"The luck of the devil's own," he said. "Child of the Steppes, for years I've flown about seas and continents, through valleys and over mountains—for what? For the sight of the face of that man we have just left. At first glance I wasn't sure; but the sound of his voice was enough. Olga, the next time you see that reporter, throw your arms around his neck and kiss him. What did I tell you? Without Norton's help I would not have been sure. I'm going to leave you at your apartment."
"The man of the Black Hundred?" she whispered.
"The man who deserted and defied the Black Hundred, who broke his vows, and never paid a kopeck for the privilege; the man who had been appointed for the supreme work and who ran away. In those days we needed men of his stamp, and to accomplish this end...."
"There was a woman," she interrupted, with a touch of bitterness.
"Always the woman. And she was as clever and handsome as you are."
"Thanks. Sometimes..."
"Ah, yes!" ironically. "Sometimes you wish you could settle down, marry and have a family! Your domesticity would last about a month."
She made no retort because she recognized the truth of this statement.
"There's an emerald I know of," he said ruminatively. "It's quite possible that you may be wearing it within a few days."
"I am mad over them. There is something in the green stone that fascinates me. I can't resist it."