This conveyed nothing to the London police, who, of course, knew nothing save that a "Starets" in Russia is a "saint."
Therefore the experts at Scotland Yard were, after much patient investigation, compelled to dismiss it as one of London's unsolved mysteries.
Now for the truth.
One night, a year before, when I had returned with Rasputin from Tsarskoe-Selo, we found awaiting us the somewhat dandified man of a hundred aliases and as many disguises, the notorious Azef. He greeted us both warmly, and being a close friend of Rasputin, the monk took him into his cosy little den, where for over an hour they remained closeted together.
I was one of the few who knew the secret of Azef's crimes. Indeed, when I entered the room while the pair were talking I heard him ask with a laugh:
"What if we give him a taste of the necktie of Stolypin—eh?"
"It certainly would be best, my dear Evno," the monk agreed. "That is if you think the accusation can be well made."
"Trust me," laughed the great agent-provocateur. "A denunciation, the discovery of papers—you have those of Buchman in your safe, by the way, and they could be used—arrest, trial, and the necktie! It would be quite easy, and his mouth would be closed."
"He is growing dangerous," growled Rasputin. "What you say is perfectly true."
Then turning to me, he said: