ter him--it would be in accord with their
practice to lose no time, and as you see they are not in a temper to
procrastinate. The best thing for us to do is to speak of our business
to no one. When we have discovered the girl, we will promise her
father's liberty in return for her silence. Herr Gessner must now deal
with these people once and for all--generously and finally. I see no
other chance for him whatever."

Alban agreed to this, although he had some reservations to make.

"I know the Boriskoffs very well," he said, "and they are kindly people.
We have always considered old Paul a bit of a madman, but a harmless
one. Even his own countrymen in London laugh when he talks to them. I am
sure he would be incapable of committing such a crime as you suggest;
and as for his daughter, Lois, she is quite a little schoolgirl who may
know nothing about the matter at all. Mr. Gessner undoubtedly owes Paul
a great deal, and I should be pleased to see the poor fellow in better
circumstances. But is it quite fair to keep him in prison just because
you are afraid of what his daughter may say?"

"It is our only weapon. If we give him liberty, will he hold his tongue
then? By your own admissions a louder talker does not exist. And
remember that it may cost Herr Gessner many thousand pounds and many
weeks of hard work to secure his liberty at all. Is he likely to
undertake this while the daughter is at liberty and harbored among the
ruffians of this city? He would be a madman to do so. I, who know the
Poles as few of them know themselves, will tell you that they would
sooner strike at those whom they call 'traitors in exile' than at their
enemies round about us. If the girl has told them what she knows of Herr
Gessner and his past, I would not be in his shoes to-night for a million
of roubles heaped up upon the table. No, no, we have no time to lose--we
owe it to him to act with great dispatch."

Alban did not make any immediate reply. Hopeful as the Count was, the
difficulties of tracking little Lois down in such a city at such a time
seemed to him well-nigh insuperable. He had seen hundreds of faces like
hers as they drove through Warsaw that very afternoon. The monstrous
crowd showed him types both of Anna and of Lois, and he wondered no
longer at the resemblance he had detected between them when he first saw
Richard Gessner's daughter on the balcony of the house in St. James'
Square. None the less, the excitements of the ta