“Could I not apply for the situation?” I suggested, as a scheme suddenly entered my mind.
“Yes, why not?” he said, brightening. “You could then continue watching.”
“Very well,” I replied. “Give notice to-night, and I will apply at mid-day to-morrow. I already have a recommendation as a valet and trustworthy servant,” I added, laughing.
“Who from?”
“A Captain of Cossacks with whom I travelled a few years ago.”
Then he smiled and once more assumed his usual gaiety.
A week afterwards I was duly installed as valet to the General, while Shiryàlov had been engaged as messenger to the Franco-Russian Club in the Rue Royale. My work was not particularly heavy, for the chief mouchard was out for greater part of each day, which gave me opportunities for investigating and making copies of the reports of espionage that arrived daily from male and female secret agents.
One morning, about three weeks after the meeting of the Circle at La Glacière, I chanced to take up a paper, and my eyes fell upon a telegram from Petersburg, stating that Israel Lebedeff had been tried by court-martial, found guilty of an attempt upon the life of the Emperor, and had been sentenced to hard labour for life in Siberia.
Soon afterwards the door bell rang, and I admitted a short, stout, shabbily attired Frenchman, who, without addressing me, walked straight through to the room in which the General was sitting, closing the door after him.
The fact that he had a newspaper in his hand aroused my curiosity, and by placing my ear at the keyhole I was enabled to catch part of the conversation.