tersburg with an iron hand.

There were comparatively few people abroad, and they were work-people on
their way to business, and vendors setting out their wares on the stalls
that line the wide street on either side.

Suddenly a droshky dashed past, at a pace that appeared even swifter
than the breakneck rate at which the Russian droshky driver loves to
urge his horses along. It was evidently a private one, drawn by three
horses abreast, and I glanced at it idly, as it clattered along with the
noise of a fire-engine. Just as it was passing me one of the horses
slipped on the cobblestones, and came down with a crash.

There was the usual moment of confusion, as the driver objurgated
vociferously, after the manner of his class, and a man jumped out of the
vehicle and ran to the horse's head.

I stood still to watch the little incident; there was no need for my
assistance, for the clever little beast had already regained his
footing.

Then a startling thing occurred.

A woman's voice rang out in an agonized cry, in which fear and joy were
strangely blended.

"Maurice! Maurice Wynn! Help! Save me!"

On the instant the man sprang back into the droshky, and it was off
again on its mad career; but in that instant I had caught a glimpse of a
white face, the gleam of bright hair; and knew that it was Anne--Anne
herself--who had been so near me, and was now being whirled away.

Something white fluttered on the cobblestones at my feet. I stooped and
picked it up. Only a handkerchief, a tiny square of embroidered cambric,
crumpled and soiled,--her handkerchief, with her initials "A. P." in the
corner!

[Illustration: _In that instant I had caught a glimpse of a white face._
Page 102]

CHAPTER XV

AN UNPLEASANT EXPERIENCE

With the handkerchief in my hand, I started running wildly after the
fast disappearing droshky, only to fall plump into the arms of a surly
gendarme, a Muscovite giant, who collared me with one hand, while he
drew his revolver with the other, and brandished it as if he was minded
to bash my face in with the butt end, a playful little habit much in
vogue with the Russian police.

"Let me go. I'm all right; I'm an American," I cried indignantly. "I
must follow that droshky!"

It was out of sight by this time, and he grunted contemptuously. But he
put up his weapon, and contented himself with hauling me off to the
nearest bureau, where, in spite of my protestations, I was searched from
he