"And Paul?" asked the Count Stépan Lanovitch at once. "Tell me about him." "He is married," answered Steinmetz. The Count Lanovitch was looking at the lamp. He continued to look at it as if interested in the mechanism of the burner. Then he turned his eyes to the face of his companion. "I wonder, my friend," he said slowly, "how much you know?" "Nothing," answered Steinmetz. The count looked at him enquiringly, heaved a sharp sigh, and abandoned the subject. "Well," he said, "let us get to business. I have much to ask and to tell you. I want you to see Catrina and to tell her that I am safe and well, but she must not attempt to see me or correspond with me for some years yet. Of course you heard no account of my trial. I was convicted, on the evidence of paid witnesses, of inciting to rebellion. It was easy enough, of course. I shall live either in the south or in Austria. It is better for you to be in ignorance." Steinmetz nodded his head curtly. "I do not want to know," he said. "Will you please ask Catrina to send me money through the usual channel? No more than she has been sending. It will suffice for my small wants. Perhaps some day we may meet in Switzerland or in America. Tell the dear child that. Tell her I pray the good God to allow that meeting. As for Russia, her day has not come yet. It will not come in our time, my dear friend. We are only the sowers. So much for the future. Now about the past. I have not been idle. I know who stole the papers of the Charity League and sold them. I know who bought them and paid for them." Steinmetz closed the door. He came back to the table. He was not smiling now--quite the contrary. "Tell me," he said. "I want to know that badly." The Count Lanovitch looked up with a peculiar soft smile--acquired in prison. There is no mistaking it. "Oh, I bear no ill will," he said. "I do," answered Steinmetz bluntly. "Who stole the papers from Thors?" "Sydney Bamborough." "Good God in heaven! Is that true?" "Yes, my friend." Steinmetz passed his broad hand over his forehead as if dazed. "And who sold them?" he asked. "His wife." Count Lanovitch was looking at the burner of the lamp. There was a peculiar crushed look about the man, as if he had reached the end of his life, and was lying like a ship, hopelessly disabled in smooth water, where nothing could affect him more. Steinmetz scratched his forehead with one finger, reflectively. "Vassili bought them," he said; "I can guess that." "You guess right," returned Lanovitch quietly. Steinmetz sat down. He looked round as if wondering whether the room was very hot. Then with a large handkerchief he wiped his brow. "You have surprised me," he admitted. "There are complications. I shall sit up all night with your news, my dear Stépan. Have you details? Wonderful--wonderful! Of course there is a God in heaven. How can people doubt it--eh?"