l name.

"The devil!" he said aloud, "how could she have known me?" But rack
his memory as he would, he could not recall ever having seen her
before.

What did she mean anyhow, with her words of ill-omen? He could not
guess. It was all a mystery.

Paul was scarcely in a happy frame of mind that day. He liked to see
his difficulties plain before him rather than to be hemmed about with
mysteries that he could not understand. And difficulty seemed to be
piling itself upon difficulty.

Much, of course, remained to be explained. He was not sure of the
different parts which the weirdly associated people whom he had met
that afternoon played in Boris's game. The young man Michael, with the
large, cruel, red hands, was probably Boris's principal striking force
in times of trouble. Boris himself, he imagined, furnished the brains.

But what of the red-haired woman? That she had her part allotted to
her in the strange drama unfolding itself Paul could not doubt. But
what part?

Paul hardly believed that she was really Boris's sister.

But what tie bound her to him? What tie kept her within the confines
of this strange collection of human beings?

For a moment Paul's heart grew light within him. Was she his wife? If
he could but establish that, then Boris's boast that he would marry
Mademoiselle Vseslavitch was vain indeed.

Sir Paul was, indeed, confronted by a very Gordian knot of problems.
He laughed a little as he made the simile to himself, until he
reflected that he was not an Alexander armed with a sword who could
disperse the problems at one blow. His, indeed, would be the laborious
task of unravelling them one by one; nor could he see any better way
than by beginning at the very beginning, which, so far as he was
concerned, meant a full knowledge of Boris's intimates and
surroundings.

Not indeed till his guide turned and told him, some hours later, that
they were nearing the Vseslavitch house did Paul put the matter out of
his mind, and then, as they swung into a long avenue bordered with
pines, his thoughts were all for the lady whom he sought.

The house was a very old one, built of stone and massive oaken timbers
which showed the ravages of many years.

Paul gazed almost affectionately at the rambling mansion as it
disclosed itself to his eager eyes--for did it not shelter the one who
was for him the dearest lady in the whole world?

The door opened quickly in answer to his knock and Paul found himsel