Wanda Waluiski, when I entered, was sitting alone, dressed in semi-loose drapery of white, that made her child-like figure seem only the more youthful under the light of the bright lamp. Her eyes met mine instantly as I came in, and their gaze had a fulness of significance I could not fathom. I offered her my hand. “I never shake the hand of any one,” she observed gently, not moving her own. “It induces loss of power in psychic sensitives.” I was looking into her weirdly delicate visage, with its large eyes whose expression was so haunting, and a certain thrill of quickened zest suddenly replaced the sensation of repugnance in my mind. “I have come to break bad news to you,” I said gently. “I know,” she replied. “I—I am aware that Ivan is dead.” “Who told you?” I asked quickly, but my inquiry was not answered. At that moment the door was flung open unceremoniously, and two police officers entered. “Wanda Waluiski,” exclaimed the elder of the two, advancing towards her, “I arrest you, in the name of our Father the Tzar, for the murder of one Ivan Liustig!” “For murder!” she gasped, half-rising from her chair. “I—I am innocent!” “Upon whose information do you make the arrest?” I asked. The officer referred to the paper in his hand, and replied: “One Mascha Prèhznev alleges that this woman placed the poison in the victim’s glass.” “My sister!” I exclaimed involuntarily. “Ah!” said Wanda, who had risen and stood stern and haggard before me. “I told you on the first occasion you visited me that unhappiness must come to me through you.” Turning quickly towards the gilded _ikon_ upon the wall, she crossed herself reverently, murmuring, “Before Heaven, I swear I am innocent!” Then she took up her fur-lined cloak lying upon the couch, and throwing it about her shoulders, drew the hood over her head and announced her readiness to accompany the officers. As they were about to descend the stairs two police spies in civilian dress entered and received orders to search the place. I remained behind in order to ascertain what was discovered, but after an hour’s investigation they had to acknowledge the absence of any clue. During the time they were rummaging in holes and corners I chanced to take up a photograph album, and was looking casually through it when my eyes fell upon a cabinet portrait of a well-preserved, handsomely attired woman, evidently moving in fashionable society. In a moment I recognised it as the counterfeit presentment of the woman I had seen strolling in the Catherinenhoff Gardens almost immediately before I had noticed Wanda! I closed the album and kept the discovery to myself. Within an hour I saw Mascha, and asked her upon what grounds she had given the information that had led to the mysterious Wanda’s arrest. “She loved Ivan and was my rival,” she replied, shrugging her shoulders. “I saw her emerge from behind the trellis. That is all the proof I have.”