There was something so finely bitter and yet so commanding in her voice, and she had subdued her countenance to such an expression of simple friendliness, Tolskoi looked at her with genuine admiration during the half-moment that elapsed before he answered her. When he did reply, it was scarcely in the way she anticipated.
"Mdlle. Naundorff," he said, his cold, hard blue eyes studying her face intently, "you may remember that some weeks ago, when we spoke on this subject one evening at the Palace, you asked me a question, to which I gave you no answer. You asked me then what was my opinion as to the share of a certain woman—known as Count Stevan Lallovich's cast-off wife—in the murder of that same Count Stevan? I told you then I had no opinion upon the matter, and from that the conversation wandered to more personal matters. Mademoiselle, what I said then was not true. I had, and have, a very strong opinion as to the culprit, or culprits; but we will let that rest for the time being. Shall I continue? Are you interested sufficiently in this wretched woman's story to wish to hear more?"
She replied by a quick and decisive gesture of her hand, and an almost inaudible, "Yes."
Ivor smiled again, and drew the fur robe more closely about her, glancing keenly across towards Patouchki, who, however, was absorbed in conversation with the equerry and paid no attention to his companions; seeing which, Tolskoi continued:
"Mademoiselle, that woman is now in Petersburg, and I have seen her. This is probably not such a matter of surprise to you as it is to—some other people; but when I tell you that Count Mellikoff's hurried journey to America was undertaken ostensibly to track, to find, and to arrest that woman, and that his continuing there is for the same reason, you will understand why my meeting with her here is pregnant with such grave complications."
Olga was gazing at him earnestly, following his every word and gesture with her eyes; the violet iris had grown black and enlarged from suppressed excitement.
"I will not go into the details, mademoiselle," Ivor went on, "of that unfortunate woman's wrongs, or the succession of cruel circumstances that led up to the murder of Count Stevan. Doubtless, she had a share and part in that murder; but hers was not the only brain that conceived the crime, or the only hand that struck the blow. There was a stronger and more important power behind; one who knew the terrible risk that was run in slaying a member of the Imperial blood, no matter how slight the consanguinity, and who had private ends to serve in seeing Count Stevan removed for ever from Imperial favour; one who, though hesitating to become a murderer in deed, did not hesitate to use this half frenzied woman as his accomplice and tool. Hers, indeed, should be the hand to hold the knife and strike the blow, but guided by a far more powerful coadjutor."
Ivor stopped again, and again Olga motioned to him to continue, by the same quick movement of her hand.
"There was but one man in Petersburg, mademoiselle, who could boast of any apparent intimacy with Count Stevan Lallovich, and who, if any one at any time, might have been his confidant. That man was Vladimir Mellikoff."
Again he stopped, and Olga, without taking her eyes from his face, felt, as she gazed on its youthful freshness, a great and terrible wave of doubt and uncertainty rush up and over her, wrapping her round and round, and sweeping away all lesser sensations in this awful one of impending calamity; but such calamity as should break not only upon her, but on one whom she dared not name, and out of which she could see no lift of light or hope. Tolskoi's words had been too well chosen not to carry with them the significance he intended, and she felt their full force even as she realised their full meaning. She drew her tongue across her lips, and tried to smile in answer to the cold light in Ivor's blue eyes, but the effort was feeble and abortive.