“But who were the men?  Did you recognize them?”

“No, not at all.  That’s the worst of it.”

“But Muriel knows who they were!” I said.

“Ah, yes!  Bring her here, won’t you?” the poor fellow implored, “I’m dying to see her once again.”

Then I told him how she had looked upon him while unconscious, and how I had taken the daily bulletin to her.  For an hour I talked with him, urging him to get well soon, so that we could unite in probing the mystery, and bringing to justice those responsible for the dastardly act.

“Muriel knows, and if she loves you she will no doubt assist us,” I said.

“Oh, she does love me, Gordon, I know that,” said the prostrate man, smiling contentedly, and when I left I promised to bring her there on the morrow.

This I did, but having conducted her to the bed at the end of the ward I discreetly withdrew.  What she said to him I am not, of course, aware.  All I know is that an hour later when I returned I found them the happiest pair possible to conceive, and I clearly saw that Jack’s trust in her was not ill-placed.

But of Elma?  No further word had come from her, and I began to grow uneasy.  The days went on.  I wrote twice, but no reply was forthcoming.  At last I could bear the suspense no longer, and began to contemplate returning to Russia.

Jack, when at last discharged from the hospital, came across to the Cecil and lived with me in preference to the “Junior.”  He was very weak at first, and I looked after him, while every day Muriel came and ate with us, brightening our lives by her smart and merry chatter.  She knew that I loved Elma and was also aware of the exciting events in Russia, Jack having told her of them during their long drives in hansoms when he went out with her to take the air.

One day I received a brief note from the Princess in Petersburg, urging me to remain patient and saying Elma was quite safe and well.  There were reasons, however, why she was unable to write, she added.  What were they, I wondered?  Yet I could only wait until I received word to travel back to Russia and fetch her home.  The Princess had promised to arrange everything.

December came, and we still remained on at the hotel.  Once Olinto had written me repeating his warning, but I did not heed it.  I somehow distrusted the fellow.

Jack, now thoroughly recovered, called almost daily at Bassett Road, and would often bring Muriel to the Cecil to tea or to luncheon.  Often I inquired the whereabouts of her father and of Hylton Chater, but she declared herself in entire ignorance, and believed they were abroad.

One afternoon, shortly before Christmas, as we were idling in the American bar of the hotel, my friend told me that Muriel had invited us to tea at her cousin’s that afternoon, and accordingly we went there in company.

The drawing-room into which we were ushered was familiar to me as the apartment wherein I had told Muriel of the attempt upon her lover’s life.