Upon his self-congratulation there entered Freeman. Freeman reported that he had been searching for Drexel ever since he had left Berloff the night before, but that thus far he had not a clue.
“No clue yet!” exclaimed the prince. “And only ten hours remain! After the execution he will be sure to return to the Howards, and then we cannot touch him.”
“Correct,” was the easy response. “And in the meantime he is hiding with the revolutionists, and there is little chance of our finding him by ordinary police methods in these ten hours.”
“Then he will escape unless we use some clever, quick-working plan!”
“Exactly, prince.” Freeman’s eyes gleamed between their puffy, blackened lids. “And so we are going to use a clever, quick-working plan.”
“Then you have one?”
“A great one! Princess Valenko knows every revolutionist that Drexel knows. Also she believes me under arrest, and does not suspect me. You are to have me put in the cell with her and her brother, as condemned to die—and trust me, in the emotional before-the-scaffold hour, as a fellow prisoner doomed to die at the same time, to worm out of her the name of every possible person with whom Drexel can be in hiding.”
“I see! I see!”
“Then when I’m released,” Freeman went on excitedly, “we’ll swoop down on every person whose name I’ve learned. We’ll get him, sure! And we’ll get every leader of importance still free in St. Petersburg!”
“Excellent!” ejaculated the prince.