"What is that you have there?" she asked, with curiosity, noticing the little bottle. "Scent?"
"Yes," he said, with a mysterious grin. "It is, my dear sister, the Perfume of Death."
"The Perfume of Death?" she echoed. "I don't understand!"
"Then I will tell you, Xenie," he replied, his great hypnotic eyes again fixed upon her. "I do not use perfume myself, but others sometimes, on rare occasions, use this. It is unsuspicious, and can be left upon a lady's dressing-table. A drop used upon a handkerchief emits a most delicate odour, like jasmine, but a single drop in a cup of tea means death. For two hours the doomed person feels no effect. But suddenly he or she becomes faint, and succumbs to heart disease."
"Ah, I see!" she gasped, half-starting from her chair, her face ashen grey. "I—I realise what you intend, Father! I—I——"
And she sank back again in her chair, breathless and aghast, without concluding her sentence.
"No!" she shrieked suddenly. "No; I could not be a poisoner—a murderess! Anything but that!"
"Not for the sake of the one sent by God as saviour of our dear Russia?" he asked reproachfully, in a low, intense tone. "That man Miliukoff is God's enemy—and ours. In your hand lies the means of removing him in secret, without the least suspicion."
And slowly the crafty, insinuating criminal took her inert hand, and pressed the little bottle into its soft palm.
"One drop placed upon the lemon which he takes in his tea will be sufficient," he whispered. "Only be extremely careful of it yourself, and return the bottle to me afterwards. It is best in my safe keeping."
