“But why did you, and not some less important person, undertake that dangerous mission at Prince Berloff’s?” “For two reasons. First, I was best qualified. And then----” She paused and gazed at him keenly. “Yes, I shall tell you that. You know the Government does not know who the prisoner Borodin is.” “So I have been told.” “And only half a dozen persons do know who he is. You have heard that I have an older brother?” “Who became involved with the revolutionists and disappeared four or five years ago. And how your father--” “Yes, to have a revolutionist in his family--that almost broke my father’s proud heart. Well--Borodin is my brother.” “Your brother!” Drexel ejaculated. “Ah, I see now why you were ready to risk so many dangers. To save your brother!” “To save my brother. And to save a leader whom the cause of liberty cannot spare.” “You must love him.” “Dearly!” said she, and her blue eyes lighted up. “He is so noble, single-hearted, brilliant!” “But your father does not guess that Borodin is his son?” “No.” “And of course he does not know what you are at heart, what you have done?” “No. If he knew!” Her face saddened. “And sometime he must know, for I cannot always successfully play this double part.” Drexel, remembering the stern, proud old man, and knowing the love that existed between the two, could but wonder what would happen on that day when the general should learn the truth. “It was the news of my brother’s arrest that brought me flying back to Russia,” she went on. “I was best fitted for the mission of going to Prince Berloff’s house.” “But was it necessary for you to go to Berloff’s?” he broke in. “Could you not have learned, without risk, Borodin’s whereabouts from your father?” “My father did not know and does not know. The heads of the secret police were, for their own purpose, keeping the place of his imprisonment a close secret. I was best suited for going to Prince Berloff’s because, while my father was governor of a Siberian province, Prince Berloff was in a way my guardian. I once lived at his house, and since then I have visited there much, though not recently. So I knew his house, and knew it well. I planned my call at a time when I knew he was expected to be absent for a few hours.” “Yes, but the servants,” said Drexel. “There was the danger that you might be recognized by them.” “But none had ever seen me before. He changes his servants every few months.” “Changes them?” “That they may not learn too much and begin to suspect.” “Suspect?” “Yes. Who he is. Rather, what he is.” “And what is he?” She gazed at him steadily a moment. “Prince Berloff is the actual head of Russia’s spy system.” “What!” cried Drexel. And he sprang to his feet and stared at her. “The master of Russia’s hundred thousand human bloodhounds,” she went on with a sudden fierce abhorrence. “The cunningest, cruellest, most unscrupulous man between Germany and the Pacific Ocean!”