“Six years ago, in Riga, a very strange crime occurred which directly affected Mrs. Breese. A man was murdered. His murderer was never found. Do you see the significance now?” “A murder affecting Mrs. Breese?” I indicated my scepticism. “I never heard a word of it.” “There was never a word printed,” the Russian said. “Providence seemed to intervene on behalf of the criminal at the very moment that I thought the case would be solved. The murderer escaped. And yet I know, as surely as I know anything, one of your fellow-passengers on that yacht is the murderer.” His sharp little eyes, almost hypnotic in their power, blazed angrily. “There is no punishment for him--or her--now. My government is no more. But an innocent man walks with the shadow of suspicion upon him.” I quote the Russian’s exact words. “This man’s life-happiness has been taken away from him because of that crime. And if I cannot punish the murderer, I can at least help an innocent victim to re-establish himself. I can at least right a great wrong.” CHAPTER V THE LAST OF THE CIRCLE I shall repeat here the story the Russian told me. I made notes of it later in my hotel room, and the facts are exact. In the summer of 1918, Mary Rose Breese was married to the Count Giering-Trelovitch in Riga, Russia. She was then eighteen, and extraordinarily beautiful. Disillusionment had not yet written boredom into her fragile features. The Count was twenty-five. Unlike most unions of this kind, no sordid motives marred their relationship. The Count was handsome, witty, a brave soldier and sportsman. His estates were flourishing. He insisted he would accept no dowry. He had met Mary Rose Breese during a visit to America and theirs had been a story-book romance. The Russian laid great emphasis upon this point. “It was enough to make you cry tears of pleasure,” he exclaimed with Slavic sentimentality. “Just to see them together. In these days such romances are so rare!” The marriage ceremony took place in the Giering-Trelovitch castle. There was the quality of a bygone age in the preparations for this festive event. From all parts of Europe friends of the Count poured into Riga. The Count kept open house, and when he could no longer accommodate the thousands of guests, local mansions and even cottages were requisitioned. The Count’s peasants toiled and feasted with their master. Several days before the ceremony, Mr. and Mrs. Breese arrived with the bride, and Henry, then a youth of fifteen. Mrs. Breese, of course, was proud to be the prospective mother-in-law of a Count, which somehow offset the sad fact that possession of a married daughter would officially end that youth to which she clung so tenaciously.