“I think I do,” I returned, for some reason almost abruptly.

“She is a good girl,” said Kitwater, and then took from his pocket an envelope which he handed to me.

“By the way I brought this with me,” he said, “in the hope that we should be able to induce you to accede to our wishes.  Inside you will find a hundred-pound note, which should be sufficient to cover any preliminary expenses.  If you need more, perhaps you will be kind enough to communicate with me at once, and it shall be sent you.  A receipt can be forwarded to me at your leisure.”

I thanked him and placed the envelope upon the table.  In my own mind I felt that it would be an easy matter to guess whence the sum had come, and for a reason that I could not then analyze, and therefore am unable to describe, the thought irritated me.

Having assured them that the amount would be quiet sufficient, in the event of nothing unforeseen happening, to last for some considerable time to come, I conducted them to the door, again repeating the promise that I would communicate with them so soon as I had anything to report.  If I had only known then, that, at the very moment when they stepped in to the street, the man they wanted me to find for them, and whom they hated so desperately, was standing in a shop on the other side of the road, keeping an eye on my door, and evidently watching for their departure, how much trouble and vexation of spirit we should all have been saved.  But I did not know this until long afterwards, and then of course the information came too late to be of any service to us.

Next morning I was early at the office, being desirous of winding up another little matter before I turned my attention to the new affair.  One of my subordinates had just returned from the Continent whither I had sent him to keep an eye on a certain pseudo-French Marquis with whom I expected to have dealings at no distant date.  He reported that the gentleman in question had broken the bank at Monte Carlo, had staked and lost all his winnings next day, and had shot himself on the promenade on the evening following.  With his death the affair, on which I had confidently expected to be employed, came to an end, I could not say that I was altogether sorry.

“I shall want you to leave on Friday, Turner, for St. Petersburg,” I said, when he had finished his report and I had commented upon it.  “Do you remember Paulus Scevanovitch, who was concerned in that attempt to defraud the Parisian jewellers, Maurel and Company, two years ago?”

“Yes, sir, I remember him perfectly,” Turner replied.  “A tall, burly man, with a bushy beard, the top of his little finger on the left hand missing, and a long white scar over his right eyebrow.”

“The same,” I answered.  “I see you have not forgotten him.  Well, I want you to find him out, and let me have an exact account of his movements during the next three weeks.  The office will arrange your expenses in the usual way, and you had better leave by the mail-train.  In all probability I shall see you off.”