“Assassination!” I cried.  “Have you actually sent her to prison as a murderess?”

“I have not.  The Criminal Court of Abo did so,” he said dryly.  “The offense has since been proved to have been the outcome of a political conspiracy, and the Minister of the Interior in Petersburg last week signed an order for the prisoner’s transportation to the island of Saghalien.”

“Ah!” I remarked with set teeth.  “Because you fear lest she shall write down your secret.”

“You are insulting!  You evidently do not know what you are saying,” he exclaimed resentfully.

“I know what I am saying quite well.  You have requested her removal to Saghalien in order that the truth shall be never known.  But Baron Oberg,” I added with mock politeness, “you may do as you will, you may send Elma Heath to her grave, you may hold me prisoner if you dare, but there are still witnesses of your crime that will rise against you.”

In an instant he went ghastly pale, and I knew that my blind shot had struck its mark.  The man before me was guilty of some crime, but what it was only Elma herself could tell.  That he had had her arrested for an attempted political assassination only showed how ingeniously and craftily the heartless ruler of that ruined country had laid his plans.  He feared Elma, and therefore had conspired to have her sent out to that dismal penal island in the far-off Pacific.

“You do not fear arrest, m’sieur?” he asked, as though with some surprise.

“Not in the least—­at least, not arrest by you.  You may be the representative of the Emperor in Finland, but even here there is justice for the innocent.”

A sinister smile played around the thin, gray lips of the man whose very name was hated through the great empire of the Czar, and was synonymous of oppression, injustice, and heartless tyranny.

“All I can repeat,” he said, “is that if you bring the young Englishwoman here I shall be quite prepared to hear her appeal.”  And he laughed harshly.

“You ask that because you know it is impossible,” I said, whereat he again laughed in my face—­a laugh which made me wonder whether Elma had not already fallen into his hands.  The uncertainty of her fate held me in terrible suspense.

“I merely wish to impress upon you the fact that I have not the slightest interest whatsoever in the person in question,” he said coldly.  “You seem to have formed some romantic attachment towards this young woman who attempted to poison Madame Vakuroff, and to have succeeded in rescuing her from Kajana.  You afterwards disregard the fact that you are liable to a long term of imprisonment yourself, and actually have the audacity to seek audience of me and make all sorts of hints and suggestions that I have held the woman a prisoner for my own ends!”

“Not only do I repeat that, Baron Oberg,” I said quickly.  “But I also allege that it was at your instigation that in Siena an operation was performed upon the unfortunate girl which deprived her of speech and hearing.”