“And the crew?” I asked, after a pause.

“They were, of course, well paid, and were kept in ignorance of what the supposed owner and his friends did ashore.”

“But Oberg’s connection with it?” I asked, surprised at those revelations.

“Ah!” exclaimed Muriel.  “The ingenuity of that crafty villain is fiendish.  Before he got into the Czar’s favor he owed my father a large sum, and then sought how to evade repayment.  By means of his spies he discovered the real purpose of the cruises of the Iris—­for I was often taken on board with a maid in order to allay any suspicion that might arise if only men were cruising.  Then he not only compelled my father to cancel the debt, but he impressed the vessel and those who owned and navigated it into the secret service of Russia.  A dozen times did we make attempts to obtain secret papers from Italian, French and English dockyards, but only once in the case of Malta and once at Toulon did we succeed.  Ah!  Mr. Gregg,” she added, “you do not know all the anxiety I suffered, how at every hour we were in danger of betrayal or capture, and of the hundred narrow escapes we have had of Custom House officers rummaging the yacht for contraband.  You will no doubt recollect the sensation caused by the theft of the jewels of the Princess Wilhelmine of Schaumbourg-Lippe from the lady’s-maid in the rapide between Cannes and Les Arcs, the robbery from the Marseilles branch of the Credit Lyonnais, and the great haul of plate from the chateau of Bardon, the Paris millionaire, close to Arcachon.”

“Yes,” I said, for they were all robberies of which I had read in the newspapers a couple of years before.

“Well,” she said, “they were all committed by Archer or Woodroffe and his gang—­with accomplices ashore, of course—­and never once did it seem that any suspicion fell upon us.  While the police were frantically searching hither and thither, we used to weigh anchor and calmly steam away with our booty on board.  We had with us an old Dutch lapidary, and one of the cabins was fitted as a workshop, where he altered the appearance of the stones, and prepared them ready for sale, while the gold was melted in a crucible and put ashore to be sent to agents in Hamburg.”

“But that night in Leghorn?” I said.  “What happened to poor Elma?”

“I do not know,” was Muriel’s reply.  “We were both on board together, and standing at the crack of the door watched you sitting at dinner that evening.  Elma told me that she believed that there was a plot against your life, but why she would not tell me.  She evidently knew of the proposed rifling of the safe at the Consulate.  Oberg himself was also on board, locked in his own cabin.  Elma must have overheard some conversation between the Baron and one of the others, for she was in great fear the whole time lest they might injure you.  Yet it seemed, after all, as though their idea was the same as always, to worm themselves into