“I really can’t believe it,” I exclaimed, dumbfounded.
“There is no doubt whatever about it,” Renouf answered. “It was all in the papers at the time and made quite a stir throughout Europe. The story is a rather tragic one; sufficient to show what kind of woman she is. About three years ago she went with her father from St Petersburg to Moscow, where they took a handsome house, furnished it luxuriously, and gave a number of brilliant entertainments. At one of these the pretty Sonia, whose jewels were the admiration of half the city, met the young Prince Alexis Gazarin, a mere youth of twenty-two, who had only a few months before inherited a huge fortune from his father, the well-known promoter of the oil industry at Baku. Alexis fell violently in love with her, made her many costly presents, proposed marriage and was accepted, the parental consent being extracted only when he had deposited in the bank in Sonia’s name one hundred thousand roubles as settlement upon her. A week before the marriage, the body of Alexis was discovered floating in the yellow Volga near Kostroma, but whether his death was due to accident, suicide or foul play has never been ascertained. The fact, however, remains that Anton Korolénko and his pretty daughter left Moscow a week later, carrying with them one hundred thousand roubles of the dead man’s money.”
“Do you allege that the pair actually murdered him?” I inquired, astounded at this story.
The detective smiled mysteriously, gave his shoulders a significant shrug, but did not reply.
“This,” exclaimed Paul, “is the sort of woman you are trying to befriend! No doubt she has told you a most touching story of persecution, and all that; but can anyone be surprised if our police endeavour to arrest her? I tell you plainly she’s a mere adventuress, with a plausible story ever upon her tongue.”
“Do you refuse to do what I ask?” I inquired at last, when Renouf, pleading an appointment, had bowed and departed.
“I can really see no satisfactory reason why I should,” he answered, standing in the centre of the Persian rug spread before the fireplace.
“You are my friend, Paul,” I urged. “At all times I am, as you are aware, ready to perform you any personal service.”
“It is not rendering you a personal service if, by giving the passport, I induce her to tell you a tissue of untruths.”
“But it is evident, even from Renouf’s report, that Ella visits her. It is to obtain an elucidation of a secret that I am striving, for I am convinced Sonia knows the truth.”