ppose _I_ fail?"

"Why, then--I suppose--you will die."

"I know. And so will all of us, Excellency."

"Oh, no. Undeceive yourself, my friend. I shall survive. You will surely
die, and perhaps many others with you; but I would not be Number One if I
had turned my hand to this scheme without discounting failure first of all.
My way of escape is sure."

"I believe you," Sturm grumbled.

With a languid hand Victor found and pressed a button embedded in the table
near the edge.

"You have reason. Whatever my shortcomings, my good Sturm, they do not
include hypocrisy; I do not pretend, like your noble Bolsheviki, I am in
this business for the sake of humanity or anything but my own selfish
ends--power, plunder"--a slight wait prefaced one final word, spoken in a
key of sombre passion--"revenge."

"Revenge?" Sturm echoed, staring.

"I have more than one score to pay out before I can cry even with life ...
one above all!"

Studying intently that darkened face, and misled by its look of
abstraction, Sturm was guilty of the indiscretion of his malicious smile.

"The Lone Wolf?"

Victor turned weary eyes his way, and under their black and lustreless
regard the smile merged swiftly into a grin of nervous apology.

"You are shrewd," Victor observed, thoughtfully. "Be careful: it is a
dangerous gift."

The man Nogam gently opened the door and approached the table, stopping
just outside the area of illumination shed by the shaded lamp. But since
Victor continued to smoke absently, paying no attention, Nogam resigned
himself to wait with entire patience: the perfect pattern of a servant
tempered by long servitude to the erratic winds of employers' whims;
efficient, assiduous, mute unless required to speak, long-suffering.

Victor addressed him suddenly, in a sharp voice that drew from Sturm a
glitter of eager spite.

"Nogam!"

"Yes, sir?"

"Where is the Princess Sofia?"

"In 'er apartment, sir."

"And Mr. Karslake?"

"In 'is."

"Then be good enough to send Shaik Tsin to me."

"Yes, sir."

"And, Nogam!"--the servant checked in the act of turning--"I shan't need
you again to-night."

"'Nk you, sir."

When Nogam had left the room, Sturm, remarking the slight frown that
knitted Victor's brows, ventured an impertinence couched in a form of
respectful enquiry:

"Excellency, perhaps you trust that fellow too much, hein?"

"You think so?"

"He is too perfect, if you ask me--never makes a false move."