“The janitor brought this up, sir,” he explained. “He says as how there’s something in it he thinks you’ll like to see, sir.”
Caruth took the paper and glanced down its columns. Then he uttered an exclamation.
“Good Lord!” he cried. “Listen to this dispatch from St. Petersburg:
“A tragic sequel to the suit of the Princess Yves Napraxine against Count Strogoff for the possession of her ancestral estates took place here to-day. Both the Princess and her husband, Baron Demidroff, for fifteen years chief at the dreaded third section of the Russian police, were instantly killed this morning by a bomb thrown by a man who was mortally wounded by the guard as he tried to flee. Before he died, he confessed that he had acted at the instigation of Count Strogoff. Officers were at once sent to arrest the Count, but he had learned somehow that his complicity was known and blew out his brains as they came in at the door. The estates of the Princess, whose romantic story has become well known to the world in the past year, will now revert to the Crown. It is rumored that they have been shamelessly plundered, and instead of being at colossal value are really almost worthless.”
Caruth dropped the paper. “There’s more of it,” he finished, “but that’s the substance.”
Olga clasped her hands. “Oh, Joe, Joe!” she cried. “It might have been you and me! It might have been you and me!”
THE END.
THE FASCINATING SARGASSO SEA NOVEL
The Isle of Dead Ships
By CRITTENDEN MARRIOTT