Minister's residence.

He asked several as he ran for direction, but no one seemed to understand his language, and the mob at his heels, augmented by the police and citizens, was growing larger and larger every moment.

But still he kept the lead, and paid no attention to several shots fired after him.

He was a stranger in the city, and not knowing which way to go, was finally captured, roughly taken in charge, and handcuffed.

In the meantime, Tobasco made his escape complete, but stopped to see the soldiers drag the young American back to the prison to which tyranny had consigned him.

The excitement among the populace ran high, and rumor had it that the authorities had captured an important Nihilist official; and this, of course, roused that numerous and much-dreaded body of secret destroyers to learn, if possible, through their agents, all the particulars of the case.

William Barnwell was thrown into a dark and loathsome dungeon, from whence the body of many a poor prisoner had been borne after death, produced by torture and starvation.

"Curses on my luck!" he muttered, after collecting his thoughts for a moment. "It must be that I have been betrayed by that Paul Zobriskie into the hands of the Russian authorities. But what could have been his motive, when I was an innocent stranger, and only did what I did to accommodate him? What will be the result if I cannot communicate with the American Minister? I am evidently taken for a Nihilist, and goodness only knows what the end of it all will be. Am I destined to die in this horrible place, without having a chance to communicate with my friends? The thought is dreadful! It must not, shall not be; but–stay. What has been the fate of other good men who have fallen into the hands of this despotic government? That fate may be mine, and I sent to Siberia without even a trial. Oh, the thought will drive me mad!" he cried, and bowed his head, as he sat there on the filthy straw of his unlighted dungeon.

CHAPTER III.

A FRIGHTENED AND ENRAGED RASCAL.

When Prince Mastowix returned to his room from ordering the guard to pursue and recapture William Barnwell, the first thing he did was to seek for the paper he had left upon his table when the alarm of escape rang out so startlingly in the courtyard, the very paper that the young American had placed in his hands only a few moments before, and which Tobasco, the secret spy of the government, had secured during the confusion incidental to Barnwell's escape, and in which he had acted a friendly part.

He started and looked wildly around. Then he felt in his pockets to see if he had not placed it there in his excitement. Then he looked hastily into several drawers where he possibly might have placed it in the moment of hurry, and even upon the floor, where it might have fallen.

But nowhere could he find it, and his excitement grew until it was almost uncontrollable.

Where was that fatal document?

Again and again he went through his pockets and drawers, but all to no purpose–the paper could not be found.

He struck a bell savagely, and a clerk came hastily from an inner room.

"Huon, has any person from your room been in here within the last few minutes?"

"No, Excellency, no one," replied the clerk.

"Are you certain of that?"

"I am, for I am seated by the door, and I never allow anyone to enter your Excellency's chamber unless you summon them."

"And have you seen any person here?"

"No one, Excellency."

"Will you swear to that, or shall I work the knout in order to bring out the truth?" demanded the prince.

"I swear it by my religion."

"Down on your knees and swear!" thundered the prince, and the trembling wretch obeyed like a true Russian slave.

"Return," added the tyrant, pointing the way, and the next instant he was alone.

"Perdition catch me, but this is dreadful. What can have become of that document?" he mused, as he threw himself into his chair. "Who could have taken it? I have only one person about me who can read English, and he is not here to-day," and again he began searching for the fatal paper.

All to no purpose, though, of course, and he finally convinced himself that it was neither in his office nor about his person.

"Curses on my luck, for if that correspondence is found out, it means death or Siberia to me. Could that American have regained it without my seeing him do it? Great Scott!" he suddenly exclaimed, and hurried to the Bastile.

The possibility of Barnwell's having secured the document did not make the prince's case any the better. Indeed, it was probably worse, for the captain of the Bastile may have searched him and secured it himself.

Such fears as these hurried him onward, until he reached the prison where Barnwell was confined, and he instantly summoned the captain.

"The prisoner I sent here but now?"

"He is in a cell down below."

"Did you search him?"

"I did."

"What did you find?" he asked, anxiously.

"A passport, a quantity of money, some jewelry, and letters."

"Let me see the papers," and they were promptly shown to him. He looked them over eagerly, but there was no trace of the fatal document from Zobriski.

"Are these all you took from him?"

"All, Excellency."

"Who searched him?"

"One of the guards."

"Did you see him do it?"

"It was done under my own eyes."

"And you will swear that these comprise all the papers he had on his person?"

"I swear it, Excellency."

The prince was more confused at this than he was before, for if he had not taken it at the time of his arrest who could have done so?

He dared make no explanation to the jailer, for he knew him to be a loyal man, and one of the fiercest persecutors of the Nihilists in the Czar's official household. And yet he half believed that he had secured the correspondence, and was withholding it for a purpose against him.

Finally he said:

"Conduct me to the prisoner's cell."

"This way, Excellency," and he led him to the stout and heavily-grated door.

"Now leave us," and the officer retired.

Prince Mastowix glanced up and down the dimly-lighted corridor to make sure that no one was in sight, and then he spoke.

"William Barnwell," and the young man quickly leaped to his feet and went to the bars.

"Who is it?" he asked, eagerly.

"The man who sent you here."

"Then you are a rascal," replied Barnwell; and it was fortunate for the tyrant that he was protected by the iron grating, or he would have been clutched by the throat.

"Careful, young man. I may have acted hastily in your case."

"Yes, and unjustly."

"Well, wrongs may be righted."

"Then let me out of this horrible dungeon."

"I will, on one condition."

"Name it."

"That you tell me whether you took that paper again which you brought me from New York."

"No, sir; I never saw it after I gave it to you," replied Barnwell. "You held it in your hand when I was dragged from your office."

The prince now remembered that this was true, and it made the mystery even greater than before.

He turned to go.

"But your promise?" said Barnwell.

"Bah!" was the only reply he received, and the next moment he was alone again.

A mocking laugh came from the opposite cell-door grating, and naturally the abandoned youth looked in the direction.

But the face he saw between the bars was hideous enough to make his blood almost curdle.

How old that face was, of what nationality, of what grade of intellect, he could not tell, for his face was in the shade of that dark place.

Again came the mocking laugh, as young Barnwell stood looking and wondering.

"Who are you?" he finally asked.

That laugh again, and Barnwell concluded that the person must be a lunatic, although he could but shudder at the thought that he might have been driven