Punctually at the time appointed, I was ushered into a pretty sitting-room at Richmond, the windows of which commanded a broad view of the Terrace Gardens and the picturesque valley of the Thames. In a few moments Sophie Zagarovna entered, and greeting me with a winning smile and pleasant words, sat down and commenced to chat. “I am here, in England, upon a secret mission from our Circle,” she said in Russian, replying to my inquiries. “The Executive have recommended you as one who can assist me. It is for our Cause, but its true object must not be known just yet. You must understand that it is not because you are distrusted, but because there are spies in the very walls. Will you help me?” “For the Cause—yes,” I replied. “Then listen. For the future I shall be known as Sophie Kalatenka, daughter of the late General Kalatenka, Governor of Smolensk, and you are my brother Ivan. We shall both change our residence and live at a West End boarding-house, where the other boarders will know us as brother and sister.” “Yes,” I said, puzzled. “You wonder why?” she added, arching her brows and laughing. “Well, you will see. No one knows you at the Embassy, do they?” “No.” “Then leave all to me, and we shall succeed.” I remained and lunched with her, spending a very pleasant couple of hours discussing the prospects of the revolutionary programme, and criticising its weak points. Then I took leave of her, promising to meet her in London on the morrow. Two months later we were one night guests at a grand ball given at the Russian Embassy, Chesham House. I had assumed the character of the handsome girl’s brother, and we had taken up our quarters at an expensive boarding-house at South Kensington. By means unknown to me Sophie had procured invitations for us both, and it was about ten o’clock when we alighted from our hired carriage, and shortly afterwards entered the fine ball-room. The uniforms of the men added brilliancy to the gay scene, but among the women there was not one so beautiful as my “sister,” who, attired in a dress of pale heliotrope, looked fresh and fair as a spring flower. Soon we were parted, and for the first hour I only caught occasional glimpses of her as she waltzed with various partners. Her flushed face betokened pleasure, and she laughed merrily at me over her partner’s shoulder. Later in the evening, when I grew tired of dancing, I sought the quietude of the conservatory, which led out from an adjoining room. Casting myself upon a seat behind a great palm, where I was completely hidden from view, I gave myself up to reflection, vaguely wondering what was the nature of Sophie’s secret mission. Once, when she had been left alone for a moment during an interval, I sat beside her, and asked how she was enjoying herself. “Very much,” she replied in a low whisper behind her fan. “If a tragedy occurs to-night, you need not be surprised.” This warning puzzled me.