“Paul’s own physician in the plot?”
“It seems so,” said Loris, scanning the name. “It’s a vile scrawl.”
“His Scottish cunning. If the plot miscarry, he’ll be in a position to deny his signature.”
“Likely enough,” assented Loris. “Would it surprise you to learn that there are women in this affair?”
“Not at all. And the leading spirit among them is Pauline de Vaucluse.”
“Right. There’s no hesitation about her signature. Here it is, large, firm, bold, and differing from the others as being written in red ink.”
“Ink?” said Arcadius, examining the signature. “It’s my belief it’s written with her own blood. I doubt not that it was she who started the plot. She hates Paul; she hates me; she hates the war with England. Conspirators can meet safely beneath her roof, since spies are unable to get a footing there. Besides, who would ever suspect a Foreign Embassy of hatching treason against the Czar. She would act as an excellent decoy, too, seeing that half the young men in St. Petersburg are in love with her. Hence the many balls given of late at the Embassy.”
“By the by, why wait till morning before showing this document to Paul? Why not take it to-night?”
“Need we be so precipitate?”