face."

Mike did as directed, pushing his head and shoulders far into the coupÉ and whispering:

"It isn't him, is it, miss, who's got anything to do with the case?"

"Yes," she replied in a low tone, while she and Paul kept as far back in the gloom of the carriage as they could; "have you ever seen him before?"

"Yes'm, he was down to the stables the day this gentleman called, askin' would I know the man who did the trick to me wheel."

"It was a ruse," muttered Paul; "he pretended to investigate in the same spirit that I did so as to throw suspicion from himself. If he has anything like the perceptions that we think he has, he will recognize this rig. Isn't it the same, Mike, with which you started to take Mr. Strobel to his wedding?"

"Identical, sir, horse an' all."

Poubalov had passed them during this brief conversation, and as none of them had ventured to look at him, they could not tell whether or not he recognized the turnout.

They could hear his rapid steps as he strode along, and there was certainly no pause to indicate that he had seen anything that surprised or interested him.

"I must know where he goes," said Clara. "Get on the box, Michael, and drive after him without letting him see, if you can help it, that you are following him. Let us know if he enters any house, but do not stop in front of it."

"Yes'm," replied Mike, closing the door.

He turned the vehicle about and drove slowly to the corner.

Poubalov had paused, ostensibly to buy a paper at a news-stand a little way up the street. He glanced back at the approaching vehicle, shrugged his shoulders, and moved on as rapidly as before. Mike reported this to Clara a few minutes later, when he had seen Poubalov board a Scollay Square car.

"He is satisfied that we are following him, then," said Clara, and she felt afraid as she recalled the threats that the spy had uttered to Paul.

Would he proceed promptly to put into execution whatever design he might have for injuring Ivan? Would not the disappointed passion that had led him to all but the commission of suicide now prompt him to murder his prisoner?

Clara sank back and covered her face with her hands, completely unnerved for the moment by the seeming imminence of catastrophe.

"When will the end come!" she moaned.

Mike looked on in honest and surprised distress, and Paul himself, knowing as he did the reasons for her excess of fear, was at his wits' end to suggest comfort.

Clara uncovered her eyes suddenly. They blazed with new determination.

"Michael," she cried, "could you overtake the car he is on?"

"I could try it, miss, but he's got a pretty good start."

"Try it, then. Don't spare the horse for just this once. If you come near to catching up, and he looks around, then drive more slowly, as if you were not able to keep up the pace, and finally stop altogether, let the car get away, and I'll tell you what to do next. Hurry!"

Mike did hurry.

The coupÉ started with a jolt as he lashed his astonished horse into a gallop.

"What's your plan, Miss Hilman?" asked Paul, who was at a loss to account for this projected maneuver.

"The man wants us to follow him," she replied, turning upon her companion almost fiercely in the intensity of her excitement. "He would lead us away from the scene of his operations, don't you see? Since he has discovered that you have been watching him, he has thought it all over, and he has concluded that it is more than likely that you tracked him to that street, for that was the street, wasn't it? Of course! Then he would naturally expect me to go there. I don't dream that he foresaw meeting us just now, but what I do believe to be the case is, that finding that house insecure for his purpose, he is now planning to remove his prisoner, and happening upon us as he did, he will do what he can to lead us away from it. Don't you see?"

"It sounds reasonable; and you plan, then, to make a pretense at a desperate effort to catch up with him, and when he has got away a considerable distance, to return to the house and investigate."

"That's it," and Clara again sank back, but this time her face expressed energy and confidence in success.

"I wonder how we are getting on," she said after a moment. They were dashing along Washington Street now at a furious rate, attracting attention from all passers. Paul tried to look ahead, but he could not do so without leaning far out of the coupÉ, and that did not seem to be advisable.

"Never mind," said Clara; "I think the driver can be trusted to play his part, if his horse doesn't play it for him by falling down from exhaustion. By the way, I had a letter from O'Brien this morning. You don't know who he is, do you? He is the employee at the Park Square Station who saw Billings drive up, and who says that a man left the carriage and went into the station. The detectives, you know, supposed that man to be Ivan. It's a small point, but O'Brien very kindly wrote to me when he discovered it. He says he was talking about the case with a fellow-workman who remembered the occurrence, and who says that shortly after Billings was seen by O'Brien, a closed carriage stopped at the Columbus Avenue entrance to the station, near the baggage rooms, you know, and that a man left the station and got in. Of course that was the carriage Billings drove, and the man was doubtless the same who got out at the front entrance. He had simply walked through the station, mingled with the crowd, perhaps going so far as to buy a ticket for New York, and then had rejoined his driver. Doesn't it seem clear?"

"It's a perfectly plausible explanation of the point, but it's a pity O'Brien's friend didn't turn up with it sooner. You might have been saved your journey to New York."

"I'm not sure about that. I am not sorry that I saw Lizzie White, although I never felt for an instant that Ivan had eloped."

The coupÉ was still rattling onward at the highest speed the horse could attain, but a moment after Clara had finished, it came to a sudden halt, and they heard a stern voice saying:

"You know better than to drive so fast in the street! I've a great mind to take you in."

Mike was protesting in characteristic fashion, inventing something about the necessity of catching a train, when Clara opened the coupÉ door and stepped out. A policeman stood at the horse's head, glaring with offended dignity at the driver.

"If there is any fault it is mine, officer," she said sweetly; "please scold me, for I told him to drive as fast as he could."

"That don't make no difference, ma'am," returned the policeman, instantly mollified, but still feeling it incumbent upon him to assert the majesty of municipal ordinances; "he's a regular, and he knew better. 'Tain't allowed to go so fast anywhere in Boston 'less it's on a race track."

"I'm very sorry," said Clara.

"Go on with you," commanded the policeman to Mike, "and be a little more careful. It would be rough on me, you see," he added to Clara, "if I wasn't to stop him."

Mike looked inquiringly down at his passenger.

"Come to the door a minute, Michael," she said, and returned to the coupÉ.

"That cop's too fresh to live," remarked Mike as he put his head in to receive instructions.

"Were we anywhere near the car?" asked Clara.

"Yes'm, we was most onto it, an' I was just goin' to pull up a bit when the cop got in his work."

"Could you see the man we were after?"

"Yes'm; he turned round, an' I guess he saw what the cop did, but I lost sight of him tryin' to keep me horse from treadin' on the cop's toes."

"It's just as well, then," said Clara, satisfied. "I'm rather glad the policeman stopped us, for now Poubalov will be certain why it was that we didn't catch up. You needn't hurry so now, Michael; drive back to the place where we started from."

"Where Patterson shook me, miss? All right. I'm on," and he clambered back to the box.

Nothing occurred to disturb their return journey, and when Mike again opened the door for instructions, Clara and Paul got out.

"We will go straight to the house and inquire for Patterson," said Clara, "and if we don't find him there, we'll ask all along the street."

"Whist, miss!" exclaimed Mike, in his eagerness gripping her arm; "there goes Patterson now!"

"Where?" she cried, looking, of course, in the wrong direction.

"Below there, him on the box of the closed carriage, miss. On my soul, it looks like the same——"

"Follow it quick, Michael," she said excitedly. "Come, Paul!" and she sprang into the coupÉ.

"I'll sit on the box with Mike," answered Paul, tremendously aroused; he was already climbing to a place beside the driver; "from here I can act quicker. Hit her up, Mike!"

So off they went on another pursuit, Mike treating his horse to more lash than he had ever experienced before.

"I don't believe you'll need to go so fast as to risk arrest," said Paul; "Patterson probably don't suspect that we are after him, and it would be better to go a little slower than to be stopped again by a policeman."

"I almost ran down one cop who tried to make me pull up before," responded Mike, through set teeth, "an' I wouldn't mind bein' took in myself if it wasn't for spoilin' the game. I'll look sharp, sir, never fear."

Patterson and his carriage had disappeared around a corner almost before the coupÉ had started, but they were soon in view again, jogging forward at a rather lively rate several blocks ahead.

"Will I overhaul him, sir, right away?" asked Mike. "I could do it by driving like sin."

"Don't risk it," answered Paul; "as long as he is in sight, I shan't worry if we gain a little at every block. Let's not drive fast enough to attract attention, for we may have a row when we catch him, and the less crowd around the better."

"If there's to be a fight," said Mike, with a hopeful grin, "I can do Patterson. I'm not even with him yet for doin' the trick to me wheel."

"All right. If it comes to a scrimmage, you look after him, and I'll try to attend to the passengers. I'll tell you just what we suspect, so that you can understand what you are to do. If we're not mistaken, Mr. Strobel is in that carriage, helplessly bound. There may be another man with him. In any case, we must get Strobel away and put him in the coupÉ. When that is done, you drive straight to Mr. Pembroke's. Don't wait for Miss Hilman or me if we don't happen to get in. We'll take care of ourselves. You look out for Mr. Strobel. Call the police to help if you need to, for we've nothing to fear from the law."

"I'm on," said Mike.

The chase went on to the perfect satisfaction of Palovna, who, with growing excitement, saw the distance between him and Patterson's carriage gradually decreasing. His one fear now was that Strobel would be found to be seriously injured, and he felt a great dread lest Poubalov in his madness had killed him! He would not dwell upon this thought, however, concentrating all his force on the struggle that would probably ensue when the closed carriage was at last overtaken.

They were now in Washington Street, and again going toward the city.

Patterson was less than a block away.

"Give it to him now, Mike," said Paul; "get right alongside and make him pull up."

Mike nodded and gave his horse a smart cut with the whip. He sprang forward at a gallop. Patterson was driving near the curb, and Mike took the outside. He drove close beside the closed carriage, in order to "pocket" his adversary and so compel him to pull up. The maneuver succeeded admirably.

Taken by surprise at the sudden appearance of a rapidly galloping horse very near his wheels, Patterson reined his pair nearer to the curb, uttering an impatient curse at the carelessness of the other driver. Mike forced him over still further, and Patterson was compelled in self-defense to stop.

As he did so he turned his head to tell Mike what he thought of him, and Paul recognized the stranger whom he had seen in conversation with Poubalov.

The two drivers exchanged angry words that would look rather worse in print, if possible, than they sounded, and Paul lost no time in descending to the ground. The vehicles were too close together to admit of going between them, so he ran around to the sidewalk and wrenched open the carriage door.

Then he stood stock still.

The carriage was empty.

Clara was beside him in an instant, and though her face fell, she exclaimed:

"Shut the door and stop the quarrel. I must speak to Patterson."

Everything had happened so quickly that the two drivers were still on their respective boxes, making remarks to each other, when Paul stopped upon the wheel beside Patterson and said:

"Mike, drive up to the curb just in front of us. Get down, Patterson. We've something to say to you."

Patterson looked down in surprise, glanced at Clara, shook his head and gathered up the reins for a fresh start.

Paul sprang from the wheel and caught the horses by the bits before they had taken a step.

Mike was carrying out instructions and was then just abreast of him.

"Mike!" said Paul in a loud voice, "don't stop, but pick up the first policeman you can find and bring him here in a hurry! We'll talk to this man in a cell if he won't wait here."

Patterson was unquestionably alarmed at this.

"What is it you want?" he asked in a surly tone.

"Get down, and the lady there will tell you," answered Paul.

Patterson prepared to obey, but just then a south-bound car stopped near them, and Poubalov alighted. He came rapidly toward the group, his dark face darker yet with passion.

"Stay on the box!" he commanded. He took off his hat, bowed stiffly to Clara, with one hand on the carriage door, and said:

"This is my carriage, Miss Hilman. Drive on, James," and before even quick-witted Clara could interpose a restraining word, the door had closed upon Poubalov, and the carriage rolled away.