Shuddering, I retraced my steps to the Rectory, and joined the ladies in the drawing-room.
Days passed, but Vera Kovalski did not return. Her mysterious disappearance caused a great sensation in Kingsthorpe and the neighbourhood. Although telegrams were despatched in all directions, no tidings could be gleaned of her. The strange affair cast a gloom over the usually merry household, for every one appeared to have forebodings that some unknown catastrophe had occurred, and the guests, feeling the solemnity irksome, departed, an example I quickly followed.
Before I left the Rectory, however, I examined the whole of Madame’s belongings, in the hope of finding something which might serve as a clue to the discovery of the “conspiracy” about which she had spoken. But the search was futile.
On returning to London I informed the Executive of the occurrence, a council was held, at which it was decided that every agency possessed by our Party should be requisitioned, in order to discover whether either Colonel Krivenko or his wife were really still alive. For the success of our plot—which was a bold venture, involving the partial destruction of the Castle of Schlusselburg and the release of the political prisoners confined there—it was of supreme importance that we should know if Madame Kovalski still lived, and if so, the extent of her knowledge.
Descriptions and photographs, circulated among our members, both in England and on the Continent, failed to elicit any clue.
With Dmitri Irteneff as companion, I was ever vigilant in the London streets for many weeks, hoping to meet her, while Grinevitch continually kept Madame’s house in Lexham Gardens, Kensington, under observation. We have such a perfect method of tracing those who incur our displeasure that, when once the order is issued by the Executive, escape is hopeless.
Colonel Krivenko’s body had already been found floating in the Nene near Peterborough, and having satisfied ourselves that his wife had not returned to her friends in London, we directed our attention to other quarters, and continued our search through many weeks.
A heavy, thick mist was blowing on the gale which swept fiercely in gusts down the English Channel. The yellow light of the November afternoon had already begun to dwindle. No sun had shone on the dreary Sussex coast that day. The tide was out, and the wide, wet sands stretched from the cliffs to the selvage of white foam that flickered in the grey light far off, where the waves broke in hissing spray.
In this tempestuous afternoon Irteneff and I were walking along the top of the cliffs between Eastbourne and Beachy Head. Suddenly, as we rounded a point, we saw below a single human being on the level foreshore. At first it was merely a speck, traversing the sand along the margin of the wind-whitened sea. We waited for its approach, and as it drew nearer Dmitri took a small binocular from his pocket. Having focused it upon the moving object, he quickly handed it to me, exclaiming briefly—
“At last! We have found her!”