r place you wish to visit. Take the girl
away."

"But, General, reflect a moment whether this is not----"

"I never reflect, sir," he cried angrily, and rising from his chair with
outstretched hand, he snapped:

"How much of my time are you going to lose over the wench? Take her
away, and let it be done at once."

The poor condemned girl, blanched to the lips and trembling from head to
foot, turned quickly to me, and in a few words in French thanked me, and
again kissed my hand, with the brief words, "Farewell; you have done
your best. God will reward you!"

Then, with one accord, we all turned, and together went mournfully forth
into the street.

A lump arose in my throat, for I saw, as the General pointed out, that
my passport did not extend beyond my own person. Luba was a Russian
subject, and therefore under the Russian martial law.

Of a sudden, however, just as we emerged into the roadway, the
unfortunate girl, at whose side I still remained, turned and, raising
her tearful face to mine, kissed me.

Then, before any of us were aware of her intention, she again turned,
wrenched herself free, and rushed back into the room where the General
was still sitting.

The Cossacks dashed after her, but ere they reached the chamber there
was a terrific explosion, the air was filled with debris, the back of
the building was torn completely out, and when a few minutes later I
summoned courage to enter and peep within the wrecked room, I saw a
scene that I dare not describe here in cold print.

Suffice it to say that the bodies of Luba and General Stepan Krasiloff
were unrecognisable, save for the shreds of clothing that still
remained.

Luba had used her bomb in revenge for Gustave's death, and she had freed
Russia of the heartless tyrant who had condemned her to die.

But the man Hartmann--the German "patriot," whose underlings had stirred
up the revolt--was already on his way back to Berlin.

As in France and Russia, so also in England, German Secret agents are,
we have discovered, at work stirring strife in many directions.

One is a dastardly scheme, by which, immediately before a dash is made
upon our shores, a great railway strike is to be organised, ostensibly
by the socialists, in order to further paralyse our trade and render us
in various ways unable to resist the triumphant entry of the foe.

When "the Day" comes, this plot of our friends across the North Sea will
assuredly be revealed, just as the