w who I am?"

"I do, your majesty." This time I bowed with more show of ceremony, but
he waved his hand commandingly, and in a voice much softer than he had
used before, went on:

"Forget that you do know. It is more than likely that we will have many
interviews of this kind and I wish them all to be on the plane of
equals. That, I believe, is a condition which will come quite naturally
to an American although it would be utterly impossible to a European.
Are you as well acquainted with the identity of your companion?"

"I regret to say that I am not," I replied, relapsing into my former
manner.

"Then permit me to introduce you. Mr. Derrington, the Prince Michael
Michaelovitch Gortshakoff. And now that you know each other, we will
proceed. But first, be seated."

My business during several years had taken me into astonishing
situations, but never into one so astounding as this. I racked my brain
in wondering what it could portend; in conjecturing if it were real, or
if it were only the "hearty meal before the execution." I longed to ask
a few questions, but remembering the advice that had been given me just
before entering the room, I refrained.

"You will be surprised to learn that I am entirely aware of the object
of your presence in Russia," continued his majesty, "for unless I am
mistaken you believed your errand to be an inviolate secret. Is that
true?"

"Quite true."

"And yet it is known to me. The best proof of that is that you are
here."

I bowed.

"I knew a few hours after you left your own country, that you had
started. I was fully acquainted with your mission. My eyes, or the eyes
of those who are in my confidence, have not been off you one moment
since you arrived in Europe. They followed you to Paris, across
Germany, and even into the hotel where our friend called upon you and
where you are known as Mr. Smith." He paused an instant, and turning to
the prince, added: "Tell him the prospective fate of Mr. Smith,
prince."

"Siberia," came the reply in one word, uttered calmly and coldly.

"Siberia?" I repeated after him, and shrugged my shoulders; and the
czar added:

"Siberia."

CHAPTER VI

THE NIHILIST SPY

The hackneyed simile of the cat and the mouse seemed to me to be
especially applicable in the present instance. In one breath I was told
that there would be many interviews of the kind I was then enjoying
(?), and in the next that my destination was Siberia. It was certai