I learned from the doctor who attended that the Earl of Wansford had, since relinquishing his post at Petersburg, showed signs of madness. During a fit of insanity, a year before, he had struck down his daughter, inflicting such injuries that she had been an invalid ever since. Her mind, too, became unhinged. It was supposed that, seized by sudden remorse, his lordship had imbibed the fatal draught. Morning was breaking, cold and grey, as I ascended the stairs to my chambers. Opening the door with my latch-key, I entered the sitting-room. The lamp was still burning, and there were evidences that Kassatkin had not returned. Upon the table was a note addressed to me. I tore it open, and read as follows:— “In the matter upon which we were engaged last week I have made an important discovery, which necessitates me leaving for the Continent to-night. Will let you know shortly where I am.” It suddenly crossed my mind that, having ascertained the details of the plot we were preparing, he had left for Petersburg to give information to the police. That morning I placed the papers my dead wife had given me before the Executive, and the same evening Tersinski and I, having discovered the route the spy had taken, were on our way to the Continent, following the man upon whom the sentence of our Order had been passed. A week later the special edition of the _Pall Mall Gazette_ contained the following among its general foreign news:— “Reuter’s Cologne correspondent reports that a mysterious murder has created considerable sensation in Germany. Yesterday the body of a man was discovered floating in the Rhine, near Bonn, and on being taken from the water it was found that the man had been stabbed to the heart. From papers found upon him, it appears that the name of the murdered man was Nicolas Kassatkin, a Russian, who has recently been living in London.” CHAPTER XIV. AN IKON OATH. Ivan Liustig was not like any one else. His friends of the Petersburg Circle were conscious of some lack of foundation beneath the graceful superstructure of his character. But they did not array themselves, as his critics, against him. They smiled at him, but they loved him. Since he had escaped with me after the wrecking of the Tzar’s train near Borki, he had returned to Russia, whither I had also gone with Bounakoff upon a secret quest.