“No.  That’s the curious part of the affair.  The man who was killed was a man disguised to represent the Italian, while the woman was actually the waiter’s wife herself.  I happen to know the man Santini well, for both he and his wife were for some years in my employ.”

The Princess and the director of the Russian revolutionary movement exchanged quick glances.  It was as though her Highness implored Kampf to reveal to me the truth, while he, on his part, was averse to doing so.

“And upon whom does suspicion rest?” asked her Highness.

“As far as I can make out, the police have no clue whatever, except one.  At the spot was found a tiny miniature cross of one of the Russian orders of chivalry—­the Cross of Saint Anne.”

“There is no suspicion upon Leithcourt?” she asked with some undue anxiety I thought.

“No.”

“Did he entertain any guests at the shooting-box?”

“A good many.”

“No foreigners among them?”

“I never met any.  They seemed all people from London—­a smart set for the most part.”

“Then why did the Leithcourts disappear so suddenly?”

“Because of the appearance of the man Chater,” I replied.  “It is evident that they feared him, for they took every precaution against being followed.  In fact, they fled leaving a big party of friends in the house.  The man Woodroffe, now at the Hotel de Paris, is a friend of Leithcourt as well as of Chater.”

“He was not a guest of Leithcourt when this man representing Santini was assassinated?” asked Kampf, again stroking his beard.

“No.  As soon as Woodroffe recognized me as a visitor he left—­for Hamburg.”

“He was afraid to face you because of the ransacking of the British Consul’s safe at Leghorn,” remarked the Princess, who, at the same moment, took Elma’s hand tenderly in her own and looked at her.  Then, turning to me, she said:  “What you have told us to-night, Mr. Gregg, throws a new light upon certain incidents that had hitherto puzzled us.  The mystery of it all is a great and inscrutable one—­the mystery of this poor unfortunate girl, greatest of all.  But both of us will endeavor to help you to elucidate it; we will help poor Elma to crush her enemies—­these cowardly villains who had maimed her.”

“Ah, Princess!” I cried.  “If you will only help and protect her, you will be doing an act of mercy to a defenseless woman.  I love her—­I admit it.  I have done my utmost:  I have striven to solve the dark mystery, but up to the present I have been unsuccessful, and have only remained, even till to-day, the victim of circumstance.”

“Let her stay with me,” the kindly woman answered, smiling tenderly upon my love.  “She will be safe here, and in the meantime we will endeavor to discover the real and actual truth.”

And in response I took the Princess’s hand and pressed it fervently.  Although that striking, white-headed man and the rather stiff, formal woman in black were the leaders of the great and all-powerful movement in Russia known through the civilized world as “The Terror,” yet they were nevertheless our friends.  They had pledged themselves to help us thwart our enemies.