"It's a gentleman who called on Mr. Strobel yesterday," replied Mrs. White; "I can't think of his name."
"I should know that voice," muttered Litizki as if speaking to himself.
The rooms were separated by folding doors with glazed glass panels. On one of the panels there was a tiny spot where the opaque glaze had been rubbed or knocked off. Litizki applied his eye to that spot, and shaded the glass with his hand, straining to get a clear view of the man whose deep voice came to him like the distant rumble of an organ.
After a moment he straightened up and turned about, his sallow, depressed features gleaming with savage interest.
"I cannot see clearly," he whispered, "but if that is Alexander Poubalov, then the whole mystery of Strobel's disappearance is cleared away!"
[CHAPTER VI.]
LITIZKI AT WORK.