Whoso Findeth a Wife

by William Le Queux

I fancied he started as I spoke, almost imperceptibly, perhaps, yet I could have sworn that my words produced within him some nervous apprehension.

“A crime!” he echoed. “Surely she cannot be guilty of anything more serious than some little indiscretion.”

“It is more than mere indiscretion that I suspect,” I said, in a low tone.

“Well,” he observed mechanically, as, after a pause, he stood at the window, gazing fixedly into the street, “I certainly would never accept as truth anything whatever told me by Sonia Korolénko.”

I was, however, inexorable in my demand, more than ever determined to hear Sonia’s story. The strange, hesitating manner in which my friend had endeavoured to avoid complying with my request had aroused suspicion within me; of what, I could not tell. It struck me as curious that he should thus defend Ella so strenuously, although he knew her but slightly. He was, perhaps, acting in my interests as his friend, but if so, his intense hatred of Sonia was more than the mere official denunciation of an evil-doer. I did not believe his declaration that he had never met Sonia, but it seemed rather as if he had cause to well remember his meeting with her, and that its recollection still rankled bitterly within him.

The admission by Renouf was a little disconcerting. Sonia certainly did not dream that the Tzar’s spies were even now watching her every action and carefully scrutinising each person who called at Pembroke Road. I saw that this knowledge I had acquired might prove extremely useful to her, for it was plain that even if she obtained the passport she would have to leave England secretly to avoid the vigilance of the secret agents of the Embassy. Again, why did Ella visit her? Instead of cycling in the Park she went to Pembroke Road, according to the report furnished to Renouf, nearly every day. For what purpose, I wondered. The more I reflected, the more deeply it became rooted within me that through Sonia I might ascertain the truth I sought.

Therefore I abandoned none of my efforts to persuade my friend to issue the document that would pass the sad-eyed girl across the frontier into the land she loved. For fully half-an-hour we discussed the situation, but he would not consent. She was an adventuress and a criminal, he said, and he was not prepared to risk the consequences if she were arrested in Russia with a false special permit issued by him.

“Besides,” he added, “you have heard from Renouf how she is constantly kept under observation.”

“But you could arrange that with him if you liked. A word from you and the vigilance of the police would be relaxed for an hour or two while she escaped,” I observed.

“Ah, no,” Verblioudovitch answered, “we have nothing whatever to do with Renouf and his subordinates, who are under the direct control of Sekerzhinski, the chief of the department in St Petersburg. They take no instructions from us.”