vel!" he rejoined eagerly. "In France she is a
Frenchwoman; in Germany you would swear she had never been outside the
Fatherland; in England an English maiden to the life, and in Russia she
is Russian, French, English, German,--American even, with a name to suit
each nationality. That is how she has managed so long to evade her
enemies. The Russian police have been on her track these three years;
but they have never caught her. She is wise as the serpent, harmless as
the dove--"

I had to cut his rhapsodies short once more.

"What is the peril that threatens her? She was in England until
recently; the Secret Police could not touch her there?"

"It is not the police now. They are formidable,--yes,--when their grasp
has closed on man or woman; but they are incredibly stupid in many ways.
See how often she herself has slipped through their fingers! But this is
far more dangerous. She has fallen under the suspicion of the League."

"The League that has a red geranium as its symbol?"

He started, and glanced round as if he suspected some spy concealed even
in this, his own room.

"You know of it?" he asked in a low voice.

"I have heard of it. Well, are you a member of it?"

"I? Gott in Himmel, no! Why should I myself mix in these Russian
politics? But Carson was involved with them,--how much even I do not
know,--and she has been one of them since her childhood. Now they say
she is a traitress. If possible they will bring her before the Five--the
secret tribunal. Even they do not forget all she has done for them; and
they would give her the chance of proving her innocence. But if she will
not return, they will think that is sufficient proof, and they will kill
her, wherever she may be."

"How do you know all this?"

"Carson told me before I left for Wilna. He meant to warn her. They
guessed that, and they condemned, murdered him!"

He began pacing up and down the room, muttering to himself; and I sat
trying to piece out the matter in my own mind.

"Have you heard anything of a man called Cassavetti; though I believe
his name was Selinski?" I asked at length.

Von Eckhardt turned to me open-mouthed.

"Selinski? He is himself one of the Five; he is in London, has been
there for months; and it is he who is to bring her before the tribunal,
by force or guile."

"He is dead, murdered; stabbed to the heart in his own room, even as
Carson was, four days ago."

He sat down plump on the nearest chair.

"Dead! Th