Mark that: I was ordered to Brussels, although there was a Spanish Minister in Switzerland. But my government knew that there were many factions in Spain, and it had strong reasons to believe that the Spanish Minister to Belgium was absolutely loyal to Alfonso. And in a situation such as this, one takes as few chances as possible. I followed my instructions. The Spanish Minister thanked me. He was more than interested; and he begged me, since I had no other direct orders, to do him the personal favor of staying a few days longer in the Belgian capital. I did so, of course, and a day or so later received from my government instructions to hold myself at the Spaniard’s disposal for the time being. That night, at the minister’s request, I met him and we discussed the matter fully. He wished me, he said, to undertake a more thorough investigation of the plot. I was already involved in it, and would be working less in the dark than another. Besides, he hinted, he could not very well employ an agent of his own government. Who knew how far the conspiracy extended? I was not displeased to abandon my chase of the Russian revolutionaries, toward whom I felt some sympathy. So, as a preliminary step, I went up to Paris, where through the good offices of one Carlos de Silva—a young Brazilian free-thinker, who was there ostensibly as a student—I succeeded in gaining admission into one of the fighting organizations of radicals there. They were not so communicative as I could have wished, but by judicious pumping I soon learned that there was an organized conspiracy against the life of Alfonso, and that the details of the plot were in the hands of a committee in Geneva. Geneva, then, was my objective point. But what to do if I went there? I knew very well that conspirators do not confide their plans to strangers. And I dared not be too inquisitive. Obviously the only course to follow was to employ an agent. Now, _Cherchez la femme_ is as excellent a principle to work on when you are choosing an accomplice, as it is when you are seeking the solution of a crime. I therefore proceeded to seek a lady—and found her in the person of a pretty little black-eyed “revolutionist,” who called herself Mira Descartes, and with whom I had already had some dealings. It is here that accident crosses the trail again. For if a certain official of the _Okrana_ had not been murdered in Moscow three years before, his daughter would never have conceived an intense hatred of all revolutionary movements and I should have been without her invaluable assistance in the adventure I am describing.