Marshall Allerdyke, though he had no actual monetary connection with them, had always possessed a fairly accurate knowledge of his cousin’s business affairs—­James was the sort of man who talked freely to his intimates about his doings.  Therefore Allerdyke was able to make out from the journal what James had done during his stay at St. Petersburg, in Moscow, in Revel, and in Stockholm, in all of which places he had irons of one sort or another in the fire.  He recognized the names of various firms upon which James had called—­these names were as familiar to him as those of the big manufacturing concerns in his own town.  James had been to see this man, this man had been to see James.  He had dined with such an one; such an one had dined with him.  Ordinarily innocent entries, all these; there was no subtle significance to be attached to any of them:  they were just the sort of entries which the busy commercial man, engaged in operations of some magnitude, would make for his own convenience.

There was, in short, nothing in that tiny book—­a mere, waistcoat-pocket sort of affair—­which Allerdyke was at a loss to understand, or which excited any wonder or speculation in him:  with one exception.  That exception was in three entries:  brief, bald, mere lines, all made during James’s second stay—­the fortnight period—­in St. Petersburg.  They were:—­

April 18:  Met Princess.

April 20:  Lunched with Princess.

April 23:  Princess dined with me.

These entries puzzled Allerdyke.  His cousin had been going over to Russia at least twice a year for three years, but he had never heard him mention that he had formed the acquaintance of any person of princely rank.  Who was this Princess with whom James had evidently become on such friendly terms that they had lunched and dined together?  James had twice written to him during his absence—­he had both letters in his pocket then, and one of them was dated from St. Petersburg on April 24th, but there was no mention of any Princess in either.  Seeking for an explanation, he came to the conclusion that James, who had a slight weakness for the society of ladies connected with the stage, had made the acquaintance of some actress or other, ballet-dancer, singer, artiste, and had given her the nickname of Princess.

That was all there was to be got from the diary.  It amounted to nothing.  There were, however, the loose papers.  He began to examine these methodically.  They were few in number—­James was the sort of man who never keeps anything which can be destroyed:  Allerdyke knew from experience that he had a horror of accumulating what he called rubbish.  These papers, fastened together with a band of india-rubber, were all business documents, with one exception—­a letter from Allerdyke himself addressed to Stockholm, to wait James’s arrival.  There were some specifications relating to building property; there was a schedule of the timber then standing in a certain