“The master of Russia’s hundred thousand human bloodhounds,” she went on with a sudden fierce abhorrence. “The cunningest, cruellest, most unscrupulous man between Germany and the Pacific Ocean!”
“And this is the man that my cousin—” He looked at her blankly.
“Yes,” said she. “And the man I would have married, too, could my father have had his way. He was after my money, just as he is after your cousin’s. His ambition knows no limit—nor his unscrupulousness. He uses his office to further his own ends. If any stand in the way of his ambition, his control of the infamous machinery of the secret police gives him power to do away with them in a dozen ways—by death, exile, or imprisonment.”
“And he has done that?”
“Again and again. He would wipe me out of existence without a moment’s hesitation could he safely do it; with my brother outlawed, that would make him heir to my father’s estate. He will either be Russia’s prime minister, or else, before then, some terrorist—” The lifting of her shoulders spoke the rest.
A mystery that had puzzled Drexel for near a week was suddenly illumined. “I see now why you feared me, that night in the hotel, when I told you who I was!”
“Yes. The friend, the guest, the kinsman of Prince Berloff seemed indeed a man to flee from.”
“To think that we have never guessed what he is!”
“Only a very few in the Government know the office he fills, and only a few of us. He works through one or two trusty subordinates who are nominally the head of the system.”
“But what are his reasons for this concealment?”