Patouchki, for once taken off his guard, started at this unexpected address, and turning sharply round so that he faced Tolskoi, looked at him keenly before he answered. But Ivor never flinched nor faltered; his cold, light-blue eyes met the chief's black ones full as boldly as they had ever rested on Olga Naundorff's fair proud face, and something in their hard cruel light warned Patouchki that the question was no idle one, but that behind it lay some disturbance unknown at their morning meeting. He replied in his most repellent manner:
"You have forgotten, Ivor, it seems, that the Chancellerie never makes decisive affirmations in words. Among us it is unnecessary to name names or publish identities. Your own rather too vivid imagination has outrun itself, Ivor, and accredited to Count Mellikoff's absence in the United States a more sinister motive than could be found in the records of the Chancellerie. Murder and arrest are two ugly words and have an ugly sound to ears unaccustomed to them, especially when applied to a woman."
"Nevertheless, chief," answered Ivor, impatiently, the frown deepening on his brow, "though you may choose to call Count Mellikoff's mission by every name under heaven save the right one, you cannot disguise its true motive. The Chancellerie may wrap itself about with all possible or impossible plausibilities of expression, there are those who can read between the lines, and who follow its machinations. Let me beg of you, chief, by all the months of faithful service I have given you—and they are many now—to be frank with me in this. Much—you cannot know how much—depends upon your answer to my question. Can you not yet believe in my fidelity and trust to my loyalty? Have I proved myself so poor a Russian? Answer me this, I beg; is it to track and to find Stevan Lallovich's forsaken wife that Vladimir Mellikoff has gone to America? I will not press you further as to her share in the murder, or why you suppose her to have sought refuge there, if you will give me a frank yes or no to my question; only be quick, I entreat you, our very moments are numbered!"
Patouchki, who, during Tolskoi's impassioned address, had remained immovable, his eyes downcast, the lights and shadows on his strongly-marked face alone revealing his interest and irresolution, looked up as Ivor's voice dropped into silence, and again fixing his piercing black eyes on the young man's face, he replied slowly, and with a hesitancy that sat strangely on his usually assured manner:
"Your words are imperious, Ivor; but it is the imperiousness of youth, not arrogance, therefore I pass them by unrebuked. As to answering your question with a short yes or no, that is impossible. There are too many motives and too many interests mixed up in Count Vladimir's mission for me to give to you, or any one, so unequivocal a rejoinder. However, since I do believe in your honesty of purpose, Ivor, and trust your integrity of action, I will say this much, that one of Count Mellikoff's objects—the most important if you will have it so—was to seek and to find the woman who calls herself Count Stevan Lallovich's wife. What then?"
"Then he will never find her, chief," broke in Tolskoi, "and you and the Chancellerie are being tricked by him for your pains. Vladimir Mellikoff may have his own game to play, and his own ends to serve, but finding and securing Stevan Lallovich's pseudo wife will not be one of them."
He laughed slightly as he finished, and his voice grew scornful again at the mention of Mellikoff's name.
"What do you mean, Ivor?" exclaimed Patouchki, now thoroughly roused.
"What I say," returned Tolskoi, doggedly, "Vladimir Mellikoff is deceiving all of you when he pretends to be on the track of that wretched woman, and you, chief, are blinded by his specious words."
"Have a care, Ivor," cried Patouchki, sternly, "the Chancellerie can hold you accountable for those words. What proof have you of what you affirm?"