crecy; but a mere evasion would have served as well as the direct
assertion,--I hated to call it a lie even in my own mind! And why, oh
why had she not trusted me, let me serve her; for she knew, she must
have known--that I asked for nothing better than that!

But I could come to no conclusion whatever as I leaned against the
churchyard wall, gazing out over the sea, dark and mysterious save where
the moonlight made a silver track across the calm surface. As well try
to fathom the secret of the sea as the mystery that enshrouded Anne
Pendennis!

On one point only I was more resolved than ever,--to return to Russia at
the earliest possible moment.

CHAPTER XXXI

MISHKA TURNS UP

"You must have found Cornish history very fascinating, Maurice," Mary
declared at breakfast-time next morning. "Jim says it was nearly twelve
when you got back. You bad boy to keep such late hours, after you've
been so ill, too!"

"I'm all right again now," I protested. "And the vicar certainly is a
very interesting companion."

There were a couple of letters, one from the _Courier_ office, and
another from Harding, Lord Southbourne's private secretary, and both
important in their way.

Harding wrote that Southbourne would be in town at the end of the week,
_en route_ for Scotland, and wished to see me if I were fit for service.
"A soft job this time, a trip to the States, so you'll be able to
combine business with pleasure."

Under any other circumstances I could have done with a run home; but
even while I read the letter I decided that Southbourne would have to
entrust the matter--whatever it might be--to some one else.

I opened the second letter, a typed note, signed by Fenning the news
editor, enclosing one of the printed slips on which chance callers have
to write their name and business. I glanced at that first, and found it
filled in with an almost indecipherable scrawl. I made out the name and
address right enough as "M. Pavloff, Charing Cross Hotel," and puzzled
over a line in German, which I at length translated as "bearing a
message from Johann." Now who on earth were Pavloff and Johann?

"Dear Wynn," the note ran:

"One of your Russian friends called here to-night, and
wanted your address, which of course was not given. I saw
him--a big surly-looking man, who speaks German fairly well,
but would not state his business--so I promised to send
enclosed on to you.

"Hope you're