“That must serve. You will not even say if she is near at hand?”
“Who knows? She comes and goes. One day she is at Warsaw; the next at Wilna; now at Grodno; again even here. Yes, she has been here no longer than a week since, though she is not here now.”
So I had missed her by one week!
“I do not know where she is to-day, nor where she will be to-morrow; in this I verily speak the truth, Excellency,” he continued. “Though I shall perchance see her, when my present business is done. Be patient. You will doubtless have news of her at Zostrov.”
“How do you know I am going there?”
“Does not all the countryside know that a foreigner rides with Mishka Pavloff? God be with you, Excellency.”
He made one of his quaint genuflexions and backed rapidly to the door.
“Here, stop!” I commanded, striding after him. “There is more,—much more to say. Why did you not keep your promise and return to me in London? What do you know of Selinski’s murder? Speak, man; you have nothing to fear from me!”
I had clutched his shoulder, and he made no attempt to free himself, but drooped passively under my hand. But his quiet reply was inflexible.