“Nothing could be too much, dearest. When shall I start?”
“As soon as possible. By delay all may be lost. It is imperative you should be in Russia three weeks from to-day.”
“Three weeks from to-day,” I echoed.
“Yes, within that time, or it will be useless—my friend will have departed.”
“Then I am ready to set out to-morrow. Have you any message? What must I do?”
“To-morrow morning I will give you the case. Go to the Hôtel Michaeli, on the Galernoi Oulitza, at St. Petersburg, and remain there until a tall, fair gentleman presents my card and asks for them. He will give his name as Paul Volkhovski.”
“Very well,” I said, “I shall leave to-morrow night.”
Then we retraced our steps, and entering the carriage, drove back to Genoa in the fading twilight.
Next morning we met alone in the drawing-room, and she placed in my hands a leather jewel-case about nine inches square and three deep, securely sealed, saying,—
“I trust to you for their safety. Do not let this out of your sight for an instant, and on no account allow the seals to be broken, for it will be easy enough to pass so small a box through the douane.”