Again I tried to impress upon His Majesty that, as Hartwig had commenced an investigation in England, the matter might be left to him. But he only replied:
“Hartwig is head of the criminal police. He therefore has little, if any, knowledge of the revolutionaries. No, Trewinnard. This is essentially a matter for Markoff.”
I bit my lips, for next second the white-enamelled steel door of that bomb-proof room in which we were standing was thrown open, and a chamberlain announced:
“His Excellency General Serge Markoff!”
Chapter Twenty Eight.
The Emperor’s Favourite.
For a second the famous chief of Secret Police turned his cunning, steel-blue eyes upon mine and bowed slightly, after making obeisance to His Majesty.
“Why, I believed, Mr Trewinnard, that you were still in Siberia!” he said with a crafty smile. Though my bitterest enemy, he always feigned the greatest friendliness.