“Our friend, who is now an inspector, will join you at Moscow. Look out for him. He has left his luggage with us, but does not know it.”
Accident, which had hitherto opposed my designs, was favoring them at last. It was clear that Rostoy had betrayed me, and that Petrovitch had sent this wire to the Princess to put her on her guard. But what was the “luggage” which I was described as having left in the hands of M. Petrovitch?
I thought I knew.
Crumpling up the tell-tale message in my pocket, I darted into the telegraph office, and beckoned to the clerk in charge.
“On his majesty’s secret service,” I breathed in his ear, drawing him on one side. I showed him my police badge, and added, “An envelope and telegram form, quick!”
Overwhelmed by my imperative manner, he handed me the required articles. 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.