"Good God!" he exclaimed, standing for a moment uncertain what to do, the look of horror still stamped upon his features, "as I am a living man, that was the face of Adèle Lamien, the murderer of Stevan Lallovich, and his repudiated wife!"
CHAPTER II.
"IT WAS NO DELUSION."
At twelve o'clock that day, just as the great fortress cathedral chimes rang out the hour, repeating again the melody taken from the Eastern liturgy, "How glorious is our Lord in Sion," Ivor Tolskoi reached the side-entrance of the Palace court-yard, and, passing between the saluting sentinels, made his way towards a small door in one side of the building, before which marched constantly two of the Imperial Guard, whose business it was to watch jealously all in-going or out-coming traffic, and who, fully armed as they were, presented a sufficiently terrifying appearance, even to the most peaceful-minded.
Before this door two open sleighs were standing, their magnificent black horses handsomely decked out in gold-plated harness, and each wearing a triangle of gold bells spanning its back, from which the slightest movement evoked a shower of tinkling notes that fell melodiously, one after the other, on the frost-bitten air, and were echoed back again by the high walls of the court-yard. Sumptuous rugs and wraps of the costliest furs were thrown across the velvet cushions, while the coachmen and footmen were wrapped in mink-skin capes and tall, conical-shaped hats.
A short distance ahead of the equipages a selected division of the Imperial body-guard sat immovable upon their splendid chargers, the scarlet of their kaftans contrasting finely with the glossy coats of their steeds and the dazzling snow that lay as a pall of innocence upon the great metropolis.
Ivor stopped only long enough to return the salute of the captain of the guard, and to exchange a good-morning with one or two of the others, who were all well known to him, and then, pressing quickly forward, entered the Palace by the small door, and made his way to an ante-chamber, where, as he expected, he found Patouchki already arrived.
The chief's face wore a somewhat troubled expression, which did not lessen as the young man, shutting the door securely behind him, came up hurriedly towards him, an answering look of anxiety upon his usually fresh, insouciant countenance. Patouchki also noticed that his face was very pale, and his eyes wore a restless, inquiring expression, which was enhanced by the stern set of his lips. He made no comment until standing close by Patouchki's side, when he said, abruptly, and almost commandingly:
"Did you not say that Vladimir Mellikoff had gone upon this mission to America to track and to arrest the cast-off wife of Stevan Lallovich, for whose murder the Chancellerie holds her responsible?"