n the vicinity. There I discovered him and drove him to
the Gorokhovaya.

"Listen," the monk said as I ushered him in. "There is a furrier in the
Nevski named Violle. Both he and his wife are dangerous revolutionists
and must be arrested at once. You understand--eh?"

Manuiloff, the catspaw of both Stuermer and Rasputin, and who was well
paid to do any dirty work allotted to him, did not quite understand.

"You denounce him--eh?" he asked. "There are reasons, of course."

"Of course there are reasons, you fool, or I should not bring you here at
this hour to tell you of the conspiracy against the Throne. I make the
allegation; you must furnish the proofs. Do you now understand?" asked
the "saint."

"Ah, I see! You want some documents introduced into the furrier's house
incriminating both him and his wife?"

"Exactly. And at once. They must both be arrested before noon to-morrow,"
Rasputin said. "I shall leave all the details to you, well knowing that
they will be in good hands, my dear Manuiloff," laughed Rasputin grimly.
"One thing is important. There must be no loophole for either of them to
escape. The Empress wills it so. Both must be sent to Schluesselburg. Tell
His Excellency so from me. We want no trial or attempt at scandal. The
pair are dangerous--dangerous to us. Now do you understand?"

Manuiloff, who had forged incriminating documents many times, and who had
a dozen underlings who assisted him in these nefarious deeds, understood
perfectly. He was paid to act as his two chiefs directed, and dozens of
innocent persons were rotting in prison at that moment because they had
fallen beneath Rasputin's displeasure.

So it was that by noon next day both Violle and his pretty wife--who had
only the day before been a close friend of the Tsaritza--were on their
way to Schluesselburg as dangerous to the State.

Truly, the monk had neither scruples nor honesty, neither compunction nor
pity; for the woman who was his favourite he had turned upon and sent to
that grim island fortress, where in one of those terrible oubliettes
below the level of the lake her death took place eight months later.

CHAPTER VIII

RASPUTIN THE ACTUAL TSAR

THE tragi-comedy of Tsarskoe-Selo was being played with increasing vigour
just prior to the war. Berlin, through Rasputin, piped the tune to which
the Imperial Court was dancing--the Dance of Death!

One night, after Rasputin had dined with Madame Vyrubova and myself,
Ge