Jennie Baxter, Journalist

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Jennie jumped down from her perch, threw off her hat, and, with as
little noise as possible, slid her door back an inch or two. The
conductor had unlocked the door of Room A, the tall Russian standing
beside him saying in a whisper,--

"Never mind the man, he'll recover the moment you open the door and
window; get the box. Hold your nose with your fingers and keep your
mouth shut. There it is, that black box in the corner."

The conductor made a dive into the room, and came out with an ordinary
black despatch-box.

The policeman seemed well provided with the materials for his
burglarious purpose. He selected a key from a jingling bunch, tried it;
selected another; then a third, and the lid of the despatch-box was
thrown back. He took out a letter so exactly the duplicate of the one
Jennie possessed that she clutched her own document to see if it were
still in her pocket. The Russian put the envelope between his knees and
proceeded to lock the box. His imagination had not gone to any such
refinement as the placing of a dummy copy where the original had been.
Quick as thought Jennie acted. She slid open the door quietly and
stepped out into the passage. So intent were the two men on their work
that neither saw her. The tall man gave the box back to the conductor,
then took the letter from between his knees, holding it in his right
hand, when Jennie, as if swayed by the motion of the car, lurched
against him, and, with a sleight of hand that would have made her
reputation on a necromantic stage, she jerked the letter from the amazed
and frightened man; at the same moment allowing the bogus document to
drop on the floor of the car from her other hand. The conductor had just
emerged from Room A, holding his nose and looking comical enough as he
stood there in that position, amazed at the sudden apparition of the
lady. The Russian struck down the conductor's fingers with his right
hand, and by a swift motion of the left closed the door of Compartment
A, all of which happened in a tenth of the time taken to tell it.

"Oh, pardon me!" cried Jennie in English, "I'm afraid a lurch of the car
threw me against you."

The Russian, before answering, cast a look at the floor and saw the
large envelope lying there with its seal uppermost. He quietly placed
his huge foot upon it, and then said, with an effort at politeness,--

"It is no matter, madam. I fear I am so bulky that I have taken up most
of the passage."

"It is very good of you to excuse me," said Jennie; "I merely came out
to ask the conductor if he would make up my berth. Would you be good
enough to translate that to him?"

The Russian surlily told the conductor to attend to the wants of the
lady. The conductor muttered a reply, and that reply the Russian
translated.

"He will be at your service in a few moments, madam. He must first make
up the berth of the gentleman in Room A."

"Oh, thank you very much," returned Jennie. "I am in no hurry; any time
within the hour will do."

With that she retired again into her compartment, the real letter
concealed in the folds of her dress, the bogus one on the floor under
the Russian's foot. She closed the door tightly, then, taking care that
she was not observed through either of the holes the conductor had bored
in the partition, she swiftly placed the important document in a deep
inside pocket of her jacket. As a general rule, women have inside
pockets in their capes, and outside pockets in their jackets; but
Jennie, dealing as she did with many documents in the course of her
profession, had had this jacket especially made, with its deep and roomy
inside pocket. She sat on a corner of the sofa, wondering what was to
be the fate of the unfortunate messenger, for, in spite of the sudden
shutting of the door by the Russian, she caught a glimpse of the man
lying face downwards on the floor of his stifling room. She also had
received a whiff of the sweet, heavy gas which had been used, that
seemed now to be tincturing the whole atmosphere of the car, especially
in the long narrow passage. It was not likely they intended to kill
the man, for his death would cause an awkward investigation, while his
statement that he had been rendered insensible might easily be denied.
As she sat there, the silence disturbed only by the low, soothing rumble
of the train, she heard the ring of the metal cylinder against the
woodwork of the next compartment. The men were evidently removing
their apparatus. A little later the train slowed, finally coming to a
standstill, and looking out of the window into the darkness, she found
they were stopping at an ill-lighted country station. Covering the light
in the ceiling again, the better to see outside, herself, unobserved,
she noted the conductor and another man place the bulky cylinder on the
platform, without the slightest effort at concealment. The tall Russian
stood by and gave curt orders. An instant later the train moved on
again, and when well under way there was a rap at her door. When she
opened it, the conductor said that he would make up her berth now, if it
so pleased her. She stood out in the corridor while this was deftly
and swiftly done. She could not restrain her curiosity regarding the
mysterious occupant of Room A, and to satisfy it she walked slowly up
and down the corridor, her hands behind her, passing and repassing the
open door of her room, and noticing that ever and anon the conductor
cast a suspicious eye in her direction.

The door of Room A was partly open, but the shaded lamp in the
ceiling left the interior in darkness. There was now no trace of the
intoxicating gas in the corridor, and as she passed Room A she noticed
that a fresh breeze was blowing through the half open doorway, therefore
the window must be up. Once as she passed her own door she saw the
conductor engaged in a task which would keep him from looking into the
corridor for at least a minute, and in that interval she set her
doubts at rest by putting her head swiftly into Room A, and as swiftly
withdrawing it. The man had been lifted on to his sofa, and lay with his
face towards the wall, his head on a pillow. The despatch-box rested on
a corner of the sofa, where, doubtless, he had left it. He was breathing
heavily like a man in a drunken sleep; but the air of the room was sweet
and fresh, and he would doubtless recover.

Jennie still paced up and down, pondering deeply over what had happened.
At first, when she had secured the important document, she had made up
her mind to return it to the messenger; but further meditation induced
her to change her mind. The messenger had been robbed by the Russian
police; he would tell his superiors exactly what had happened, and yet
the letter would reach its destination as speedily as if he had brought
it himself--as if he had never been touched. Knowing the purpose which
Mr. Hardwick had in his mind, Jennie saw that the letter now was of
tenfold more value to him than it would have been had she taken it from
the messenger. It was evident that the British Embassy, or the messenger
himself, had suspicions that an attempt was to be made to obtain the
document, otherwise Room C of the sleeping car would not have been
changed for Room A at the very last moment. If, then, the editor could
say to the official, "The Russian police robbed your messenger in spite
of all the precautions that could be taken, and my emissary cozened the
Russians; so, you see, I have accomplished what the whole power of the
British Government was powerless to effect; therefore it will be wisdom
on your part to come to terms with me."

Jennie resolved to relate to Hardwick exactly how she came into
possession of the document, and she knew his alert nature well enough to
be sure he would make the most of the trump card dealt to him.

"Your room is ready for you," said the conductor in French.

She had the presence of mind enough not to comprehend his phrase until,
with a motion of his hand, he explained his meaning. She entered her
compartment and closed the door.

Having decided what disposal to make of the important document, there
now arose in her mind the disquieting problem whether or not it would be
allowed to remain with her. She cogitated over the situation and tried
to work out the mental arithmetic of it. Trains were infrequent on the
Russian railways, and she had no means of estimating when the burly
ruffian who had planned and executed the robbery would get back to St.
Petersburg. There was no doubt that he had not the right to open the
letter and read its contents; that privilege rested with some higher
official in St. Petersburg. The two men had got off at the first
stopping place. It was quite possible that they would not reach the
capital until next morning, when the Berlin express would be well on its
way to the frontier. Once over the frontier she would be safe; but the
moment it was found that the purloined envelope merely contained a
copy of an English newspaper, what might not happen? Would the Russian
authorities dare telegraph to the frontier to have her searched, or
would the big official who had planned the robbery suspect that she, by
legerdemain, had become possessed of the letter so much sought for? Even
if he did suspect her, he would certainly have craft enough not to admit
it. His game would rather be to maintain that this was the veritable
document found in the Englishman's despatch-box; and it was more than
likely, taking into consideration the change of room at the last moment,
which would show the officials the existence of suspicion in the
messenger's mind, or in the minds of those who sent him, the natural
surmise would be that another messenger had gone with the real document,
and that the robbed man was merely a blind to delude the Russian police.
In any case, Jennie concluded, there was absolutely nothing to do but
to remain awake all night and guard the treasure which good luck
had bestowed upon her. She stood up on her bed, about to stuff her
handkerchief into the hole bored in the partition, but suddenly paused
and came down to the floor again. No, discomforting as it was to remain
in a room under possible espionage, she dared not stop the openings, as
that would show she had cognisance of them, and arouse the conductor's
suspicion that, after all, she had understood what had been said;
whereas, if she left them as they were, the fact of her doing so would
be strong confirmation of her ignorance. She took from her bag a scarf,
tied one end round her wrist and the other to the door, so that it could
not be opened, should she fall asleep, without awakening her. Before
entrenching herself thus, she drew the eyelids down over the lamp, and
left her room in darkness. Then, if anyone did spy upon her they would
not see the dark scarf which united her wrist with the door.

In spite of the danger of her situation she had the utmost difficulty in
keeping awake. The rumble of the train had a very somnolent effect, and
once or twice she started up, fearing that she had been slumbering. Once
she experienced a tightening sensation in her throat, and sprang to the
floor, seeing the rising gas somehow made visible, the colour of blood.
The scarf drew her to her knees, and for a moment she thought someone
clutched her wrist. Panting, she undid the scarf and flooded the room
with light. Her heart was beating wildly, but all was still, save the
ever-present rumble of the train rushing through the darkness over the
boundless plains of Russia. She looked at her tiny watch, it was two
o'clock in the morning. She knew then that she must have fallen asleep
in spite of her strong resolutions. The letter was still in the inside
pocket of her jacket, and all was well at two in the morning. No eye
appeared at either of the apertures, so she covered up the light once
more and lay down again, sighing to think how rumpled her dainty costume
would look in the morning. Now she was resolved not to go to sleep, if
force of will could keep her awake. A moment later she was startled by
someone beating down the partition with an axe. She sprang up, and again
the scarf pulled her back. She untied it from her wrist and noticed
that daylight flooded the compartment. This amazed her; how could it
be daylight so soon? Had she been asleep again, and was the fancied
battering at the door with an axe merely the conclusion of a dream
caused by the conductor's knock? After a breathless pause there came a
gentle rap on her door, and the voice of the conductor said,--

"Breakfast at Luga, madame, in three-quarters of an hour."

"Very good," she replied in English, her voice trembling with fear.
Slowly she untied the scarf from the door and placed it in her handbag.
She shivered notwithstanding her effort at self-control, for she knew
she had slept through the night, and far into the morning. In agitation
she unbuttoned her jacket. Yes; there was the letter, just where she had
placed it. She dare not take it out and examine it, fearing still that
she might be watched from some unseen quarter, but "Thank God," she
said to herself fervently, "this horrible night is ended. Once over the
frontier I am safe." She smoothed and brushed down her dress as well as
she was able, and was greatly refreshed by her wash in cold water, which
is one of the luxuries, not the least acceptable, on a sleeping car.

CHAPTER XIX.

JENNIE EXPERIENCES THE SURPRISE OF HER LIFE.

At nine o'clock the long train came to a standstill, seventeen minutes
late at Luga, and ample time was allowed for a leisurely breakfast in
the buffet of the station. The restaurant was thronged with numerous
passengers, most of whom seemed hardly yet awake, while many were
unkempt and dishevelled, as if they had had little sleep during the
night.

Jennie found a small table and sat down beside it, ordering her coffee
and rolls from the waiter who came to serve her. Looking round at the
cosmopolitan company, and listening to the many languages, whose clash
gave a Babel air to the restaurant, Jennie fell to musing on the strange
experiences she had encountered since leaving London. It seemed to her
she had been taking part in some ghastly nightmare, and she shuddered as
she thought of the lawlessness, under cover of law, of this great and
despotic empire, where even the ruler was under the surveillance of his
subordinates, and could not get a letter out of his own dominion in
safety, were he so minded. In her day-dream she became conscious,
without noting its application to herself, that a man was standing
before her table; then a voice which made her heart stop said,--

"Ah, lost Princess!"

She placed her hand suddenly to her throat, for the catch in her
breath seemed to be suffocating her, then looked up and saw Lord Donal
Stirling, in the ordinary everyday dress of an English gentleman, as
well groomed as if he had come, not from a train, but from his own
house. There was a kindly smile on his lips and a sparkle in his eyes,
but his face was of ghastly pallor.

"Oh, Lord Donal!" she cried, regarding him with eyes of wonder and fear,
"what is wrong with you?"

"Nothing," the young man replied, with an attempt at a laugh; "nothing,
now that I have found you, Princess. I have been making a night of it,
that's all, and am suffering the consequences in the morning. May I sit
down?"

He dropped into a chair on the other side of the table, like a man
thoroughly exhausted, unable to stand longer, and went on,--

"Like all dissipated men, I am going to break my fast on stimulants.
Waiter," he said, "bring me a large glass of your best brandy."

"And, waiter," interjected Jennie in French, "bring two breakfasts. I
suppose it was not a meal that you ordered just now, Lord Donal?"

"I have ordered my breakfast," he said; "still, it pleads in my favour
that I do not carry brandy with me, as I ought to do, and so must drink
the vile stuff they call their best here."

"You should eat as well," she insisted, taking charge of him as if she
had every right to do so.

"All shall be as you say, now that I have the happiness of seeing you
sitting opposite me, but don't be surprised if I show a most
unappreciative appetite."

"What is the matter?" she asked breathlessly. "You certainly look very
ill."

"I have been drugged and robbed," he replied, lowering his voice. "I
imagine I came to close quarters with death itself. I have spent a night
in Hades, and this morning am barely able to stagger; but the sight of
you, Princess--Ah, well, I feel once more that I belong to the land of
the living!"

"Please do not call me Princess," said the girl, looking down at the
tablecloth.

"Then what am I to call you, Princess?"

"My name is Jennie Baxter," she said in a low voice.

"_Miss_ Jennie Baxter?" he asked eagerly, with emphasis on the first
word.

"Miss Jennie Baxter," she answered, still not looking up at him.

He leaned back in his chair and said,--

"Well, this is not such a bad world, after all. To think of meeting you
here in Russia! Have you been in St. Petersburg, then?"

"Yes. I am a newspaper woman," explained Jennie hurriedly. "When
you met me before, I was there surreptitiously--fraudulently, if
you like; I was there to--to write a report of it for my paper. I
can never thank you enough, Lord Donal, for your kindness to me that
evening."

"Your thanks are belated," said the young man, with a visible attempt at
gaiety. "You should have written and acknowledged the kindness you are
good enough to say I rendered to you. You knew my address, and etiquette
demanded that you should make your acknowledgments."

"I was reluctant to write," said Jennie, a smile hovering round her
lips, "fearing my letter might act as a clue. I had no wish to interfere
with the legitimate business of Mr. Cadbury Taylor."

"Great heavens!" cried the young man, "how came you to know about that?
But of course the Princess von Steinheimer told you of it. She wrote to
me charging me with all sorts of wickedness for endeavouring to find
you."

"No, Lord Donal, I did not learn it from her. In fact, if you had opened
the door of the inner room at Mr. Cadbury Taylor's a little quicker, you
would have come upon me, for I was the assistant who tried to persuade
him that you really met the Princess von Steinheimer."

Lord Donal, for the first time, laughed heartily.

"Well, if that doesn't beat all! And I suppose Cadbury Taylor hasn't the
slightest suspicion that you are the person he was looking for?"

"No, not the slightest."

"I say! that is the best joke I have heard in ten years," said Lord
Donal; and here, breakfast arriving, Jennie gave him his directions.

"You are to drink a small portion of that brandy," she said, "and then
put the rest in your coffee. You must eat a good breakfast, and that
will help you to forget your troubles,--that is, if you have any real
troubles."

"Oh, my troubles are real enough," said the young man. "When I met you
before, Princess, I was reasonably successful. We even talked about
ambassadorships, didn't we, in spite of the fact that ambassadors were
making themselves unnecessarily obtrusive that night? Now you see before
you a ruined man. No, I am not joking; it is true. I was given a
commission, or, rather, knowing the danger there was in it, I begged
that the commission might be given me. It was merely to take a letter
from St. Petersburg to London. I have failed, and when that is said, all
is said."

"But surely," cried the girl, blushing guiltily as she realized that
this was the man she had been sent to rob, "you could not be expected to
ward off such a lawless attempt at murder as you have been the victim
of?"

"That is just what I expected, and what I supposed I could ward off. In
my profession--which, after all has a great similarity to yours, except
that I think we have to do more lying in ours--there must be no such
word as fail. The very best excuses are listened to with tolerance,
perhaps, and a shrug of the shoulders; but failure, no matter from what
cause, is fell doom. I have failed. I shall not make any excuses. I will
go to London and say merely, 'The Russian police have robbed me.' Oh, I
know perfectly well who did the trick, and how it was done. Then I shall
send in my resignation. They will accept it with polite words of regret,
and will say to each other, 'Poor fellow, he had a brilliant career
before him, but he got drunk, or something, and fell into the ditch.'
Ah, well, we won't talk any more about it."

"Then you don't despise the newspaper profession, Lord Donal?"

"Despise it! Bless you, no: I look up to it. Belonging myself to a
profession very much lower down in the scale of morality, as I have
said. But, Princess," he added, leaning towards her, "will you resign
from the newspaper if I resign from diplomacy?"

The girl slowly shook her head, her eyes on the tablecloth before her.

"I will telegraph my resignation," he said impetuously, "if you will
telegraph yours to your paper."

"You are feeling ill and worried this morning, Lord Donal, and so you
take a pessimistic view of life. You must not resign."

"Oh, but I must. I have failed, and that is enough."

"It isn't enough. You must do nothing until you reach London."

"I like your word _must_, Jennie," said the young man audaciously. "It
implies something, you know."

"What does it imply, Lord Donal?" she asked, glancing up at him.

"It implies that you are going to leave the 'Lord' off my name."

"That wouldn't be very difficult," replied Jennie.

"I am delighted to hear you say so," exclaimed his lordship; "and now,
that I may know how it sounds from your dear lips, call me Don."

"No; if I ever consented to omit the title, I should call you Donal. I
like the name in its entirety."

He reached his hand across the table. "Are you willing then, to accept a
man at the very lowest ebb of his fortunes? I know that if I were of
the mould that heroes are made of, I would hesitate to proffer you a
blighted life. But I loved you the moment I saw you; and, remembering my
fruitless search for you, I cannot run the risk of losing you again; I
have not the courage."

She placed her hand in his and looked him, for the first time, squarely
in the eyes.

"Are you sure, Donal," she said, "that I am not a mere effigy on which
you are hanging the worn-out garments of a past affection? You thought I
was the Princess at first."

"No, I didn't," he protested. "As soon as I heard you speak, I knew you
were the one I was destined to meet."

"Ah, Donal, Donal, at lovers' perjuries they say Jove laughs. I don't
think you were quite so certain as all that. But I, too, am a coward,
and I dare not refuse you."

Lord Donal glanced quickly about him; the room was still crowded. Even
the Berlin Express gave them a long time for breakfast, and was in no
hurry to move westward. His hurried gaze returned to her and he sighed.

"What an unholy spot for a proposal!" he whispered; "and yet they call
Russia the Great Lone Land. Oh, that we had a portion of it entirely to
ourselves!"

The girl sat there, a smile on her pretty lips that Lord Donal thought
most tantalizing. A railway official announced in a loud voice that the
train was about to resume its journey. There was a general shuffling of
feet as the passengers rose to take their places.

"Brothers and sisters kiss each other, you know, on the eve of a railway
journey," said Lord Donal, taking advantage of the confusion.

Jennie Baxter made no protest.

"There is plenty of time," he whispered. "I know the leisurely nature of
Russian trains. Now I am going to the telegraph office, to send in my
resignation, and I want you to come with me and send in yours."

"No, Lord Donal," said the girl.

"Aren't you going to resign?" he asked, in surprise.

"Yes, all in good time; but _you_ are not."

"Oh, I say," he cried, "it is really imperative. I'll tell you all about
it when we get on the train."

"It is really imperative that you should not send in your resignation.
Indeed, Donal, you need not look at me with that surprised air. You may
as well get accustomed to dictation at once. You did it yourself, you
know. You can't say that I encouraged you. I eluded the vigilant Cadbury
Taylor as long as I could. But, if there is time, go to the telegraph
office and send a message to the real Princess, Palace Steinheimer,
Vienna. Say you are engaged to be married to Jennie Baxter, and ask her
to telegraph you her congratulations at Berlin."

"I'll do it," replied the young man with gratifying alacrity.

When Lord Donal came out of the telegraph office, Jennie said to him,
"Wait a moment while I go into the sleeping car and get my rugs and
handbag."

"I'll go for them," he cried impetuously.

"Oh, no," she said. "I'll tell you why, later. The conductor is a
villain and was in collusion with the police."

"Oh, I know that," said Lord Donal. "Poor devil, he can't help himself;
he must do what the police order him to do, while he is in Russia."

"I'll get my things and go into an ordinary first class carriage. When I
pass this door, you must get your belongings and come and find me. There
is still time, and I don't want the conductor to see us together."

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