“At least you can tell us from whom I may ascertain the true facts,” I cried.
He looked at me for an instant gravely, then answered in all seriousness:
“The only person who knows the truth is Sonia Korolénko, the refugee.”
“Sonia!” gasped the Earl. “That woman is not in England, surely?”
“I think not,” Bingham replied. “But if you would ascertain the key to the enigma, seek her, and she may explain everything. That is as far as I can assist you. Remember, I myself have revealed nothing.”
“She has returned to Russia,” I observed. “Have you any knowledge where she is?”
“No, there are reasons why her whereabouts should remain unknown,” he answered, hesitatingly. “She is in fear of the police.”
“Do her friends know of her hiding-place?”
“No. A short time ago I desired to communicate with her, but was unable. The last I heard of her was that she was living at Skerstymone, a little town somewhere in Poland.”
“If she can successfully elude the vigilance of the Russian police, I can have but little hope of finding her,” I said, doubtfully.