Chapter XXX · THE EXPIATION.

Turning in the flood of light which suddenly burst on them, the surprised four saw Rezonoff and his accomplice, Pepernik, each with a flash light in one hand and a big revolver in the other. Catlike, the Russians had crept up the stairs, and had caught their quarry napping.

“Hands up, there!” Rezonoff snapped. “I don’t believe any of you are armed, but all the same, I am taking no chances. Pepernik, step over and search those men.”

The ceremony concluded to his satisfaction, he lowered his gun, and, stepping forward, swept the faces in front of him with a grin of malicious triumph.

“Rats in a trap, eh?” His tone was savage, pitiless. “Well, like rats you shall perish. The old man there was to have been my only victim; but since you all have—what is the American phrase? Ah, yes—‘butted in,’ you will all—even you, Otto—have to share his fate. I shall lock you all in up here, and then set fire to the house. Already there are inflammables in every room below, the nearest fire-alarm boxes are disconnected, and all surrounding telephone wires cut. The blaze will get a rare start, I assure you.”

Involuntarily, Schilder, Meredith, and her father recoiled before such fiendish malice. Only Grail held himself unmoved.

“Ah, captain?” The Russian turned to him. “You doubt me, eh? You don’t think I will do what I say? Well, I will show you. I go now to set the torch.”

“No; I don’t think so!” There was something in Grail’s quiet tone which held the other in spite of himself.

“I won’t, eh? Why not?”

“Because, despite the cleverness of the note you sent me to-night, I suspected it was a forgery, and left it with the telegraph operator at the fort, instructing him, in case it disappeared, to transmit without delay a dispatch I left with him at the same time.

“The dispatch,” he continued, “was to our secretary of state at Washington, giving a full account of your acts of the past three days, and asking him to communicate them to the Russian ambassador. So, Captain Rezonoff, inasmuch as you have already exceeded your instructions, and, as the agent of your government, been guilty of an outrage which must seriously embarrass the Russian foreign office, I do not think you will care to go to such extremes as you threaten.”

The emissary’s face paled. He knew what it meant to fail in such a mission as he had undertaken—to be recalled in disgrace.

“The Russian government,” Grail added pointedly, “will hardly countenance criminal acts on the part of one of its emissaries, done for purposes of private revenge. More than that, Rezonoff, you know that the affair in which Colonel Vedant was involved, many years ago, in Russia, affected his honor, and that he acquitted himself with honor. Your present attempts at a belated revenge are the acts of a vindictive and dishonorable man. It looks very bad for you!”

Captain Rezonoff took a step forward, and gazed at Grail anxiously. “Has that message been sent to Washington?” he asked chokingly.

“Many hours ago, I believe,” returned Grail quietly. “It has surely been sent if your forged letter disappeared, as you planned to have it, and if the——”

But there was no need for Grail to say more. There came to their ears a swish of silken skirts on the stairway, and Mrs. Schilder, in an elaborate dinner gown, but pale and agitated, burst in upon them.

She paid no heed to any of the others, but swiftly singling out her brother, thrust a telegram toward him.

He gave one glance at it, then, crumpling it in his hand, dropped it to the floor.

“What does it mean, Ivan?” the woman cried, clinging to him hysterically. “What does it mean?”

He put her away from him, nodding over his shoulder to Schilder to take her.

“Believe me, gentlemen”—he swept the group with a glance—“my sister had no idea of my full intentions. She thought it only ordinary secret-service work, and was chiefly concerned with fear that her husband would find out what she was doing. I deceived her as to my object. Russia has no use for failures! I know what my duty is!”

And, before any one could intervene, he moved briskly out of the attic and down the stairs.

“Quick!” cried Colonel Vedant. “The man will escape!”

Grail raised a restraining hand. “I don’t think he cares to get away,” he said quietly.

The look in the adjutant’s face held them all spellbound. Mrs. Schilder clung to her husband, her face as white as chalk. Pepernik, the conspirator, stood silent and nonplussed, making no effort to leave the room. Every eye was upon him when suddenly, from below, in one of the larger apartments, came the muffled report of a revolver.

Mrs. Schilder swooned, without a cry. Meredith Vedant gazed with fascination, silently, at the imperturbable countenance of the adjutant. The colonel and the adjutant, grim fighting men, turned cold, inquiring looks upon the white and trembling Pepernik. The man seemed to feel their question, and he raised his hands in a weak gesture of helplessness. “I—I have not the courage of Captain Rezonoff,” he muttered. “I surrender. Send for your police.”

Grail took the revolver which the man held out weakly, then turned and went downstairs to the telephone.

THE END.