CHAPTER V THE IKON OF SMOLENSK Since his dramatic reappearance in the affair of the purple cabriolet, Dr. Grundt had passed wholly from Desmond Okewood’s ken. The villa, on the outskirts of Harlesden, to which Desmond had been carried, together with the house next door, had been taken furnished in the name of a certain Mr. Blund, which alias covered the identity of a gentleman only too well known to Scotland Yard; but neither he nor Grundt had returned to it. Though the Chief and his young men remained on the constant alert, though the police kept watch at all the ports, there was no sign either of Clubfoot or of his associates. The Special Branch at Scotland Yard took the view that Grundt had fled the country. It was, indeed, remarkable that, easily identifiable as he was by reason of his monstrous deformed foot, he should have contrived to vanish without trace. In corroboration of the police theory was the circumstance that Clubfoot’s campaign of vengeance against the British Secret Service, its agents and helpers, which had already claimed some half a dozen victims, was undoubtedly suspended. Francis Okewood was disposed to believe that Grundt’s narrow escape from justice on the last occasion had disinclined him from further adventures; but Desmond was sceptical. “Clubfoot intends to get back on you and me, Francis,” he said, “and if he’s quiescent it means only that he’s planning some fresh deviltry or that he’s short of funds!” After their startling discovery of Süsslein’s suicide, Desmond asked his brother to escort Miss Maxwell home. “I’m going to borrow your ikon for an hour or two,” he told the girl, “and, if it won’t shock your sense of propriety, to ask you to put Francis up for the night . . .” Patricia let her bright brown eyes rest inquiringly on Desmond’s face. “Why not both of you? There’s plenty of room . . .” “Maybe I shan’t want a bed at all!” replied the other enigmatically. “You think something’s going to happen?” she challenged. “Ever since you bought this ikon, Miss Maxwell,” was Desmond’s impassive reply, “I’ll venture to say there has not been a minute in which your life has not been in danger!” “Oh, shucks!” she exclaimed. “What about your famous British police? Do you mean to tell me that foreign gunmen like this Madjaroff guy are allowed to run round and scare folks into hanging themselves? I expect, if the truth were known, Süsslein was in money difficulties, poor little man . . .” “This is not a matter for the police, Miss Maxwell,” said Desmond. “If you’d left this ikon hanging up in your boudoir, I’d lay a small shade of odds that you wouldn’t have found it on your return!” With a glint of strong white teeth Patricia Maxwell laughed outright. “Now you’re trying to scare me!” she affirmed.