“Very well,” I replied in a low voice. “It is agreed. Three days.” And bidding her a strained, sorrowful farewell, I left her. At eight o’clock on the evening of the third day the door of the flat was flung open by Ivan in response to my summons. “Is the Princess at home?” I asked of the grave-faced old man. “Alas, m’sieur,” he replied in a grief-stricken voice, “Madame is dead.” “Dead!” I gasped. “When did she die?” “She—she has been murdered!” he exclaimed in an awed tone. “I discovered her body two hours ago. The doctor and police are now in her room.” I rushed along the hall to the apartment in which I heard low voices. It was a large, well-furnished bedchamber dimly illuminated by two candles. Upon a couch near the window lay the body of the Princess wrapped in a white Cashmere shawl, the breast of which was only slightly stained with blood. Heedless of the doctor and two police inspectors who were conversing together, I went over to the body and gazed upon it. What I saw amazed me. I staggered, yet by presence of mind managed to conceal my agitation. The fair, handsome face of the Princess had been slashed with the knife in the form of a cross, and the mutilation gave it a terribly ghastly appearance. Something bright in the hands of one of the police officers attracted my attention. He was examining it by the light of the candles as I peered over his shoulder. It was a dagger which, in an instant, I recognised as mine! I felt in my pocket. The sheath was there but the weapon had gone! I was aghast in horror and amazement. I had been forestalled, and the Princess had been murdered with the knife stolen from me! The officer, after questioning me, took my assumed name and address, explaining that I should be required at the inquest. In reply to my inquiries, Ivan told me that the Princess, intending to leave for Paris on the morrow, had sent on Nina, her maid, in advance to secure her rooms. At five o’clock, while in the dining-room, he heard the outer door slam, and concluded that his mistress had gone out. Two hours later he entered the bedroom and discovered the crime. The Executive sat on the following evening and I attended to make my report. It was a mere formality, for the papers were full of the mysterious crime. “Princess Kochkaryòv is removed,” I said, briefly, when interrogated by Pétroff. “Thanks to the assistance of Dmitri,” he added grimly. “Irteneff!” I repeated, glancing at the dark, middle-aged man indicated, who sat with his elbows leaning upon the table. “Yes,” the man said, laughing, “I knew how difficult it is to assassinate the woman one loves, so I assisted you.”