“My father did not know and does not know. The heads of the secret police were, for their own purpose, keeping the place of his imprisonment a close secret. I was best suited for going to Prince Berloff’s because, while my father was governor of a Siberian province, Prince Berloff was in a way my guardian. I once lived at his house, and since then I have visited there much, though not recently. So I knew his house, and knew it well. I planned my call at a time when I knew he was expected to be absent for a few hours.”
“Yes, but the servants,” said Drexel. “There was the danger that you might be recognized by them.”
“But none had ever seen me before. He changes his servants every few months.”
“Changes them?”
“That they may not learn too much and begin to suspect.”
“Suspect?”
“Yes. Who he is. Rather, what he is.”
“And what is he?”
She gazed at him steadily a moment. “Prince Berloff is the actual head of Russia’s spy system.”
“What!” cried Drexel. And he sprang to his feet and stared at her.