This I did, and next evening the girl Bauer called. She was slim, very pretty, and dressed as she was, as a girl of the people, none would suspect her of having committed several secret murders at Rasputin's instructions.
"Olga," he said, when she was shown into his room, "really you are growing prettier each day! I envy Ivan Ivanovitch, for he has good taste."
"You flatter me, Father," said the girl, blushing.
"I speak the truth," declared the monk, twisting the end of his beard in his fingers and fixing his strange eyes upon hers. "But," he went on, "I asked you here because I want you to help our cause once again—with the perfume."
She grew serious in an instant.
"Who is obnoxious?" she asked quickly, in a hard voice.
"Purishkevitch," declared the monk. "The man has somewhere in his house certain incriminating papers regarding Madame Vyrubova. These, however, do not concern you. When the Deputy is dead I will have the police search the house at once, and the papers when found will be handed to me. You must repeat the rôle you played in Prince Tchekmareff's household."
With these words he rose and took from a drawer he unlocked a small bottle containing a piece of cotton-wool, saying:
"This wool has been soaked in the perfume and dried, so that it is more easily carried and less suspicious than in liquid form. Just place a little water on the wool and squeeze it out, when you have the perfume ready to hand."
The pretty girl took the little wide-mouthed bottle and held it against the light.