Yet, on their swift unending round— Without a motion or a sound— These noisy peasants will keep up Their revels round my drinking cup, Until, by some uncareful maid, In fragments on the floor they’re laid. _Charles H. Lüders._ VERA SHAMARIN. _A STORY OF SIBERIAN EXILE._ _By William Murray Graydon._ CHAPTER I. INSPECTOR SANDOFF. Victor Sandoff, the Inspector of that famous and dreaded branch of the Russian police known as the “Third Section,” was seated in a cheerful room at his headquarters. These, for the sake of secrecy, were located in the second floor of an old building which stood on a narrow and little frequented street not far from the Admiralty Place. The house was guarded day and night by police spies, and a secret entrance in the rear permitted Sandoff to enter and depart at will. As the history of Sandoff is a somewhat remarkable one, a few words concerning him will not be out of place at this point. He was a man of tall and slender build, with a light beard and mustache, deep blue eyes, a ruddy complexion, and an expression that had a charm all its own. It betokened a strong individuality and a rare depth of character. At the time when this history opens he was just thirty years of age, and though possessed of a fortune that yielded an ample income, his time was devoted to the service of the Bureau of Police. He had already made his name dreaded among the revolutionary classes of St. Petersburg, and more than one unhappy prisoner immured in the Fortress dungeons, or plodding the snows of Siberia, owed his arrest and conviction to Victor Sandoff. He found a keen zest in the pursuit of criminals. In devoting his life to this work he was actuated by motives which none could question, for his father, Colonel Sandoff, who was Minister of Police at St. Petersburg during a long period, had been brutally assassinated ten years before, presumably by the Nihilists whose enmity he had incurred.