Then he remarked suddenly—­

“You are English, I presume—­possibly from Helsingfors?”

“No,” I answered.  “From Abo.  I crossed from Stockholm, and am going to Petersburg.”

“And I also.  I live in Petersburg,” he added.  “We may perhaps meet one day.  Do you know the capital?”

I explained that I had visited it once before, and had done the usual round of sight-seeing.  His manner was brisk and to the point, as became a man of business, but when we stopped at Bele-Ostrof, on the opposite side of the small winding river that separates Finland from Russia proper, the Customs officer who came to examine our baggage exchanged a curious meaning look with him.

My fellow-traveler believed that I had not observed, yet, keenly on the alert as I now was, I was shrewd to detect the least sign or look, and I at once resolved to tell the fellow nothing further of my own affairs.  He was, no doubt, a spy of “The Strangler’s,” who had followed me all the way from Abo, and had only entered my carriage for the final stage of the journey.

This revelation caused me some uneasiness, for even though I was able to evade the man on arrival in Petersburg, he could no doubt quickly obtain news of my whereabouts from the police to whom my passport must be sent.  I pretended to doze, and lay back with my eyes half-closed watching him.  When he found me disinclined to talk further, he took up the paper he had bought and became engrossed in it, while I, on my part, endeavored to form some plan by which to mislead and escape his vigilance.

The fellow meant mischief—­that I knew.  If Elma was flying in secret and he watched me, he would know that she was in Petersburg.  At all hazards, for my love’s sake as well as for mine, I saw that I must escape him.  The ingeniousness and cleverness of Oberg’s spies was proverbial throughout Finland, therefore he might not be alone, or in any case, on arrival in Petersburg would obtain assistance in keeping observation upon me.  I knew that the Baron desired my death, and that therefore I could not be too wary of pitfalls.  That fatal chair so cunningly prepared for me in Lambeth was still vividly within my memory.

As we passed Lanskaya, and ran through the outer suburbs of Petersburg, my fellow-traveler became inquisitive as to where I was going, but I was somewhat unresponsive, and busied myself with my bag until we entered the great echoing terminus whence I could see the Neva gleaming in the pale sunlight and the city beyond.  The fellow made no attempt to follow me—­he was too clever a secret agent for that.  He merely wished me “sdravstvuite” raised his hat politely and disappeared.

A porter carried my bag out of the station, and I drove across the bridge to the large hotel where I had stopped before, the Europe, on the corner of the Nevski Prospect and the Michael Street.  There I engaged a front room looking down into the broad Nevski, had a wash, and then watched at the window for the appearance of the spy.  I had already a good four hours before the steamer from Abo was due, and I intended to satisfy myself whether or not I was being followed.