ade up my
mind to lose the Moscow express. In order to lull the suspicions of
the conspirators, by making them believe I was their dupe, I should
have let myself be taken to the hotel and put to bed in accordance
with the kind instructions of my late host. In that case, no doubt,
my watch would have been secretly put right again while I was asleep.

But I could not bear the idea of all my carefully planned
arrangements being upset. Above all things, I desired to keep up my
prestige with the superintendent of police, Rostoy, who regarded me
as an invincible being possessed of almost magical powers. At the
moment when the clock was striking I ought to have been walking into
his room in the bureau of the Third Section.

Grinding my teeth with vexation, I very gently opened the door of
the carriage, which was traveling noiselessly over the snow, and
slipped out.

I had taken care to ascertain that no onlooker was near. As soon as
the sleigh was 'round the corner of the street I hailed a public
conveyance and directed the driver to take me to the police office.

I was only five minutes late in keeping my appointment. Detecting a
look of slight surprise on the face of the superintendent, I
apologized for keeping him waiting.

"It is my habit to be punctual, even in trifling matters like this,"
I remarked carelessly. "But the fact is I have been drugged and
kidnapped since I saw you, and it took me five minutes to dispose of
the rascals."

Rostoy stared at me with stupid incredulity.

"You are joking, Monsieur V----, I suppose," he muttered. "But,
however, since you have arrived, there is your disguise. You will
find everything in the pockets complete, including a handkerchief
marked with the initials of the name you have chosen."

"Monsieur Rostoy, you are an able man, with whom it is pleasure to do
business," I responded heartily.

The Russian swelled with pride at this compliment. I hastily changed
clothes, shifting nothing from my discarded costume except a
cigarette case which I had filled with the hotel cigarettes. My
inquiry as to the Gregorides brand smoked by M. Petrovitch had not
yet been answered.

"Surely you are not going to wear that linen shirt of yours right
across Siberia!" exclaimed Rostoy, who never took his eyes off me.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"It is a whim of mine always to wear linen," I responded. "I am not a
rheumatic subject. And, besides, I have no time to lose."

The superintende