“Impossible, your Excellency,” he replied at once; “it is an interior cell, and is in charge of the Preobrazhensky guards, alike incorruptible and indomitable. We must devise some other way.”
I paced the floor in silence. I was at a loss what to do or say. The situation was gloomy, and I began to entertain serious fears for my unfortunate friend.
“Where is Apraxin?” I asked at last.
“At the house of Zotof,” the Swede replied promptly. “I traced him there. It was his messenger who induced M. de Lambert to leave your quarters in the morning.”
I could not myself imagine what had induced M. Guillaume to be again deceived by the villain, but for the time thought little of it, only endeavoring to find a way to unravel the difficulty.
“We must have Apraxin,” I said decidedly, “and at once.”
“That will be no easy matter,” the Swede remarked calmly; “he is a miserable knave, and on the constant outlook for trouble.”
“Nevertheless we must have him,” I exclaimed; “we must find a way to secure him without bloodshed.”
“I am willing to undertake the errand, M. de Brousson,” the spy said quietly; “but I cannot hit upon a way to catch him as readily as I would like.”
Zénaïde came suddenly out of her retirement. She had understood my plan at once.