“As safe as when, by your devilish ingenuity, you learnt of the conspiracy I had unearthed in Paris, and telegraphed it in detail to Petersburg as the result of your own vigilance. On that occasion who was rewarded?—who was decorated by the Emperor? Why, you! As for me, I——” “But you are my wife. What does it matter?” “Wife—bah!” she replied, in intense disgust. “We have parted, and you have no claim whatever upon me. By what right, pray, have you followed me here? Cannot I carry out this hateful work without your detestable companionship?” “But I assist you,” he urged. “Besides, I—I sometimes think, Vera, that we might accomplish much better work if we combined our efforts.” “With you—never,” she replied angrily. “It is true that I married you, but we have never lived together—and never shall.” “Do you forget that I once saved you from death?” “Was not that a husband’s duty?” she asked, adding, “I cannot stay longer; my hostess will miss me.” “But you shall remain and hear my proposal. I intend that you shall return to Russia, and live with me.” “Indeed? Then I may at once tell you, Paul Krivenko, that I hate you; that I would rather die than be your cat’s-paw,” and she laughed scornfully. “You!—you speak like that to me!” he cried in rage. “I—I’ll kill you!” “Bah! do your worst,” she exclaimed defiantly. “Not another word,” he hissed, adding a foul oath. “You’ll explain the whole of this conspiracy you have discovered, or—or I’ll wring your white neck, and fling you into the river here. Now, you have your choice.” There were sounds of a scuffle, and I heard Vera cry hoarsely, “Let me go! You hurt my throat—you coward! Help, for God’s sake!” Creeping from my hiding-place, I peered round the clump of hawthorns, and in the faint light beheld Madame struggling with her husband. He was about fifty years of age, foppishly dressed, and wore his moustache waxed. I could discern that his eyes were unusually close together, his features were small, except his mouth, which was wide, his lips thin, the effect being vulpine. By repute I knew Colonel Krivenko as one of the most cunning bloodhounds connected with the “Third Section.” He was a master of his craft, and, characteristic of the mercenary spy all over the world, he was true to nobody, not even to his employers, not even to his hatreds, for he had accepted service both for and against the Nihilists, both for and against his Imperial Master, the Tzar. I saw he was bending over his young wife. He had clutched her by the throat, and was forcing her upon her knees, at the same time uttering terrible imprecations, and demanding to be informed of the result of her secret investigations. Just as I had turned, intending to retreat to my place of concealment, having gained knowledge that would put the Executive on its guard, I heard Krivenko give vent to a fierce guttural oath. Then a woman’s shrill cry rang out in the still air, followed by a great splash.