It was under the control of a much-trusted Government servant, one Samuel Snell. That was not a Russian name, but an English one. Snell was an Englishman—a Cockney, for he was born within sound of Bow bells. He had been brought up as an engineer’s designer and draughtsman, and was considered very clever. He left his native country when he was three-and-twenty, and went to Russia, induced thereto by a Russian friend in trade in London, who had taught him to speak the Russian language, and assured him that his talents would find greater appreciation and a better market abroad than at home. Samuel Snell was influenced by this, and went. He was fortunate, through his friend’s influence, in speedily obtaining employment, and having marked ability, he made his way.
In the course of time he obtained naturalization; married a Russian lady, the daughter of a gentleman holding an appointment in the naval construction department; and ultimately, through his father-in-law’s influence, obtained an appointment himself as assistant copyist in the Admiralty Palace. His talents soon made him conspicuous; he was singled out for gradual promotion, until at last he was placed at the supreme head of the department responsible for the building and repairs of the Imperial yachts. It was no sinecure, but an important and responsible position.
In this room, on the day and at the hour in question, two young women were seated. One had soft brown hair, bright blue eyes, a delicate complexion, and regular features. She was the daughter of Snell, and was just twenty years of age. Her name was Catherine. She was unmistakably of an English type, though born in Russia, of a Russian mother, and had never been out of the country in her life. Her companion was as unmistakably Russian; she had dark eyes, black hair, olive complexion, and was slightly older than the other girl. They were both good-looking. The brunette was called Anna Plevski. Her face indicated great strength of character. She had a strong, determined mouth; intelligence beamed from her eyes; her forehead spoke of brain-power.
Their respective positions were as follows: Catherine was a confidential clerk to her father. She had been specially trained for the work, and had held the appointment for over three years. Anna was in another department altogether. She was what was termed ‘an indexer.’
The two girls were friends. They had been to school together. Anna had taken advantage of a little relaxation to slip into Room 12 to have a chat with Catherine, for she knew Mr. Snell was away; he had gone down to Kronstadt on official business. But it wasn’t for the sake of a purposeless chat that Anna went to Room 12. She had a deep and dark design, as was destined to be revealed at a later stage of this strange and tragic drama. Her own department was a long way off, in another part of the huge building, and she was at some trouble to reach her friend’s office by a very circuitous and round-about route, anxious, presumably, that it shouldn’t be generally known that she had gone to Room 12.
‘It’s a beautiful day, Catherine, isn’t it?’ said Anna, after some preliminary greeting. ‘It’s a pity you and I are not rich.’
‘Why?’ asked Catherine, with a simple expression on her pretty face.
‘Surely you don’t need to ask why. If we were not mere drudges, we should be able to taste some of the pleasures of the world—go where we liked, stay as long as we liked, and enjoy ourselves generally, instead of being stewed up here when the sun is shining.’
‘Well, you know, money doesn’t always bring happiness, Anna, my dear,’ answered Catherine.
‘It may not always do so; but as sure as eggs are eggs there can be precious little happiness without it.’