. I hastily scribbled:

"Our friend has parted with his luggage, though he does not
know it. He has been unwell, but may follow you next week.
To save trouble do not wire to us till you return."

Slipping this into the envelope, I addressed it to the Princess, and
hastened back to the carriage where I had left her.

I found her fuming with impatience and scolding her maid, who looked
on half awake. I handed her the bogus telegram with a cringing
gesture. She snatched at it, tore off the cover and read, while I
watched her furtively from under my lowered eyelashes.

The first part of the message evidently gave her the greatest
pleasure. The second part, it was equally evident, puzzled and
annoyed her.

"Fool! What is he afraid of now?" she muttered beneath her breath.

She stood gnawing her rose-red lips for a moment--even a night passed
in the train could not make her look less charming--and then turned
to me.

"That will do. No answer. Here, Marie, give this man a couple of
rubles."

I received the gratuity with a look of satisfaction which must have
surprised the tired waiting maid. In reality I had scored a most
important point. Thanks to my suppression of the first message and my
addition to the second, I had completely cut off communication
between the agent of the Syndicate and its head in Petersburg, for a
time; while I had lulled the beautiful plotter into a false security,
by which I was likely to benefit.

My anxieties considerably lightened for the time being, I now renewed
my search for Colonel Menken.

The train from Petersburg had emptied by this time, so I moved across
the station to where the luxurious Manchurian express was being
boarded by its passengers.

I got in at one end, and made my way slowly along the corridors,
stepping over innumerable bags and other light articles. In a corner
of the smoking car I came at last upon the man I sought.

Colonel Menken was a young man for his rank, not over thirty, with a
fine, soldierly figure, handsome face and rather dandified air. He
wore a brilliant uniform, which looked like that of some crack
regiment of Guards. A cigar was in his mouth, and he was making a
little nest for himself with rugs and books and papers, and a box of
choice Havanas. A superb despatch box, with silver mounts, was
plainly marked with his initials, also in silver.

I did not dare to choose a seat for myself in the same part of the
train as the man who