Florence stared at him once more. She did not believe that he was speaking the truth, or, rather--for she had been trained in a hard school--she did not believe that he was speaking the whole truth. She felt sure that there was something behind--as, indeed, there was. Still, she was tempted. A yacht, a trip to Europe, a masquerade, and a thousand dollars! It all sounded very fascinating to a girl who realized that she might be thrown out of work at any moment, with only a week’s salary between her and starvation. Of course it might be a trap. Florence was handsome, and she knew it; and she had heard of traps for handsome girls. This might be one, but if so, it was very elaborately baited. Besides, she felt supreme confidence in her ability to defend herself if need be. Still, she hesitated. “How’m I to know?” she questioned. “The men are always springing something new, and a girl’s got to be mighty careful. I ain’t for sale; anyhow, I ain’t on the bargain table; before I go off I’ve got to be sure that the man’s on the level and can do more than make a noise like a tin bank. If you ain’t stringing me--if you ain’t escaped from the crazy house--prove it. It oughtn’t to be hard.” Professor Shishkin considered. “My friend and future son-in-law, Mr. Bristow, will endorse everything I say,” he declared. “Further, I should be glad to have you talk with my daughter, whose place you will take. Do you know East Orange?” “New Jersey? Sure!” “Very well. Come down there early to-morrow. Ask any one to show you where Professor Shishkin lives. You’ll find a pretty, vine-clad cottage. Nothing at all to make you afraid. Come in and you’ll find Olga and me waiting for you. I think we can make you believe. Only”--the Professor’s voice grew serious--“only please wear a veil, and don’t tell any one what I have told you. I’d much rather you would refuse outright than have you talk. I want you to pass as my daughter. The moment the truth gets out, you cease to be of use to me, and I get into grave danger. So you must be secret. Now, on that understanding, will you come?” Miss Lee reached her hand across the table. “I’ll come,” she promised. “I’ll see the thing through. If it ain’t straight, you’re the biggest---- Well, never mind, I’ll see it through.” CHAPTER ELEVEN “Put not your faith in princes.” Baron Demidroff, chief of the third section of the Russian police, the dreaded secret police, pondered this sentiment as he sat in the office of his immediate superior, the Minister of the Interior. The Baron had been thirty years in the police service, and for fifteen years he had been its chief. In those years he had weathered many a storm that had bade fair to sweep him from place and power, but never a one of them had seemed so menacing as that which he was confronting. “‘Had I but served my God with half the zeal I served my king,’” he quoted, “‘he would not leave me naked to my enemies.’ You think the case is desperate, then?”