“You are concealing something,” growled the count in reply. “Why don’t you come to the point, Zamosc? You know how impatient I am. But stop—I will answer your question. In case you had really accomplished what you suggest, I would keep my word to the letter. I would see to it that you were appointed Inspector of the Third Section, in place of my nephew, and I would give you in addition the sum of ten thousand rubles.” “But could you get the property into your hands?” said Zamosc. “The government, you know——” “Yes, I know,” replied the count coolly. “The government usually confiscates the property of condemned criminals, but there are exceptions, and this would be one of them. I have already made my way clear for that, and I am sure of receiving at least one half of my nephew’s wealth—if not more.” “Enough!” rejoined Zamosc. “Just sign this paper, will you?” He passed the document to the count, who read its contents with a wrinkled brow. Then, after a brief hesitancy, he took a pen from the table, dipped it in ink and wrote his signature at the bottom. “You watch the loopholes sharply,” he said, handing the paper back. “True,” replied Zamosc, “else I should not be where I am. But now to business,” he added. “The supposition I mentioned a few moments ago is not a supposition at all, but a reality. I have in my possession proof that will send Victor Sandoff to Siberia for life, and that, too, without any risk to us, for the proof is genuine. We have been spared the trouble of concocting a conspiracy.” The count rose up, heedless of the pain in his gouty leg. “Is this true?” he cried sharply. “Pardon me, Zamosc, but your story seems incredible.” “It is true,” replied Zamosc. “Wait a moment. I will convince you.” He left the room and returned shortly, followed by the man Poussin, who had been waiting in the lower hall. They drew their chairs close up to the count, and Zamosc related hurriedly the events of the evening—how he had overheard, by placing his ear to the crack of the door, the whole conversation between Inspector Sandoff and his fair guest, and how he waited outside until Poussin appeared and then compelled him by threats to confess the story of his bribery, and finally to accompany him to the house of the count. As link after link in the chain of evidence was revealed, the count’s brutal eyes glowed with delight. “Yes, we have him at last,” he cried. “But I would not have believed it of him, Zamosc—I swear I would not. He has thrown himself away for a woman—played right into our hands.” “Yes,” replied Zamosc, glancing at the clock. “He is lost. And now for action. There is no time to lose. Shamarin must be arrested, first of all—the Moscow terminus will be the place for that—and then we will surprise the inspector at headquarters.”