from Von Eckhardt. It was he who found poor Carson; and he took possession of that”—he jerked his head towards the desk—“before the police came on the scene, and got it through.”

[Pg 27]

[Pg 27]

I knew what that meant,—that the thing had not been posted in Russia, but smuggled across the frontier.

I had met Von Eckhardt, who was on the staff of an important German newspaper, and knew that he and Carson were old friends. They shared rooms at St. Petersburg.

“Now why should Von Eckhardt run such a risk?” I asked.

“Can’t say; wish I could.”

“Where was he when poor Carson was done for?”

“At Wilna, he says; he’d been away for a week.”

“Did he tell you about this Society, and its red symbol?”

“’Pon my soul, you’ve missed your vocation, Wynn. You ought to have been a barrister!” drawled Southbourne. “No, I knew all that before. As a matter of fact, I warned Carson against that very Society,—as I’m warning you. Von Eckhardt merely told me the bare facts, including that about the bit of geranium Carson was clutching. I drew my own inference. Here, you may read his note.”

He tossed me a half-sheet of thin note-paper, covered on one side with Von Eckhardt’s crabbed German script.

It was, as he had said, a mere statement of facts, and I mentally determined to seize an early opportunity of interviewing Von Eckhardt when I arrived at Petersburg.

“You needn’t have troubled to question me,” resumed Southbourne, in his most nonchalant manner. “I meant to tell you the little I know,—for your own protection. This Society is one of those revolutionary organizations that abound in Russia, but more cleverly [Pg 28]managed than most of them, and therefore all the more dangerous. Its members are said to be innumerable, and of every class; and there are branches in every capital of Europe. A near neighbor of yours, by the way, is under surveillance at this very moment, though I believe nothing definite has been traced to him.”

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