did. Part of the business was carried on here: smuggling arms,

dispatching propagandist literature, and so forth. But we soon noticed that our part in it was a very small one; we were simply used as decoys, and all they wanted was Andrei's name on the contract and on their papers. Just at first we were satisfied, but we soon began to feel suspicious: it was too late for us to withdraw, and we found that we were practically prisoners here. We had no means of discovering what was really going on, but we had no intention of allowing ourselves to be involved in some fresh deed of treachery. It was then that we began to realize that Marcus Tassler was a dangerous character. We decided to obtain our own proofs, and we planned everything with the greatest precaution. In the spring of 1916, Andrei left the Copper House secretly, and traveled to Russia with a passport which I had managed to procure, and together with two revolutionaries who had still continued our friends. Meantime, Sonia and I gave out that my brother was lying ill in the Copper House, and no one suspected that he was far away! Besides, the baron and Tassler left us more and more to ourselves; it was enough for their purposes to have us here as figureheads. You can understand how anxious I was, when you think that Andrei was blind, and what a journey he had undertaken, and for what an object. I had a presentiment--but perhaps you don't believe in presentiments?"

"Yes," answered Wallion, "I certainly believe in them; a presentiment is often a subconscious conclusion, and may have a definite value."

"In January of this year, I received indirect information that my brother was dead. He had died quite suddenly of heart disease, unknown and alone in an infirmary at Moscow. Those were sad days for Sonia and me."

She stopped, for her voice was quivering suspiciously, and sat gazing before her, with her grimmest and most unapproachable expression; but Sonia understood, and nestled up more closely to her.

"The night is darkest before the dawn," began the old lady again. "Sergius sent us a letter, bidding us be of good courage; he had arrived too late to see his uncle alive, but had taken possession of his papers, and seen to the funeral. He wrote that he had made important discoveries...."

"Let me go on from there," said Sergius, turning towards the journalist. "I was staying in Moscow under the name of Dr. Zero. The March Revolution had changed everything, and my revolutionary friends were triumphant. I suspected that their rejoicings were rather premature, for I saw beneath the surface very definite symptoms of reactionary currents; I found proofs of the existence of a conspiracy, and Prince Tarraschin's death set me wondering.... Finally, after a series of researches, I heard of Tarraschin's memorandum, its contents, and the struggle that was being secretly carried on for its possession; in the long run, I also discovered its whereabouts: then I acted." He thought for a little while.

"You must remember that my motive all along has been the vindication of my own and my family's honor, also that I knew nothing of Ortiz, or of what was going on here; and lastly, that I dared not approach the new Russian government under my own name, as Kerensky had been one of those who had driven out Andrei and his belongings, branded as traitors. All this you must bear in mind.

"Well, I took Tarraschin's memorandum, not from its rightful owners, but from thieves. Of course, I know now, that it was from one of Ortiz's spies that I took it. But what was I to do with it? I had found my relatives' new address amongst my uncle's papers, and I determined to travel home and ask my mother's advice. On the way back, I fell in with B.22 and was very nearly caught in a trap...."

"I suppose your plan was to come here, and by the aid of the document, open negotiaions with Kerensky?" asked Wallion.

"Yes, it was the only way I could think of to regain the esteem of the revolutionaries."

"Doesn't it look a little bit like--bribery?"

Sergius Tassler was silent, and the journalist changed his tactics.

"Ah, well, of course you were justified in taking such a step. We know what happened afterwards, so...."

"Let me say one thing," said Sergius. "It is not fair to call it a bribe. I am prepared to surrender the paper unconditionally, but, by giving it up at the right moment, I want to add weight to the proofs I obtained in Moscow; I allude to the proofs of our innocence of the accusation brought against us in 1905."

"Really! You found them, then?"

"Yes, after the Revolution the police-archives became at last accessible, and there I found the name of the traitor; then everything became clear to me: my own father had played the part of Judas!"

"Marcus Tassler?"

"Yes, he was an infamous spy, and only allowed himself to be arrested for the sake of appearances, to escape any reprisals. He was, I suppose, driven by his uneasy conscience to bring about our liberation. But through him, hundreds of brave young students had gone to their death, or to Siberia; and that was my father ... mine...."

Lona Ivanovna checked him....

"That's enough, my boy, don't let us talk of the man any more. You can understand now, Mr. Wallion, how, after Sergius' return yesterday, Tassler's double-dealing became perfectly clear to me. In 1905 he had made us accomplices in an act of treachery: what was his intention now? Why were we in the Copper House? It was evidently not enough for him that he had us outlawed twelve years ago; once again he must drag us down to destruction! Ever since the March Revolution, this year, I guessed that something was wrong, for Ortiz' activities did not diminish, although Russia was now freed. It was, therefore, not revolution, but something else that he was working for. The history of Tarraschin's memorandum revealed the truth in a flash. From the moment that Sergius told me about it, I became the enemy of Ortiz, and above all, of Tassler who had dared to lie to me."

"Tell me," said the journalist, "what exactly happened yesterday when your son arrived?"

"It all passed like a hurried dream. Suddenly, without any warning, he was here, with Rastakov at his heels. I had barely a second to decide what to do, and I did it. I sent him up with Sonia to Andrei's room, to disguise himself as my brother, whom Rastakov was quite prepared to see in the course of his investigations; I remained in the hall, and when I heard Rastakov coming, I fired a shot, to mystify him, and gain time: a shot always entails explanation and discussion, doesn't it?"

"So that's the true story of Bernard Jenin's disappearance?" said Wallion, amused.

"Yes, Bernard Jenin will never be found now!"

Wallion got up, walked up and down for a minute, and stopped before Sergius, sitting quiet and aloof, in his apparent blindness.

"And what about Tarraschin's memorandum?" he asked.

"It is hidden in a place where Rastakov would never dream of looking for it," answered Sergius; "in fact, it is actually in my hand at the present moment: look here, I will show it you."

All eyes were turned, as by common consent, on Sergius' right hand, in which he was holding his stick. With a quick wrench, he unscrewed the ivory handle, and they saw that the stick was hollow; without looking into it, he handed it to the journalist.

"Will you be so kind?" said he; "the most important document in Europe will be found inside, rolled up like a cigarette! Don't stand on ceremony, please."

The journalist stretched out his hand, then drew it suddenly back; a curious expression came into his eyes, and he thrust his hands into his pockets.

"You are joking, surely, sir!"

"I? Certainly not. What do you mean?"

"There is nothing in the stick!"

Sergius Tassler grew pale, and stared, as though petrified, into the hollow tube. Lona Ivanovna bent forward, and as the stick fell with a thud on the floor, she said:

"Are you perfectly sure you put the paper in there yesterday?"

"Yes," he replied with a stupefied air; "I can't understand.... Sonia saw it...."

The young girl sprang forward like a little fury:

"I saw you put the paper in the stick! Nobody else saw it, nobody knows about it. Where is the document?" Her tone was almost an accusation, but Sergius made no reply. His mother continued her work with undisturbed equanimity, only remarking:

"You see, Mr. Wallion, that Tarraschin's memorandum is still capable of providing us with a sensation."

"So it seems. I am sorry, for I should have liked to have your only weapon in my hands."

"Our only weapon!" she echoed.

"Yes, without it, one doesn't know what may happen."

"Could Rastakov have taken it?" suggested Leo.

"Impossible," returned Sergius. "He hasn't even set eyes upon the stick, and the baron said openly that their search had been unsuccessful; it is a complete mystery to me...."

"Did you keep watch last night?" asked Wallion.

"Yes, all night, in turns."

"And you noticed nothing unusual?"

"Nothing whatsoever."

"Had you disturbed the contents of the stick since yesterday?"

"No, and I have never let it out of my sight."

The journalist examined it cursorily, screwed on the handle, and restored it to its owner.

"Well, there you are!" said he. "You may console yourself with the reflection that Ortiz would certainly never have suspected the existence of such a highly-original hiding-place."

"Console myself? Do you attach so little importance to the disappearance of the paper?" exclaimed the mortified and astonished Sergius.

"No, not that, but I have an idea that it has not gone beyond recall. The person who took it...."

"But who can it be? Who?"

"That remains to be seen. May I be allowed to examine Andrei Bernin's bedroom with you?"

"Most willingly."

Sergius and Lona Ivanovna followed him upstairs, but they all three returned very soon. Leo and Sonia, who were left sitting silent and downcast, saw an expression in the journalist's face which they could not quite fathom; it seemed almost as though he was quietly pleased about something which nobody else had observed.

"Have you found out anything?" Leo asked, in a low tone.

"No," replied Wallion, abstractedly; "nothing that I didn't already know."

After a minute he left the room.

* * * * *

An oppressive silence lay heavy and stifling over the Copper House. Premature darkness had set in; the massive thunder clouds seemed to settle slowly down upon the woods and the lonely house, till they shut out the last rays of fading daylight.

Leo found the journalist at a window on the second floor, gazing out to sea. His whole bearing was tense with expectation, and his gray eyes dark and fixed. Leo wondered what he saw there, and placed himself silently beside him. From this place they had an uninterrupted view of the little bay, which lay gleaming inside its sheltering island.

Two men were busy with something spread out on the deck of the lighter; it appeared to be part of some apparatus; Wallion watched them intently.

"What is it?" whispered Leo.

His friend did not reply.

Suddenly a cone of bluish light darted up into the dusk as a result of the exertions of the two distant figures, and continued to burn with a steady and far-reaching beam. The ray of light shifted hither and thither, till it remained stationary between the islands and the right shore of the bay, pointing towards the open sea.

"The light!" murmured Wallion. "Ortiz is at hand!"

_Part III--Gabriel Ortiz_