A heavy, thick mist was blowing on the gale which swept fiercely in gusts down the English Channel. The yellow light of the November afternoon had already begun to dwindle. No sun had shone on the dreary Sussex coast that day. The tide was out, and the wide, wet sands stretched from the cliffs to the selvage of white foam that flickered in the grey light far off, where the waves broke in hissing spray. In this tempestuous afternoon Irteneff and I were walking along the top of the cliffs between Eastbourne and Beachy Head. Suddenly, as we rounded a point, we saw below a single human being on the level foreshore. At first it was merely a speck, traversing the sand along the margin of the wind-whitened sea. We waited for its approach, and as it drew nearer Dmitri took a small binocular from his pocket. Having focused it upon the moving object, he quickly handed it to me, exclaiming briefly— “At last! We have found her!” I looked eagerly, and saw the form of a woman walking with her head bent against the roaring wind. I recognised the figure and gait as that of Vera Kovalski! As she moved along towards Eastbourne, we retraced our steps, and followed her to the Queen’s Hotel, where Irteneff, on inquiry, found she had been staying for nearly a month under the name of Mrs. Axford, and also that on several occasions gentlemen had called upon her. Two hours later I had transferred my abode from the Cavendish to the Queen’s, and having duly installed myself in a room in the same corridor as Madame, I resolved to act promptly. I did not go down to dinner, but waited till she returned. I heard her close her door; then placing a small phial in my vest pocket, and taking a clean handkerchief from my bag, stole along the corridor and entered her sitting-room without knocking. She had flung herself upon a couch, but started up on my entrance. “Ah, my dear Madame,” I commenced, as I closed the door behind me. “So I have found you at last!” “Found me!” she cried in alarm, springing to her feet. “What do you mean by entering my room in this manner? I know who you are—that your real name is Anton Prèhznev, and that you are a Nihilist. I’ll ring for the servants!” And she made a dash forward. I was compelled to act without hesitation. “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” I said, determinedly. As I uttered the words I took out the tiny phial and emptied the contents upon the handkerchief, which a moment later I held firmly over her nose and mouth. In a few seconds, and with only a long sigh, she fell back into my arms, an inert and helpless burden. Placing her upon the couch, I entered her bedroom and searched her trunk and dressing-case. In the latter I discovered some letters from the Ministry of the Interior and some photographs, all of which I crushed into my pockets. While doing so, a thought crossed my mind that she would probably conceal about her person the more important documents.