At the dinner hour on the same day I had taken my place at the _table d’hôte_ at the Hôtel de l’Europe at Brussels, when a tall, handsome woman entered, and bowing stiffly, took a vacant chair opposite me. She was about thirty-five, and dressed with taste and elegance. Her dark, piercing eyes looked into mine inquiringly for a moment, while I gazed steadily at her. Then, to my surprise, she gave the sign of our Organisation. Immediately I gave the countersign, and glanced at her reassuringly. During the meal we carried on a commonplace conversation in French, and when it had ended we rose to separate. As we were passing out of the _salle à manger_, she whispered to me in Russian— “My room is number 64. Meet me there in half an hour.” I obeyed, and entered her private sitting-room unobserved. From the breast of her dress she drew forth her credential, a letter signed by the chief of the Petersburg Circle. As my room was in the same corridor, I experienced no difficulty in secretly conveying the box from my apartment to hers, and opening her dressing-case, she placed the clock in the side which had been specially constructed to receive it. We sat talking for some time, she telling me of the progress of the propaganda in the Venice of the North, and explaining how, on the occasion of the festival of the Knights of St. George at the Winter Palace, the _coup_ was to be made. “I have been here four days,” she said, in reply to a question. “Early to-morrow morning I must leave on the return journey. I have now only five days, for it is imperative I should be back in time.” “Well,” said I, rising to take my leave, “the Executive send you greeting, Madame, and wish you _bon voyage_. May this forthcoming blow to Autocracy prove decisive.” “_Merci, m’sieur_,” she replied. “I am utterly devoted to the Cause.” And we grasped hands. Next morning, when I went down to breakfast, I learned that Madame had already left—for Ostend they believed. After eating my meal I returned to my room, and was astonished to observe a well-dressed man emerging. A moment later I met Guibaud face to face. “Why, my dear fellow,” he exclaimed, “they told me you were not up, so I came to make an early call. Well, what are you doing over here? A little love affair, eh?” “No, I’ve just run over to see a couple of old chums. I was at college here, you know.” “Ah, of course,” he said thoughtfully. “I remember, you told me. Well, I’m going down to get something to eat. Come into the _salle à manger_ presently, will you? We’ll spend the day together.” I replied in the affirmative, and left him. Entering my room, I at once discovered that my portmanteau had been opened, and its contents turned over. But the vigilance of the great detective had been frustrated, for he had arrived a couple of hours too late.