Concerning the gold, the information was less exact. The nihilists had learned, however, that a sloop, very heavily laden, carrying two men and one woman, had left Burndo for an unknown destination a few moments before the _Sea Spume_. It had turned south outside the mouth of the inlet, and had passed beyond the ken of the watchers. Probably it was bound for Stockholm or some other foreign port. Its passengers had been identified as Wilkins and Miss Shishkin (really Florence Lee); the third man was unknown, but it was supposed that he was an American sailor who had been living at Burndo for two years or more. The nihilists felt assured that this sloop had the gold on board, though how it got there, they did not profess to know. Orders had been sent all along the Baltic to watch for it, and if it was found, it would go hard with those on board. None of this, however, was much satisfaction to Caruth, to whom, indeed, the week had been one of torture. Since Marie Fitzhugh had slipped away on the morning of the yacht’s arrival, no word of her had come to him, and his anxiety as to her safety was continually growing. Events had shown that the _Sea Spume_ had been under surveillance for some time, possibly from the very beginning, and Caruth realized that this could scarcely have been possible without Marie having been seen and recognized. If she had been, her carefully arranged alibi must have been shattered, and instant arrest would assuredly follow her detection on Russian soil. Even if she escaped the authorities, or if her family connections proved strong enough to enable her to defy them, the disappointed and enraged terrorists had to be considered. She had been ordered before the Inner Circle, and such vague and illusory information as he had been able to gain as to the doings of that body made him fear almost anything. At the same time, he dared not start inquiries, for fear they might precipitate the very calamity he dreaded. On the morning of his seventh day in St. Petersburg, he could bear the suspense no longer, and turned to Bristow with a demand that he relieve it, as he had done on that far-away evening in New York. “I seem to be always relying on you to find Miss Fitzhugh for me,” he said, with an attempt at levity. “But if you really have sources of information here that are safe and certain, I wish you would call on them for news of her. The suspense is getting unbearable.” Bristow frowned slightly. “I don’t suppose there’s any use in talking,” he observed. “You wouldn’t take my advice in New York, and I don’t suppose you’ll take it here. But all the same, I’m going to suggest once more that you’d better let the lady go. As I understand it, she has refused to marry you and has gone back to her own people. Why not go back home and forget her. Candidly, old man, I can’t see anything but ruin ahead for you if you go on.”