“Now what does this envelope contain?” muttered Beauvais pressing it between his fingers. “I must know its contents. Perhaps it’s the key to the mystery. It may—or may not—explain how she came to be in the river. Vera, should our patient or Lord Courtenay question you on this point, you will be pleased to say that you searched the clothing and found—nothing.” He moved towards the door as he spoke. “I will send you a companion, and as soon as our patient awakens let me know, for I must have a talk with her before the Baroness or Lord Courtenay sees her.” Having summoned another maid Beauvais betook himself to his own room. “In the Baroness’s service,” he remarked, “everything is lawful.” And without the least hesitation he broke the seal of the envelope, and read the letter it contained. “A very useful document,” he observed with a smile of wonder and delight. “The one thing wanting to round off my plan and make its success sure.” He laid the missive aside. Its contents had set him thinking, and so absorbed was he that he let the hours pass without taking any rest. A message coming from Vera caused him to repair once more to the Princess’s bed-chamber, from which, after the lapse of half an hour, he emerged with a triumphant smile. “Better and better!” he murmured. “Who’d have thought it? Why, there’s little need to plot. Matters are taking of themselves the very course I want.” An hour later, when Pauline issued from her dressing-room, beautiful for the day, she was surprised to see Beauvais waiting for her in the corridor. “A story for you, Baroness,” said he. “One that you must hear without delay.” His air brooked no refusal, and so with a little shrug of her shoulders she took a seat within an embrasured window. Her look of indifference vanished with his first sentence, and as he proceeded her interest finally passed into vivid horror. “Consider who she is,” concluded the doctor, “and then picture her lying alone on that shore for nearly twenty hours, and a whole castleful of people close by.” “Tied hand and foot, and flung into the Neva!” Pauline gasped. “My God! This must be Alexander’s work!” “Not so, Baroness.” “But I say yes. Who would dare lay a finger on _her_ except by his order?”