“I do not; though I’d like to. The officer at the bureau this morning—I don’t suppose I need tell you that I was arrested and detained for a time—seemed to think I should know her; but he wouldn’t give me any information. You’ve managed to rouse my curiosity pretty smartly between you!”
“I fear it must remain unsatisfied, Monsieur, so far as I am concerned,” he said suavely. “Well, we will relieve you of our presence. I congratulate you on the admirable order in which you keep your papers.”
His subordinate had risen, with an expressive shrug of his shoulders. I knew their search must be futile, since I had fortunately destroyed Mary Cayley’s letter the day I received it; and there was nothing among my papers referring either directly or indirectly to Anne.
“You’ll want to see this, of course,” I suggested, tendering my passport. He glanced through it perfunctorily, and handed it back with a ceremonious bow. So far as manners went, he certainly was an improvement on the official at the bureau; and of course he already knew that my personal papers were all right.
He gave me a courteous “good evening,” and the other man, who hadn’t uttered a syllable the whole time, saluted me in silence. I heard one of them give an order to the guards outside, and then the heavy tramp of their feet descending the staircase.
I started tidying up; it would help to pass the time until I might expect some message from the Grand Duke. Mishka had said nine o’clock, and it was not yet seven.
Presently there came a knock at my door. I wondered if this might be another police visitation; but it was only one of the hotel servants to say a droshky driver was below, demanding to see me. He produced a dirty scrap of paper with my name and address scrawled on it, which the man had brought. I thought at once of the man who had driven me in the morning, and wondered how on earth he got my name and address. I was sure it must be he when I heard that he declared “the excellency had told him to call for payment.” This was awkward; the fellow must be another police spy, probably doing a bit of blackmailing on his own account. Well, I’d better see him, anyhow. I told the man to bring him up.
“He is a dangerous looking fellow,” he demurred.
“That’s my lookout and not yours,” I said. “If he wants to see me he’s got to come up. I’m certainly not going down to him.”
He went off unwillingly, and a minute or two later returned, showing in my queer visitor, a big burly chap who seemed civil and harmless enough.