"Then why doesn't he look after his preserves instead of mixing himself up in Catinka's mad schemes? She'll get him into trouble." "I met her once," said Paul thoughtfully, "but I had not much opportunity of reading her character. What kind of young woman is she?" "Oh, one of the Charlotte Corday sort!" "She lives in Bloomsbury Square, I believe?" "Yes--Number one thousand," said Baldini, rising. "If you intend to call on her, I warn you, my friend, you won't be well received. She cares for nothing but Anarchists." "And Herne?" "Oh, that's nonsense. She only cares for him because she wants his money to work up a plot against the Czar." "Then there is no love in the matter?" "Love!" echoed the signor contemptuously. "If you knew Catinka well you wouldn't ask so absurd a question. She's got no more heart than one of those bombs her friends manufacture. Well, good-day, Mexton; glad to see you. Sorry to go, but awfully busy," and Signor Baldini rattled himself out of the door, as though his life depended on speedy movement. Left alone, Paul finished his luncheon thoughtfully. The explanation given by Baldini seemed to put the guilt of Catinka out of the question; at all events, it removed the sole motive she could have for such a wicked act--that of jealousy. If she was not in love with Herne, she could not be jealous at hearing--as she must have heard--of his engagement to Milly; and if she was not jealous, she had no reason to commit so preposterous a crime. Yet she had been in Barnstead Church on the night of the crime--as was proved by the Marborough friend of Mrs. Drass--and she had been on the fatal spot also, as was confirmed by the evidence of the rainbow feather picked up by Herne. What was the badge of a political society doing in the Winding Lane? and why had Herne seemed so startled when he picked it up? It was these questions which Paul wished to ask of Catinka; in the answering of which he hoped to find a clue to the assassin. He was convinced that the solution of the mystery was connected with the rainbow feather. Catinka, as he found, occupied the first floor of a gloomy old mansion in Bloomsbury Square. When Paul ascended the wide staircase, which had borne the tread of Georgian belles and beaux, he found himself before a massive door, which bore a brass plate, upon which the name "Catinka" was inscribed. No one knew what was the Polish girl's surname, as she preferred to be known by that which she had made famous in the world of music. Perhaps she intended to reveal who she was when heading the intended revolt against Russia; but in all artistic London she was known only by her first name; and then, as everybody stated, "Catinka" by itself looked well on the bills.