“As soon as he is safe under lock and key.”
“Then he is in our power?”
“Absolutely.”
“Did Lavrovski attempt to follow him?”
“Not till it was too late, and the fiaker out of sight. He fell into the trap, without a shadow of suspicion.”
There was a pause now; evidently much had to be thought of and serious points considered, for during the next ten minutes not a sound disturbed the stillness of the room, save the crackling of burning logs in the wide chimney, and one or two whispered questions and rapidly given answers.
Then a heavy tread was heard in the passage outside, the same rhythmical knock on the door, while a gruff voice said—
“Mirkovitch.”
A herculean man, some six foot three in height, with long grey hair thrown back from a massive forehead, and piercing grey eyes, half hidden under a pair of bushy eyebrows, now joined the group of smokers, greeting them all with but two words—
“All safe.”