mystery had so increased until now it had become absolutely
bewildering. The more I had tried to probe it, the more inexplicable had
I found it. My brain was awhirl as I sat in the _wagon-lit_ rushing
across those wide, never-ending plains that lie between the Russian
capital and Berlin and the green valleys between the Rhine-lands and the
sea. The maze of mystery rendered me utterly incapable of grasping one
solid tangible fact, so closely interwoven was each incident of the
strange life-drama in which, through mere chance, I was now playing a
leading part. I was aware of one fact only, that I loved Elma with all
my soul, even though I knew not whom she really was--or her strange life
story. Her sweet face, with those soft, brown eyes, so tender and
intense, stood out ever before me, sleeping or waking. Each moment as
the express rushed south increased the distance between us, yet was I
not on my way back to England with a clear and distinct purpose? I
snatched at any clue, however small, with desperate eagerness, as a
drowning man clutches at a straw.

The spy from Abo had seen me on the railway platform on my departure
from Petersburg. He had overheard me buy a ticket for London, and
previous to stepping into the train I had smiled at him in glad triumph.
My journey was too long a one for him to follow, and I knew that I had
at last outwitted him. He had expected to see Elma with me, no doubt,
and his disappointment was plainly marked. But of Woodroffe I had
neither seen nor heard anything.

* * * * *

It was a cold but dry November night in London, and I sat dining with
Jack Durnford at a small table in the big, well-lit room of the Junior
United Service Club. Easy-going and merry as of old, my friend was
bubbling over with good spirits, delighted to be back again in town
after three years sailing up and down the Mediterranean, from Gib. to
Smyrna, maneuvering always, yet with never a chance of a fight. His
well-shaven face bore the mark of the southern suns, and the backs of
his hands were tanned by the heat and the sea. He was, indeed, as smart
an officer as any at the Junior, for the Marines are proverbial for
their neatness, and his men on board the _Bulwark_ had received many a
pleasing compliment from the Admiral.

"Glad to be back!" he exclaimed, as he helped himself to a "peg." "I
should rather think so, old chap. You know how awfully wearying the life
becomes out there. L