FROM Czar to street smouch was a big change of parts, and had I had time to think and opportunity to choose, I would have selected a different character.

But I had little conscious thought beyond a burning impatience to get to Helga in the shortest possible time. I was jostled and pushed as I hurried on; now hustled off the side walk, now grazing the house fronts, and at times dodging through the traffic: but all the while pressing on with feverish haste through the people, followed constantly by curses and angry threats from those who shrank from my dirty presence or shouldered me roughly to one side.

There is no lack of disreputable-looking beggars in the streets of Russia’s capital at any time, and at night one drunken man more or less attracts little attention, provided he keeps quiet. I was taken for a drunkard; and my dirt-begrimed face and clothes, my coat slung over my shoulder, my half-bared arms and muddied shirt-sleeves lent colour to the part, as I scrambled and scurried along with a wary eye for the police, whom I avoided with scrupulous care.

I had not much difficulty in finding the square of San Sophia, which had once been a fashionable quarter. It was a dismal-looking cul de sac, with a winding entrance at the southern end, in shape like nothing so much as a tennis racket with a bent handle.

At the entrance stood a woman, who came toward me, half paused, stared sharply at me, and passed on. I guessed she was a spy of some kind, posted there to mark all who entered and left the square.

I lurched past her, keeping up my part of a drunken man, and reeled on into the square—a small open space, unrailed and unprotected, with two or three forlorn-looking stunted trees in a clump in the centre.

From the shelter of these I was able to make out Helga’s house—standing well back in the shadow—a wider, shorter building than the rest, with a deep porch. Not a light showed in any of the windows, a fact that gave me a momentary qualm.

Having assured myself that no one was watching me, I stole out from the trees and made for the porch, knocked gently at the door, and waited. No one came, and fearing to give any noisy summons, I was feeling and peering about for a bell—for inside the porch was very dark—when I heard footsteps in the square. By the flickering lamplight at the entrance I saw the woman who had met me returning in company with a man, and, to my dismay, they came with rapid steps toward the spot where I stood.

I lay down and squeezed myself as close to the side of the porch as possible, trusting that the gloom of the place would prevent them seeing me.

The footsteps came right to the house and then stopped.

In a fever of impatience I dragged myself cautiously to the entrance and peering out, watched them.

They stood a moment talking together in whispers at the other end of the house. The woman seemed to be giving the man some information and instructions, for I saw her point several times toward that end of the building.

After perhaps a couple of minutes she left, and the man shrank back into the deep shadows, until the sound of her footsteps had ceased. Then I heard the scrape of his feet against brickwork, and could just make out that he had climbed on to a low wall which ran by the side of the house.At the risk of discovery I felt that I must know where he had gone, so I drew off my boots and stole after him. By the side of the house ran a very narrow passage guarded by a heavy iron gate, and crawling on to the wall I followed the man with as much haste as the need for extreme caution permitted.

The house was as still as a charnel vault; but I was no longer dismayed by this. It was evident that such a visitor must have very strong motives for this kind of secrecy; and as I judged that the woman had pointed out the means by which an entrance to the house could be gained, it was easy to understand that this was all connected with the threatened attack upon Helga. This meant therefore that she was still safe, and that I had arrived in time to take a hand in matters.

When I had gone far enough along the wall to get a view of the rear of the house, I lay down and looked about for the man, and soon discovered his plan. There were no underground rooms to the house, but there were cellars, and the way to these was protected by a heavy grating. He had removed this, and when I caught sight of him he was standing below in the act of replacing this grating above his head.

As soon as it was in its place, I slipped off the wall and listened. He entered the cellar, and when once inside struck a match, the feeble flickering light from which enabled me to watch him.

He looked round for a moment as if in doubt, and then went to a door in the far right-hand corner and knocked: three double knocks, repeated at short intervals. After a while I heard the door open; the sound of muffled gruff voices came to me; the door was closed, and then all was silent as the grave once more.

For a moment I hesitated whether to follow him or to go back to the front and try again to get into the house that way. But my former failure to attract attention there decided me against that course.It was just possible that Helga had arranged these precautions in the critical need to conceal her presence in the house, and in that case, if I once gained admittance, I could easily explain my presence. But it seemed far more probable that a very ugly purpose lay under it all, and this I resolved to ascertain, even at the risk of finding myself face to face with one or two members of the brotherhood.

I slipped on my boots and coat, therefore, and following the man’s example, I got through the grating, and finding the inner door, gave the signal I had heard. It was an anxious moment as I huddled up against the door awaiting the result. It was a long wait, until I heard a stealthy movement; the door was opened slowly and cautiously, and a man, holding a light, looked out.

Not caring for any scrutiny of my face, I put my foot in the crack and my shoulder to the door, and shoved my way in.

“Why keep me waiting?” I asked in a whisper. “I am followed.”

“Who are you?” asked the voice.

“One who should be here,” I answered at random, as I closed the door and shot home the bolt. “Lead the way,” I said, in a tone of authority.

He was for thrusting the light in my face, but I brushed his hand away and growled out an oath.

“Who is here?” I asked then, under my breath.

He made no reply, and seemed quite undecided what to do; so I decided for him, and pushed him very unceremoniously before me into the darkness beyond.

He led me into an inner cellar, unlighted, save for the candle he carried. I followed, prepared for almost anything except that which I saw; and seeing it, I could scarce restrain from laughter, so complete was the relief from the tension of the previous few minutes.

There was only one man there—obviously the same I had followed—and he was staring hard at us with an expression of mingled fear and expectation. It was Paul Drexel. He was shaved, and disguised in the shabby clothes of a beggar; but I knew his flabby coward’s face in a moment, although he did not recognize me. And I took care that he should see my face as little as possible. For an instant the question flashed upon me: What Drexel was doing in the affair? But I had to act, not think, because if my supposition was correct, we should soon have more of the men upon us.

There was no longer any reason for fear. With no one but a fat coward like Drexel and the man with the light to oppose me, I should soon find a way out of things.

“Who are you?” asked Drexel, as I entered.

“I am here to take command,” I replied, muffling my voice. I turned to the other man and asked: “What part of the house are we in? How do we get where we have to go?”

“These are the cellars. They didn’t think of them,” he replied, with a grin of cunning.

“Show me,” and I made him light the way for me.

My examination of the place revealed nothing but bare cellars.

My guide pointed out a flight of stairs, and explained that there was only a door at the top, which would not be difficult to force.

My first step was to get rid of him; and as he was now quite unsuspicious of me, this was easy.

I found that one of the cellars had a door with bolts on the outside, and as we stood in it, I made an excuse to take the light from him, and catching him unawares, I gave him a blow on the side of the head which sent him staggering over the floor, and before he could recover himself I had shut the door and bolted it upon him.

He began a clatter at the door, and I called to Drexel sharply—“Come and help here, quickly.”

He came hurrying out, but before he could ask a question I caught him by the throat and shook out of him all his little courage and most of his breath.

“Up these steps, quick,” I said, dragging him up, and reaching the top I hammered and kicked at the door until some one came.

“In the devil’s name what’s this?” cried a voice threateningly, as the door was opened.

“Thank God it’s you, Ivan,” I said, more glad than I can tell to see him. “The mademoiselle; is she safe?”

“M. Denver!” he exclaimed, in profound astonishment.

“Mademoiselle Helga, man, tell me, is all well?”

“Yes, monsieur, but what——”

“Thank God for that,” I interrupted, the sense of relief filling me with indescribable delight.

“How do you come here, monsieur?” he asked. “And who——” he paused to peer into Drexel’s white face. “M. Drexel, Great Lord of the Skies, what has happened?”

Helga was safe, and for me at that moment the whole world held no other matter of concern. But there was much to do, for which even the ecstasy of that knowledge could not wait.

“Take this treacherous snake, and have him kept safe somewhere until we can question him. And now——”

“What has happened, Ivan?” It was Helga’s voice from above stairs, and hearing it, I smiled and caught my breath.

“M. Denver is here, mademoiselle,” said Ivan.

“M. Denver?” in a tone of intense surprise. “Where?” The voice was nearer. She was coming to me.

“Yes, I am here, mademoiselle;” and I went to meet her.

On catching sight of me she stopped as if aghast.