“Search me! But I know that it does. Information seems to travel faster underground than it does in the air. The only trouble is that it’s spotty--not complete. A man may know every detail of one circumstance and be totally ignorant of another that you’d think he couldn’t help but know. But tell me once more about the Professor--when and how you last saw him. Olga will be in despair over his death. I suppose you can’t give me any hope?” Caruth shook his head. He could give none. Everything seemed to point to the Professor having been knocked overboard and lost. If not, he must have been captured, and this seemed improbable under the circumstances. Caruth explained all this, going over the circumstances again and again. At last the reporter nodded. “I’m afraid it’s good-night for the poor old fellow,” he concluded sadly. “It’s some comfort that he never knew that his plan failed. Yes, I guess it’s good-by.” The reporter rose. “Well, I must be off,” he finished. “I suppose you are willing that I should use my own judgment as to what I wire to New York about this scrape of yours. I’ll make things as easy as possible for you, of course.” “Very well. I’ll leave all that to you.” CHAPTER NINETEEN Friday, the 13th of June, one week after the day the _Sea Spume_ had scurried into St. Petersburg, came without making any apparent change in the situation. Nothing had been learned as to the fate of Professor Shishkin, and both Bristow and Caruth were convinced that the old man had perished. Wilkins and Florence had not been heard from, despite the fact that the entire Baltic was lined with spies, police and nihilistic, each intent on regaining the gold which all parties had become convinced was in the possession of the pair. Their sloop and its precious cargo seemed to have vanished from the earth. The Russian authorities were still “investigating” the attack on the yacht, without seeming to draw any nearer to an elucidation of the facts. They had called before them and questioned every member of the yacht’s crew. These, however, had been able to tell little, for the reason that they knew little, and, being intensely loyal to Caruth, were all anxious to keep that little to themselves. The inquiry was, in fact, a farce, the Russians knowing perfectly well what the yacht’s errand really had been, yet not being able to declare it or to lay claim to the _Orkney’s_ gold without practically admitting that they had been back of the attack. On the other hand, Caruth could not accuse the Russians, without admitting that he himself was engaged in an adventure that, if not actually piratical, certainly verged on it.