"Yes—when she believed you had deceived her and had fled with—your sister. Boy, no one can guard himself against a jealous Russian woman."
"Now, I see a little more clearly. But why did you arrest Olga Petrovitch?"
"Your visit to my sister this afternoon. You were too solicitous for the poor girl's nerves, and we thought it might be better for you to know that she was in safe guardianship until you had made your decision. There would at any rate be no pressing need for you to think of her leaving the country; or feel it desirable to go with her to take care of her in her shattered condition. And we were right. But even I did not expect a tithe of all that has come from the step. It is indeed seldom that I get so genuine a surprise."
"And what are you going to do—now?"
"How much of this woman's tale is true?"
"One third of it. I am not Alexis Petrovitch; but neither am I a Nihilist, nor a murderer."
"Who are you!"
"An Englishman—Hamylton Tregethner."
"But your speech—your accent—your Russian?"
"I was brought up in Moscow for the first sixteen years of my life."