Taking from his breast-pocket a paper upon which was an impression of the seal, similar to that found on the victims, he said,—
“See, the centre, which has proved so puzzling to many, is a representation of the hammer of Thor, the god of thunder. It is symbolical of strength, work, and duty. By the Scandinavians Thor was supposed to be the guardian genius, and representations of his hammer were believed to be charms against every terror. In that sense the organisation has used it. The legend, of which antiquarians have failed to discover the key, is an obsolete Norse rune, the words being, ‘Bith Sithi Gast,’ the equivalent in English to ‘Halt! accursed enemy!’ It is indeed the Seal of Death.”
“Does no one outside the Nihilist Circle know its significance?” I asked, in wonder.
“Not a soul. Remember Vera and I are now no longer members of the organisation. Our oaths are removed, therefore I am able to tell you this.”
“Happily our conspiracy against the Autocrat has been unsuccessful,” broke in Vera, smiling.
“We are not Russians now, but content to be loyal subjects of your Queen.”
“I’m pleased that is so,” I replied, with a sigh of relief; “but there is still one circumstance unexplained.”
“To which do you allude?” Boris asked, plunging his hands into his pockets and leaning against the table opposite me.
I was loth to approach a subject which must be exceedingly painful to him.
“I mean the murder—the tragedy in Bedford Place—”