It was none other than Serge Markoff.
"I am very well, General," I replied coldly. "I am awaiting Count
Kourloff."
"He's out. It was I who telegraphed to you. I want to have a chat with
you now that you have entered the service of Russia, my dear friend.
Pray be seated."
"Pardon me," I replied, annoyed, "I have not entered the service of
Russia, only the private service of her Sovereign, the Emperor."
"The same thing! The same thing!" he declared fussily, stroking his
long, grey moustache, and fixing his cunning steel-blue eyes upon mine.
"I think not," I said. "But we need not discuss that point."
"_Bien_! I suppose Her Highness is perfectly comfortable and happy in
her _incognito_ at Brighton--eh? The Emperor was speaking of her to me
only the other day."
"His Majesty receives my report each week," I said briefly.
"I know," replied the brutal remorseless man who was responsible for the
great injustice and suffering of thousands of innocent ones throughout
the Russian Empire. "I know. But I have asked you to London because I
wish to speak to you in strictest confidence. I am here, M'sieur
Trewinnard, because of a certain discovery we have recently made--the
discovery of a very desperate and ingenious plot!"
"Another plot!" I echoed; "here, in London!"
"It is formed in London, but the _coup_ is to be made at Brighton," he
replied slowly and seriously, "a plot against Her Imperial Highness!"