The Czars Spy

The Czar's Spy, by William Le
Queux

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Title: The Czar's Spy The Mystery of a Silent Love
Author: William Le Queux
Release Date: November 17, 2003 [EBook #10102]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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THE CZAR'S SPY

The Mystery of a Silent Love
By CHEVALIER WILLIAM LE QUEUX Author of "The Closed
Book," Etc.

1905.
CONTENTS


CHAPTER
I.
HIS BRITANNIC MAJESTY'S SERVICE
II. WHY THE SAFE WAS OPENED
III. THE HOUSE "OVER THE WATER"
IV. IN WHICH THE MYSTERY INCREASES
V. CONTAINS CERTAIN CONFIDENCES
VI. THE GATHERING OF THE CLOUDS
VII. CONTAINS A SURPRISE
VIII. LIFE'S COUNTER-CLAIM
IX. STRANGE DISCLOSURES ARE MADE
X. I SHOW MY HAND
XI. THE CASTLE OF THE TERROR

XII. "THE STRANGLER"
XIII. A DOUBLE GAME AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
XIV. HER HIGHNESS IS INQUISITIVE
XV. JUST OFF THE STRAND
XVI. MARKED MEN
XVII. THE TRUTH ABOUT THE "LOLA"
XVIII. CONTAINS ELMA'S STORY
CONCLUSION


CHAPTER I
HIS BRITANNIC MAJESTY'S SERVICE
"There was a mysterious affair last night, signore."
"Oh!" I exclaimed. "Anything that interests us?"
"Yes, signore," replied the tall, thin Italian Consular-clerk, speaking
with a strong accent. "An English steam yacht ran aground on the
Meloria about ten miles out, and was discovered by a fishing-boat who
brought the news to harbor. The Admiral sent out two torpedo-boats,
which managed after a lot of difficulty to bring in the yacht safely, but
the Captain of the Port has a suspicion that the crew were trying to
make away with the vessel."
"To lose her, you mean?"
The faithful Francesco, whose English had mostly been acquired from

sea-faring men, and was not the choicest vocabulary, nodded, and, true
Tuscan that he was, placed his finger upon his closed lips, indicative of
silence.
"Sounds curious," I remarked. "Since the Consul went away on leave
things seem to have been humming--two stabbing affrays, eight
drunken seamen locked up, a mutiny on a tramp steamer, and now a
yacht being cast away--a fairly decent list! And yet some stay-at-home
people complain that British consuls are only paid to be ornamental!
They should spend a week here, at Leghorn, and they'd soon alter their
opinion."
"Yes, they would, signore," responded the thin-faced old fellow with a
grin, as he twisted his fierce gray mustache. Francesco Carducci was a
well-known character in Leghorn; interpreter to the Consulate, and
keeper of a sailor's home, an honest, good-hearted, easy-going fellow,
who for twenty years had occupied the same position under half a
dozen different Consuls. At that moment, however, there came from the
outer office a long-drawn moan.
"Hulloa, what's that?" I enquired, startled.
"Only a mad stoker off the Oleander, signore. The captain has brought
him for you to see. They want to send him back to his friends at
Newcastle."
"Oh! a case of madness!" I exclaimed. "Better get Doctor Ridolfi to see
him. I'm not an expert on mental diseases."
My old friend Frank Hutcheson, His Britannic Majesty's Vice-Consul
at the port of Leghorn, was away on leave in England, his duties being
relegated to young Bertram Cavendish, the pro-Consul. The latter,
however, had gone down with a bad touch of malaria which he had
picked up in the deadly Maremma, and I, as the only other Englishman
in Leghorn, had been asked by the Consul-General in Florence to act as
pro-Consul until Hutcheson's return.
It was in mid-July, and the weather was blazing in the glaring

sun-blanched Mediterranean town. If you know Leghorn, you probably
know the Consulate with its black and yellow escutcheon outside, a
large, handsome suite of huge, airy offices facing the cathedral, and
overlooking the principal piazza, which is as big as Trafalgar Square,
and much more picturesque. The legend painted upon the door, "Office
hours, 10 to 3," and the green persiennes closed against the scorching
sun give one the idea of an easy appointment, but such is certainly not
the case, for a Consul's life at a port of discharge must necessarily be a
very active one, and his duties never-ending.
Carducci had left me to the correspondence for half an hour or so, and I
confess I was in no mood to write replies in that stifling heat, therefore
I sat at the Consul's big table, smoking a cigarette and stretched lazily
in my friend's chair, resolving to escape to the cool