The assassin, seeing the Minister reel and fall, turned his weapon upon
me. Thereupon, in an instant I threw up my hands, crying that I was
unarmed, and was an Englishman.
As I did so, he started back as though terrified. His weapon fell from
his grasp, and with a spring, he disappeared again into the bushes.
All had happened in a few brief instants; for ere I could realise that a
tragedy had actually occurred, I found the unfortunate Prime Minister
lying lifeless at my feet. My friend had been shot through the heart!
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Readers of the newspapers will recollect the tragic affair, which is no
doubt still fresh in their minds.
I told the Chief of Police of Sofia of my strange experience, and showed
him the mark upon my palm. Though detectives searched high and low for
the hunchback Greek, for Madame Sovoff, and for the fascinating
Mademoiselle, none of them were ever found.
The assassin was, nevertheless, arrested a week later, while trying to
cross the frontier into Servia. I, of course, lost by an ace the great
financial coup, but before execution the prisoner made a confession
which revealed the existence of a terrible and widespread conspiracy,
fostered by Bulgaria's arch-enemy Turkey, to remove certain members of
the Cabinet who were in favour of British influence becoming paramount.
Yes. It was a rather narrow squeak.
Quite unconsciously, I had, it seemed, become an especial favourite of
the silent, watchful old Konstantinos Vassos. He had no idea that I was
a "crook" or that I was a secret agent. Fearing lest I, in my
innocence, should fall a victim with his Excellency--being so often his
companion--he had, with the assistance of the pretty Marie Balesco,
contrived to impress upon my palm the secret sign of the conspirators.
To this fact I certainly owe my life, for the assassin--a stranger to
Sofia, who had been drawn by lot--would, no doubt, have shot me dead,
had he not seen upon my raised hand "The Sign of the Cat's-paw."