, and we had often
chipped Jim about it). There was a superficial likeness of course; I saw
it myself at the time."

"You didn't mention it."

"Why, no, I didn't think it necessary."

"And the initials?"

"A mere coincidence. They stand for Anna Petrovna. Von Eckhardt told me
that. I saw him in Berlin. She's a well-known Nihilist, and the police
are after her in Russia. So you see, if you or any others are imagining
there's any connection between her and Miss Pendennis, you're quite
wrong."

"H'm," he said enigmatically, and I was immensely relieved that a warder
opened the door at that moment and showed in Sir George Lucas.

"Oh, here you are, Lucas," said Southbourne, rising and shaking hands
with him. "This is your client, Mr. Wynn. I'll be off now. See you again
before long, but I'll give you a bit of advice, with Sir George's
permission. Never prevaricate to your lawyer; tell him everything right
out. That's all."

"Thanks; I guess that's excellent advice, and I'll take it," I said.

CHAPTER XXVI

WHAT JIM CAYLEY KNEW

I did take Lord Southbourne's advice, partly; for in giving Sir George
Lucas a minute account of my movements on the night of the murder, I did
not prevaricate, but I made two reservations, neither of which, so far
as I could see, affected my own case in the least.

I made no mention of the conversation I had with the old Russian in my
own flat; or of the incident of the boat. If I kept silence on those two
points, I argued to myself, it was improbable that Anne's name would be
dragged into the matter. For whatever those meddling idiots, Southbourne
or Jim Cayley (I'd have it out with Jim as soon as I saw him!), might
suspect, they at least did not know for a certainty of her identity as
Anna Petrovna, of her presence in Cassavetti's rooms that night, or of
her expedition on the river.

Sir George cross-examined me closely as to my relation with Cassavetti;
we always spoke of him by that name, rather than by his own, which was
so much less familiar; and on that point I could, of course, answer him
frankly enough. Our acquaintanceship had been of the most casual kind;
he had been to my rooms several times, but had never invited me to his.
I had only been in them thrice; the first time when I unlocked the door
with the pass-key with which the old Russian had tried to unlock my
door, and then I hadn't really gone inside, only looked round, and
called; and the other occasions were