smiled then but I forgave her, for her smile added to her charm.
"I suppose," remarked the man, "you understand all that has happened, Mr. Hugh Beckwith."
"Understand!" I shouted by that time I was fairly roused. "I understand nothing not one single thing! How can you imagine that I understand?"
"But you know for whom those gentlemen mistook you, Mr. Beckwith."
"Know!" Leaning forward I struck with my clenched fist a polished table which was in front of me. "Know! how could I know? If I'd been the greatest villain unhung they could not have treated me worse."
"I fancy, Mr. Beckwith, that they did mistake you for a person who you might hold is one of the greatest villains still unhung."
The girl spoke in that unknown language, interrupting him, as if fearing that if he was not careful he might commit himself to statements which he would rather were not made. He replied to her. There was a brisk exchange of words. Plainly a discussion was taking place in which he brought arguments to bear which presently caused her to see the matter from his point of view.
"I believe, Mr. Hugh Beckwith," she said, "that you are an honest man."
"I say nothing about that," I told her. "I am as honest as a clerk in the dried fruit trade may be."
The man roared with laughter.
"That is as well put," he declared as soon as his mirth permitted, "as you're ever likely to get it. In no line of business, nowadays, can a clerk be honest beyond a certain point."
"I am of opinion," the lady said, "that you are more honest than you care to admit. It's not a disgrace to be honest."
"Perhaps," I ventured, "you don't know very much about the dried fruit trade."
"No," she admitted, "I do not; but I think I do know an honest man when I see him, and I believe I'm looking at one now." As she was looking straight at me then the inference seemed clear; but I still felt that if she had known anything about the dried fruit trade her words would have been more guarded. "At least," she added, "I trust you. You will see how much I trust you." Then she said to the man, "You can tell him all about it."
"If you take my advice," I interjected, "you will trust no one. I would rather you told me nothing which might affect your interest if it became public."
"As for being made public, it is public enough already." Then to the man a little dictatorially, as if it were him to obey her, "Tell him."
The man got up from the chair on which he had been sitting, crossed to a brass rack for holding newspapers and returned towards me carrying two or three in his hand.
"Am I to gather," he began, "that you would rather have no explanation of the singular manner in which those gentlemen treated you, Mr. Hugh Beckwith? I take it that you at least think it possible that they had reasons for what they did."
"Infamous reasons!"
"Infamous if you like that depends on the way in which you look at it. I might prefer to describe them as sufficient. What they did to you they believed themselves to be doing in self-defence. I am not sure that they were not right."
"What had I done that they need defend themselves from me?"
"Have you seen a newspaper lately, Mr. Hugh Beck with?"
"I see two every day, one in the morning and one in the evening. I hold that it is not extravagant to spend sixpence a week on keeping yourself abreast of the news of the world."
"Soundly put I Many people would not be so ignorant of what is taking place around them if they thought what you think. Do you read either Russian or Polish?"
"Neither. I am taking lessons in the languages of the countries from which we purchase most of our dried fruits; but so far as I know we purchase nothing from either Poland or Russia."
"I daresay that is correct; so I will confine myself to what has been published in the English papers. Look at this." He held out a copy of the Daily Telegraph, open at the centre page. "See these scare lines." He read aloud. "Assassination of Russian Prefect of Police. Extraordinary Story." He looked at me. "That's who they took you for, the man who killed him. The Russian Prefect of Police has been murdered at St. Petersburg, in a public street. He was stabbed in the back with a long knife which was driven right through him. The assassin found it easier to leave it in than to take it out again. One of the Prefect's officers, who was standing at some little distance, actually saw the murder committed; but before he could reach the Prefect he was dead and the murderer was out of sight. If, as is possible because even in that most policed country in the world criminals do get away that particular murderer did escape, he may have made for London; in a certain quarter he may even have been expected."
"Do you mean to say that those fellows took me for a murderer?"
The man smiled I really did not see what there was to smile at: there was a quality in his smile which I found curious.
"The thing is conceivable."
"I really cannot agree with that. I cannot see how let the circumstances be what they may anyone is entitled to take me for a murderer."
"My dear Mr. Beckwith, perhaps I see better than you do. In all little affairs of this kind--"
"Little affair, you call it! The Chief of Police I suppose a Prefect is a Chief of Police is murdered in a public street, and you call it a little affair."
"I will speak of it as you like. I only wish to point out that in affairs of this kind there are apt to be wheels within wheels, plots within plots, mysterious complications which well, I will say, which make all things conceivable. Do you know it occurs to me, Mr. Beckwith, that you may be hungry."
The change of theme was sudden, but I was equal to the occasion.
"Considering," I told him, "that I have had nothing to eat since yesterday at breakfast you may take it for granted that I am."
He addressed the lady.
"Do you not think that we might be able to give this gentleman something to eat?"
She touched an electric bell. "I must apologise to Mr. Beckwith," she said, "for my want of consideration; I ought to have thought of it before."
A man-servant entered at least I took him for a servant: he was big and brawny, and wore a beard; he reminded me of those undesirable aliens, though I admit that he was cleaner, neater, better dressed than they were. She said something to him; he vanished, almost immediately returning with various articles upon a tray. He set these out upon the table. There was a cold chicken, bread, butter, fresh cut lettuce, a bottle of red wine. I did not need a second invitation to attack the food. While I ate they talked, asking me questions, sometimes laughing at my answers. The kind of interest they seemed to feel was beyond my comprehension. They did not seem to be the kind of people who would be mixed up even in what they might call a "political" murder. I gave frank expression to my feelings. I said to the man:
"Do you know you'll excuse my saying so but I'm beginning to wonder if you had anything to do with the awful thing which happened to this man what's his name?"
"The name of the Prefect of Police was Stepan Korsunsky."
"You
