"Nor shall I urge you," he replied gently. "Later, perhaps, when your father is safe—— But until then, may I ask a very great favour?"
She nodded mutely.
He drew off the ring. "Will you wear this? I have a fancy that upon your hand it will bring me good luck and ward off danger." He tried it upon one after another of her fingers. "Too large!" he murmured disappointedly.
Doris smiled faintly. From about her throat, hidden in the lace of her gown, she pulled out a slender gold chain, from which a locket depended. "I will wear it here," she promised, "together with the picture of my father." She took the jewel from his hand, and undoing the clasp, threaded the ring upon the chain and restored all to their place.
"That is better than I dared hope!" he said. He bent toward her. "And you will think of me sometimes?"
"Every instant of the day," she responded fervently, "until I shall see my father."
He laughed a little ruefully, and rose. "I suppose that must content me! And now I must be off. I will find your father. 'Trust Poltavo.'"
"I do—completely." She gave him her hand. Her face was composed, almost cheerful. "Do you leave any commands?"
He looked significantly at the fire, where the only trace of the note was a faint black film. "You have already received them," he said gravely. "Everything is as it was this morning. Your father is dead. For you nothing is left but silence—and courage."
She shuddered a little. "Cord told me that the—the affair was in the hands of Scotland Yard, and that a Mr. Smith had been appointed to the case."