Had Wylie been present at a certain discussion at the Scythian Consulate that evening, he would have realised that Nicetas Mitsopoulo was playing even a deeper game than he imagined. The Greek arrived at a private door, which was opened to him by the Consul-General himself, a big, fair man, whose bluff exterior concealed a very serviceable share of diplomatic finesse.
“Welcome, Nikita Feodorovitch!” he said pleasantly. “You will find Chariclea ready for you. Curiously enough, immediately after your message arrived, a sudden headache prevented her from going to the party at the Cimbrian Consul’s.”
M. Mitsopoulo pushed past his brother-in-law rather impatiently, for the Consul-General was always ready to find amusement, such as the professional plotter had long since outgrown, in these tricks of the trade. Much more in sympathy with him was his sister, Madame Ladoguin, or Chariclea Feodorovna, as she was called by her Scythian acquaintances. A handsome woman in a loose Levantine dress, with her dark hair hanging below her waist in two heavy plaits, she awaited him on a cushioned divan in her boudoir, with cigarettes and the ever-ready samovar at hand. M. Ladoguin lounged in after him, and sat down at a little distance, ready to act as friend of the court.
“This has been a day of events and surprises,” said Mitsopoulo, accepting a glass of tea, with thin slices of lemon floating in it, from his sister. “I have made such progress that I am almost bewildered, and I bring the results of my labours to you, Chariclea, that you may check them and assure me I have not deceived myself.”
“I will scrutinise them as rigorously as if they were the report of a Reform Scheme,” she answered, with a lazy smile.
“That is just what I want. You have guessed, I am sure, Chariclea, that my visit here was in connection with the disappearance, which was not made known to the public, of a young lady of high rank. All the indications seemed to point to her having escaped to America, but as the Greek Panagiotis was known to have tampered with her father, it was thought well to watch for her here. I placed the amiable Panagiotis under surveillance, which I fear he has found inconvenient, but as it did not appear that he was either holding or expecting any communication with the Princess, I was about to withdraw it. Then, only a week ago, one of my agents brought word that a breast-ornament of gold and rubies, of a unique Byzantine design, had been offered for sale secretly by a Jew in this city. The description corresponded with that of one of the jewels which had disappeared with the Princess, and I authorised the man to secure it at any cost, but, alas! at the first hint of inquiry it disappeared again, and has probably been broken up. Until to-day, therefore, I thought it probable that the Princess had eluded my vigilance and was in hiding here, subsisting by the sale of her jewels until she found it safe to communicate with Panagiotis.” He paused impressively.
“Yes, and now?” asked Mme. Ladoguin.
“To-day I was summoned to assist at a conversation between a brainless artist staying at the hotel, and the English officer who was captured with the renowned Smiths——”
“Are you quite sure you were not assisting before you were summoned, Nikita?” laughed the Consul-General. His brother-in-law passed over the question as unworthy of an answer.
“—And I discovered a very curious fact, vouched for by three separate authorities, that one of the ladies passing as Miss Smith is not a Miss Smith at all. Mr and Miss Smith have no sister, and Panagiotis, with whom they were to stay, did not expect a second lady guest.”