There was an outburst of merriment in the apartment overhead. Drexel paused, considered, then slipped noiselessly back. She regained her composure. “Nothing--just a thought,” she returned. “And how about Mr. Drexel?” “I failed there--temporarily,” Freeman continued. “In the beginning, to make sure of him, I accused him of being a traitor, and was on the point of shooting him myself. But I happened to think that if it got out that I had killed him, it might queer me among the revolutionists and might later make living in America uncomfortable. Besides, I was sure Nadson would get him.” “And Nadson did not?” “He let him escape. I suppose Berloff will be mad. Berloff had it all arranged that Drexel’s death was not to leak out till after the marriage; the Howards were to suppose he was merely detained in the South.” “And The White One, and the others?” “All safe in Peter and Paul, as I telephoned you. And as for Drexel, I’ll get him later--sure. He doesn’t suspect me--we’re certain to meet sometime soon--and then!” The countess led him on with questions, asked for the sake of the man behind the portières. For ten years, Drexel learned by fitting together fragments of Freeman’s answers, Freeman had been a Russian spy. Most of the time he had been in New York, his duty there having been to pose as an active sympathizer with political refugees, gain their confidence, and forward to the Russian Government information on which their comrades in Russia could be discovered and arrested. His cleverness had caused him to be brought to Russia where he had been able to deliver into the Government’s hands scores of leading men and women. Even those of the revolutionists who opposed his violent methods had no doubt of his sincerity, so wonderfully daring was he, and so wonderfully successful had been his terroristic plots. They did not guess that the Government for its private reasons desired to get rid of these officials whom Freeman slew, and by secretly aiding Freeman’s terrorism had not only achieved this immediate purpose but had reinforced the position among the revolutionists of its best spy. That scene between Freeman and Prince Berloff in the Hotel Europe had been merely a bit of pre-arranged play-acting. The pair knew that the Central Committee was aware of Berloff’s office, and they feared that the Committee was beginning to suspect Freeman of secret relations with the prince; and this public display of hostility had been to throw dust into the eyes of incipient suspicion. Freeman spoke exultantly of the rewards that were as good as in his hands. “Fifty thousand from the Government for the arrest of The White One and the others; another fifty at least from Berloff’s own pocket for what I have to tell him; fifty for Drexel, whom I’ll not let slip again. Zenia, never before has a spy made such a haul as this!” “Never before was there such a clever spy.”