"'You are right.'

"'And have your passport with you?'

"I drew it from my pocket, and handed it to him. He glanced at the
signature, refolded it, and said:--

"'You took the Countess Smolensk! to the station this morning. Where did
you meet her?'

"'On the train yesterday leaving Venice.'

"'Never before?'

"'Never.'

"'Why did she not leave Venice earlier?'

"'The count was dying, and could not be moved. He was buried two days
ago.'

"A shade passed over his face, 'Poor De Rescka! I suspected as much.'

"Then facing me again, his face losing its suspicious expression:--

"'Monsieur, I am the brother of the countess,--Colonel Boski of the army.
A week ago my letters were intercepted, and I left Cracow in the night.
Since then I have been hunted like an animal. This uniform is my third
disguise. As soon as my connection with the plot was discovered, my sister
was ordered home. The death of the count explains her delay, and prevented