“I don’t object to telling you everything we know,” said Nicolai. “We are comrades. We have met a few times. As for her personality, you know that as well as we do. That is all.” “All!” exclaimed Drexel in disappointment. But he saw that Nicolai was speaking the truth. The story he had heard the major-domo tell came back to his mind. “Then you do not know what her mission was?” “No. We are only privates. We obey the orders that are given us.” “Then she is something more than a private?” Nicolai nodded. Time ticked on. Drexel became restless with the suspense of waiting; then his first thought on entering the shabby room, that this was a strange place to meet such a woman, began to grow into a vague suspicion. There was a little intermittent talk. More time dragged on. He grew more restless and suspicious. At length he rose and drew on his coat. Instinctively his hand slipped into one of the coat’s outside pockets and gripped the pistol there. “I think I’ll walk around a bit,” he said. “Better not,” advised the quiet voice of Nicolai. “You know the police are looking for you.” “Oh, I’m not afraid.” The thought rose that, once out of here, his wisest course would be to make a quick dash for the Hotel Europe where were staying his aunt and cousin. Once there, the police would never suspect the relative-to-be of Prince Berloff, and in no danger from them he could continue his search for the young woman. “She may be here when I get back,” he added easily to Nicolai, and turned toward the door. “Ivan!” snapped out the voice of Nicolai. But Ivan was already at the door, his back against it, and pointing at Drexel was Ivan’s big revolver. Drexel started to jerk out his own pistol. “Move that hand, and he’ll shoot!” said the sharp voice of Nicolai. “Oh, I know when a man has the drop on me,” said Drexel. “What do you want?” “First, your pistol,” said Nicolai, and himself took it from Drexel’s overcoat pocket. When Ivan saw the black compact weapon, his eyes shone enviously. “A Browning!” he cried. “What a beauty!” “What does this mean?” demanded Drexel. “That you are going to stay here,” said Nicolai. “A prisoner?” “A prisoner.” “What for?” “That we were not told when the order was given us,” said Nicolai. “Then I am being held at some one’s order?” demanded Drexel. “Yes.” “By whose order?” “By the order of The White One,” said Nicolai. CHAPTER V THE HOUSE IN THREE SAINTS’ COURT “By order of The White One!” Drexel repeated--and the name of that great, impersonal, hidden leader went through him with a thrill of awed consternation. This was a serious situation indeed! He looked from the quiet, tense Nicolai, to the gleaming-eyed, alert Ivan. “So I am the prisoner of The White One?” They nodded. “But why? What have I done?” “I have already said we do not know,” returned Nicolai. “We have merely done what we were told.”