Of course Marie herself would not do the deed, and Prilukoff, whose nerve had long since gone, was quite incapable of actually killing anyone. He could arrange the details and hand the knife or revolver to the selected assassin, but beyond that he could not go. However, they were thorough and remorseless plotters. Kamarowsky was in their way. His death would make Marie a rich woman and Prilukoff a rich man, because then he could make her marry him. The count, therefore, must be removed. But who was to kill him? That was a question that was answered within a few hours by the arrival of Nicholas Naumoff. The young man found Marie in her hotel at Venice, and there and then it flashed across her mind that he was the very person to kill Kamarowsky and at one stroke turn her poverty into riches, for Prilukoff having no more clients to rob, Kamarowsky must be murdered. She was too clever, of course, to take him into her confidence, although Naumoff was so infatuated that he would have obeyed any command she was pleased to give him. But Marie Tarnowska had a wholesome fear of the law, and, whilst she was willing to consign her young friend to a living grave, she had not the slightest desire to experience the discomforts of a prison herself. It turned out that Naumoff had called to ask her to marry him. His proposal inwardly amused Marie, for he was so young and she was so old--in experience. But she listened gravely to him, and when he had finished she kissed him on the forehead and whispered in a voice broken with sobs that she had prayed for this day and now that it had come she could not, dare not, aspire to happiness because a certain man stood between them and would prevent their marriage. The ardent youth naturally demanded to know who it was who was driving her to madness. She answered under pressure that he was Count Paul Kamarowsky, Naumoff's dearest friend. He was so surprised that he tried to persuade Marie that she was mistaken. Somehow Naumoff had not regarded Kamarowsky as an aspirant to her hand. He was so old compared with him, and love was, in his opinion, the prerogative of youth. "Watch him," said Marie, who had been secretly engaged to the count for some months, "and you will be convinced that he persecutes me. I have to be polite to him, but, Nicholas, dear, I should be happy if I never saw him again." Naumoff watched as bidden, and of course he saw Kamarowsky wait attentively on the woman to whom he was engaged. Quite innocent of the fact that he was giving cause for offence to his young friend, Kamarowsky seldom went out unaccompanied by Marie; and, when he was not looking and Nicholas was near her, she would make a little grimace of disgust to indicate that the count's presence was distasteful to her.