At the inquest I identified the body, and Ivan related his brief story. Twice the inquiry was adjourned, and subsequently a verdict was returned that the Princess had been murdered by “some person or persons unknown.” The Prince was communicated with by telegraph, but he took no notice, and at the funeral Ivan and myself were the only mourners.
The police could discover no clue to the assassin, and thus another was added to London’s long list of unfathomable mysteries.
One day, about six weeks after the funeral, I received a hurried note from Ivan, asking me to meet him at half-past seven that evening under the railway bridge adjoining the Charing Cross Station of the Underground Railway.
Thinking that he might have something of importance to tell me, I kept the appointment. The road which runs under the bridge is not too well lit, and the spot is rather quiet about that hour.
Big Ben had just boomed the half-hour, when I felt a slight pressure on my arm, and heard my Christian name uttered.
Turning quickly, I confronted a female figure enveloped in a travelling cloak, and wearing a soft felt hat and a veil through which the features were recognisable in the lamplight.
It was the Princess Kochkaryòv!
“Irene!” I cried, “is it really you?”
“Yes. I am no apparition,” she replied, with a laugh. “But I must not be seen. Let us walk this way.”
In a few moments we were strolling under the trees on the Embankment.