Next morning, when I went down to breakfast, I learned that Madame had already left—for Ostend they believed. After eating my meal I returned to my room, and was astonished to observe a well-dressed man emerging. A moment later I met Guibaud face to face.
“Why, my dear fellow,” he exclaimed, “they told me you were not up, so I came to make an early call. Well, what are you doing over here? A little love affair, eh?”
“No, I’ve just run over to see a couple of old chums. I was at college here, you know.”
“Ah, of course,” he said thoughtfully. “I remember, you told me. Well, I’m going down to get something to eat. Come into the salle à manger presently, will you? We’ll spend the day together.”
I replied in the affirmative, and left him.
Entering my room, I at once discovered that my portmanteau had been opened, and its contents turned over.
But the vigilance of the great detective had been frustrated, for he had arrived a couple of hours too late.
At evening, six days later, I was walking down Pall Mall when a newsboy held a paper under my nose suddenly, crying, “’Ere y’are, sir. Extra spe-shall! Attempt to murder the Tzar! Spe-shall!”
I purchased a copy, and read the brief telegram regarding the explosion at the Imperial Palace. The Salle Blanche, and the adjoining State apartments, had been wrecked, and although no lives had been lost, several persons had been injured. We regarded the plot as successful, for once more, without the sacrifice of human life, we had terrified his Imperial Majesty, and showed him that, notwithstanding his rigorous measures, Nihilism was still active.