"The man known as Rodolphe Wolf?" I cried--"the adventurer who fell
into the hands of the police at St. Petersburg, and served nine months'
imprisonment as a rogue and vagabond?"
"What! you know him?" she demanded in surprise. "Is he a friend of
yours?"
"A friend!" I echoed. "No, not a friend by any means. An enemy, and a
bitter one."
"Then he is mutually our enemy?" she declared.
"Most certainly," I answered, adding, "What you have just told me,
Leonie, reveals to me the truth regarding several incidents which have
been hitherto unaccountable. Was Wolf actually in your father's
employ?"
"Yes, for years. He was the younger son of old Count Leopold
d'Egloffstein-Wolfsburg, whose small estate joined that of Tettau, and,
after a wild career in Vienna and Paris, returned home a ne'er-do-well.
My father, in order to give him another chance in life, gave him control
of a portion of the estates, and, finding him shrewd and clever at
management, ultimately made him administrator of the whole, which
position he filled up to the time when, after my husband's death, I
discharged him on account of dishonesty and of the constant annoyance to
which I was subjected by him. When he left me he vowed that one day I
should become his wife, and it seems that in order to gain that end he
has been scheming ever since."
"He is a spy in the French secret service," I observed thoughtfully, for
strange reflections were running through my mind at that instant.
"I have heard so," she answered. "But that is not actually proved, is
it?"
"Absolutely."
"Is it possible that he himself stole the letter from your desk there?
Has he ever been here?"
"Never, to my knowledge. He would never dare to enter here," I replied.
"No, that letter was stolen by one of his accomplices."
"A woman?"
"Yes, I think it was a woman."
"A woman whom you love, or have loved, Gerald? Come now, be perfectly
frank with me."
"You guess aright," I answered, remembering that as far as I was aware
she knew nothing of the existence of Edith Austin.
A dark look crossed her features.
"Then if that woman knew the contents of the letter she had a motive of
jealousy," argued the Princess.
"She may have had. At any rate I have suspicion that, acting under
Wolf's instructions, she abstracted the letter and handed it to him
without previous knowledge of what it contained."
"No, I scarcely think that. Wolf would tell her that I loved you and
was her rival in your affections, in order to incense her against me.
What is her name?"
I kept silence for a moment, reflecting upon the wisdom of telling her
the truth at that juncture. At last I resolved that, as our interests
were mutual, there should be no secrets between us.
"She is English, and her name is Austin--Edith Austin."
"Edith Austin!" she cried in dismay. "And you love her?--you love _that
woman_?"
"Why do you speak of her in that manner?" I demanded.
"Austin--Austin?" she repeated. "It is certainly not the first time I
have heard that name. Certainly her reputation is not above suspicion.
And you actually love her, Gerald?" she added in a blank tone of
reproach. "Is it really possible that you love her?"
"Why?"
"Because Bertini--who was once in the Austrian service, and is now a
secret agent of the French--told me in Vienna not long ago that one of
the most successful French agents in England was a young girl named
Edith Austin. She must be the same. I know Bertini well, although he
is not at all a desirable acquaintance. And you love this girl--you, in
your responsible position at the Embassy? Is it not extremely
dangerous?"
I admitted that it was, but expressed disinclination to discuss the
matter further, feeling that the more we talked of it the deeper would
be the pain I caused to the handsome and desperate woman before me.
"You told me just now that Wolf once made an attempt upon your life," I
said presently. "These words of yours have given me a clue to an
incident which has to me long been a mystery."
"How?"
"Listen, and I'll tell you. One day in late autumn two years ago I
alighted at the little station of Montigny, on the line to Montargis, in
order to ride through the forest of Fontainebleau to Bois-le-Roi, and
return thence to Paris by rail. I am fond of the forest, and when I can
snatch a day, sometimes go for a healthy spin through it, either riding,
cycling, or on foot. Having lunched at the little inn at Marlotte,
where my mare was stabled, I started off on the road which, as you know
well, leads through the wild rocks of the Gorge aux Loups to the
Carrefour de la Croix du Grand Maitre in the heart of the forest, and
thence away to the town of Fontainebleau. The afternoon was gloomy and
lowering, and darkness crept on much more quickly than I had
anticipated. It had rained earlier in the day, and the roads were wet
and muddy, while the wind that had sprung up moaned dismally through the
half-bare trees, rendering the ride anything but a cheerful one.
"By six o'clock it was already quite dark, and I was still in the centre
of the forest, galloping along a narrow by-way which I knew would bring
me out upon the main road to Paris. The mare's hoofs were falling
softly upon the carpet of rain-sodden leaves when of a sudden I heard a
woman's cry of distress in the darkness close to me. A man's voice
sounded, speaking in German, and next instant there was the flash of a
revolver and a loud report. The light gave me a clue, and, pulling up,
I swung myself from my saddle and without hesitation rushed to the
woman's assistance. I slipped my own revolver from my pocket and sprang
upon the man who had fired, while at the same instant the woman wrested
herself from the assassin's grasp. By means of the white shawl she wore
about her head I saw her disappearing quickly through the undergrowth.
With a fierce oath the man turned upon me, and, as we struggled,
endeavoured to get the muzzle of his weapon beneath my chin. I felt the
cold steel against my jaw, and next instant he pulled the trigger. My
face was scorched by the flash, but happily the bullet went harmlessly
past my cheek. I had dropped my own weapon early in the encounter, and
now saw that the only way in which I could save my life was to beat the
fellow's head against a tree until he became insensible. This I
succeeded in doing, tripping him suddenly, forcing him down, and beating
his skull against a tree-stump until he lay there motionless as a log.
Then I took his weapon from him, and, striking a match, bent down to see
his face. To my astonishment I found that he was a man I had known
slightly several years before--the man who holds you within his power--
Rodolphe Wolf."
"And the woman who so narrowly escaped death--indeed, whose life was
saved by your timely aid--is the woman who loves you--myself!" she
cried.
"I never dreamed, until your words just now gave me a clue to the truth,
that you were actually the unknown woman who escaped from the hands of
the assassin," I said.
For answer she grasped my hand warmly and looked straight into my eyes,
though she did not utter a single word.