probably will do so. That is why I suggest you should
ask him to tea."

As he spoke he crossed to the writing-table, and, opening a drawer with
the key upon his chain, he took out the tiny bottle of exquisite Parisian
perfume.

"What is that you have there?" she asked, with curiosity, noticing the
little bottle. "Scent?"

"Yes," he said, with a mysterious grin. "It is, my dear sister, the
Perfume of Death."

"The Perfume of Death?" she echoed. "I don't understand!"

"Then I will tell you, Xenie," he replied, his great hypnotic eyes again
fixed upon her. "I do not use perfume myself, but others sometimes, on
rare occasions, use this. It is unsuspicious, and can be left upon a
lady's dressing-table. A drop used upon a handkerchief emits a most
delicate odour, like jasmine, but a single drop in a cup of tea means
death. For two hours the doomed person feels no effect. But suddenly he
or she becomes faint, and succumbs to heart disease."

"Ah, I see!" she gasped, half-starting from her chair, her face ashen
grey. "I--I realise what you intend, Father! I--I----"

And she sank back again in her chair, breathless and aghast, without
concluding her sentence.

"No!" she shrieked suddenly. "No; I could not be a poisoner--a murderess!
_Anything but that!_"

"Not for the sake of the one sent by God as saviour of our dear Russia?"
he asked reproachfully, in a low, intense tone. "That man Miliukoff is
God's enemy--and ours. In your hand lies the means of removing him in
secret, without the least suspicion."

And slowly the crafty, insinuating criminal took her inert hand, and
pressed the little bottle into its soft palm.

"One drop placed upon the lemon which he takes in his tea will be
sufficient," he whispered. "Only be extremely careful of it yourself, and
return the bottle to me afterwards. It is best in my safe keeping."

"No! I can't!" cried the wretched woman over whom Rasputin had now once
again cast his inexplicable spell.

"But you shall, Xenie! I, your holy Father, command you to render this
assistance to your land. None shall ever know. Feodor, who knows all my
innermost secrets, will remain dumb. The world cannot suspect, because no
toxicologist has ever discovered the existence of the perfume, nor are
they able to discern that death has not resulted from heart disease."

"But I should be a murderess!" gasped the unhappy woman beneath that
fateful thraldom.

"No. You will be fulfilling a duty--a sin im