Whoso Findeth a Wife

I shook my head dubiously, feeling assured that I could never induce Verblioudovitch to issue a false passport to a woman he had denounced as a dangerous criminal.

“Ah, you will try, will you not?” she implored, rising and gripping my arm. “It is necessary that I should be in St Petersburg within fourteen days from now, in order to give instructions regarding my late father’s property. His brother, my uncle, is endeavouring to cheat me of it, and I must return, or I shall lose everything. I shall be ruined utterly.”

She spoke so rapidly, and upon her pale face was a look so wistful, that I felt assured she was in earnest. Hers was not the face of a malefactor, but rather that of a modest girl whose spirit had been broken by her bereavement.

“I obtained your immunity from arrest here in England, it is true,” I said. “But I fear that in my efforts to obtain for you a false passport I shall fail. If the police discover you within Russian territory, then nothing can save you from Siberia.”

“But they will not find me,” she cried hastily. “Obtain for me a passport that will carry me across the frontier, and within an hour I shall be as dead to the police as the stones in the wall.”

This expression she had involuntarily let drop struck me as distinctly curious. It certainly was not such a phrase as would be used by any but a constant fugitive from justice. Indeed, it was really the parlance of the habitual criminal. Again I remained silent in doubt.

“Will you try?” she asked, intensely in earnest.

“If it is your wish I will try,” I answered. “But only in return for one service.”

“Well?” she inquired sharply.

“That when I bring you the passport you will tell me truthfully and honestly the grounds whereon you allege that Ella Laing is my enemy.”

She knit her brows for a few brief seconds, as if the possibility of my demand had never occurred to her. Then, suddenly smiling, she answered, extending her hand, —

“It’s a bargain. But, remember, I must be in St Petersburg within fourteen days.”

“I shall not forget,” I answered, with a sudden resolve to do my utmost to obtain the permit allowing this strange but handsome girl to re-enter her native land, and thus learn the truth regarding my well-beloved. “I shall call on Verblioudovitch to-morrow.”

“You are good to me, m’sieur, very good,” she cried, joyfully. “In return, I will tell you one thing, even now. If you doubt what I say regarding the woman you love, look calmly into her face, pressing her hand affectionately the while, and ask her if she knows anyone with diamond eyes.”

“Is Diamond Eyes a pet name?” I inquired. I was puzzled, for I had a faint consciousness of having heard that designation before, but to whom applied I know not.

“Discover for yourself,” she answered, smiling. “I have given you the clue. Follow it, and seek the truth.”

Many times during our subsequent conversation I besought her to tell me something further, but she would not, and at last, after remaining with her over an hour, I left, promising I would at once set about obtaining the passport she desired. Hers was a strange personality, yet I, by some vague intuition, felt myself on the verge of a discovery. I was convinced that she knew of the theft of the secret convention, and could, if she wished, impart to me some startling truth.

Chapter Sixteen
Advice Gratis

Soon after noon next day I called at the Russian Embassy at Chesham House, and was ushered into the private room of my friend, Paul Verblioudovitch, the secretary to the urbane old gentleman who acted as the Tzar’s representative at the Court of St James. It was a large but rather gloomy room, well stocked with books, containing a writing-table and several easy-chairs, into one of which I sank after the hall-porter, a gigantic, liveried Russian, had conducted me thither, and announced the immediate arrival of my official friend.

While waiting, I reflected that my errand was scarcely one that would commend itself to the favour of Lord Warnham. Official relations between the Russian Embassy and the British Foreign Office, never very cordial, were, owing to our knowledge of the suppressed declaration of war, now seriously strained. Nevertheless, Paul and I were very intimate friends. I had first met him in St Petersburg, where for six months I had occupied an unimportant post in the British Embassy. Being compelled to pay frequent visits to the Minister of Foreign Affairs, I was always seen by Verblioudovitch, an official who spoke excellent English. Then I left and returned to London under Lord Warnham, and for nearly two years entirely lost sight of him, until I was one day delighted to find he had been promoted as Secretary of Embassy in London. Since that time our friendship had been renewed, and we had spent many a pleasant evening together.

“Ah, my dear fellow!” he cried, almost without any trace of accent, as he suddenly opened the door and interrupted my reflections. “You’re an early visitor,” he laughed, shaking hands cordially. “Well, what is it? A message from your indefatigable chief?”

“No, not exactly,” I smiled, sinking again into my comfortable chair as he walked to the opposite side of his writing-table, afterwards seating himself at it. He was a well-preserved man of about forty-five, tall, erect, of military bearing, with closely-cropped, dark hair, a well-trimmed moustache, and a face that was an index to his happy, contented disposition. The Tzar’s officials are supposed to be a set of the most stern, hard-hearted ruffians on earth, but there was certainly nothing of the heartless persecutor about him. Indeed, he was quite the reverse – a devil-may-care, easy-going fellow, who enjoyed a joke hugely, and when outside the sombre walls of the Embassy was full of genuine good humour and buoyant spirits. He may have been able to disguise his careless demeanour beneath the stern, strictly business-like manner of officialdom, but I, for one, had never seen him assume the loftiness of his position as secretary of the chief among the Embassies in London.

“Our people at home have recently been playing an amusing little game at your expense, haven’t they?” he laughed, passing over to me his silver cigarette case and selecting one himself when I gave it back to him.

“I believe they have,” I answered.

“I would have given anything to have seen the look on your old chief’s face when first he heard that we were going to declare war,” he laughed. “How did he take it? You had a rough half-hour, I expect.”

“Of course,” I smiled. “Things looked so serious.”

“Yes, so they did,” he admitted, his face growing grave. “I quite expected that we should have to pack up our baggage and go back to St Petersburg. The fact is it’s a puzzle to us why the Imperial declaration wasn’t actually published. A hitch somewhere, I suppose.”

“Fortunately for us – eh?” I observed, lighting up calmly. He imported his own cigarettes, and they were always excellent.

“Yes,” he answered, adding after a moment’s reflection, “but why have you come to me now that we are officially at daggers drawn?”

“Only officially are we bad friends,” I said. “Personally we shall be on good terms always, I hope, Paul. It was because I know I can count upon your assistance that I’ve come to ask you a favour.”

“Ask away, old chap,” he said, deftly twisting his cigarette in his fingers, afterwards placing it between his lips.

“I have a friend who wants to go to Russia, and desires a passport.”

“Well, he can get one at the Consul-General’s office,” my friend answered, without removing his cigarette. “I’ll give you a note, if you like.”

“No,” I said. “First, it is not a man who is going, but a woman; and, secondly, I want a passport viséd by the Embassy in a name other than the real name of its bearer.”

“Oh,” he exclaimed suspiciously, glancing straight at me. “Something shady, oh? Who’s the woman?”

“Well, she’s hardly a woman yet,” I answered. “A pretty girl who has lost her father and desires to return to her friends in St Petersburg.”

“What’s her name?”

“You know her,” I said slowly. “I came to you on her behalf some time ago when a warrant was out for the arrest of her and her father. I – ”

“Of course, I quite remember,” he answered quickly, interrupting me. “Anton Korolénko escaped with his daughter, that ingenious little nymph, Sonia, who came and pitched you a long, almost idyllic yarn, and you came here to intercede. I did as you requested and secured their freedom by endorsing the report of the agent of police told off to watch them by a statement that both father and daughter were dead. I then kept my promise by returning the warrant, but I tell you I narrowly escaped getting into a devil of a scrape about it.”

“But you can manage to give me a false passport for her, can’t you?” I urged.

“Where’s her father? If he goes back their whole game will be given away.”

“Her father is dead,” I answered.

“Dead! Well, the grave is, I think, about the best place for such an enterprising old scoundrel, and as for his daughter, hang it, old chap, ten years in Nerchinsk wouldn’t hurt her. What story has she been telling you this time, eh?” he asked.

“She is lonely without her father, and in order to secure her property, which is about to be seized by her uncle, she is bound to be in St Petersburg within fourteen days.”

“Fourteen days,” repeated my friend, reflectively. “Let’s see, to-day’s the twelfth,” and he made some rapid calculations upon his blotting-pad. “Well, what else?” he inquired, looking up at me keenly.

“Nothing, except that she dare not return under her own name.”

“I should scarcely think she’d better,” he laughed, “unless she wants to spend the remainder of her days in that rather uncomfortable hotel called Schlusselburg, where the beds are not aired, and there are no toilet-glasses. But, tell me,” he added gravely, a moment later, “why do you interest yourself in her welfare? She’s entertaining and rather pretty, I’ve been told, but surely you, who are engaged to that charming girl to whom you introduced me at the Gaiety one evening a few weeks ago, really ought not to associate yourself with Anton Korolénko’s daughter? She’s a criminal.”

“I have an object,” I said briefly.

“Every man says that when a girl has taken his fancy. I know the world, old fellow.”

“But it so happens that I’ve not been captivated by her charms,” I retorted.

“Well, my dear Geoffrey,” he said, in a tone of unusual gravity, “take my advice and keep away from her. Ever since you induced me to secure her her liberty, I have honestly regretted it, knowing as I do the terrible crimes alleged against the gang of which she and her villainous old father were prominent members.”

“What kind of crimes were they?”

“Everything, from picking pockets to murder,” he answered. “They stuck at nothing, so long as they secured the huge stakes for which they played. Has she been again weaving for your benefit any more of her tragic romances? She’d make a fortune as a novelist.”

I paused in deep thought.

“Truth to tell,” I said at last, “she has made an allegation against the woman I love.”

“Against Ella Laing?” he exclaimed, a faint shadow of anger crossing his brow. “What has she said? Tell me; perhaps I can suggest a way of dealing with her,” he added quickly. “She’s most unscrupulous; her tongue is tipped with venom.”

“She has given me to understand that Ella is an adventuress, and my most bitter enemy,” I blurted out suddenly.

He flung down his pen in anger, a fierce imprecation in Russian upon his lips. The reason of his sudden annoyance was a mystery, but his quick eyes noticed my amazement, and in on instant he assumed a calm demeanour, saying, in a voice of reproach, —

“So this woman, who has libelled Ella, you are striving to assist, eh? Well, what ground has she for her allegation?”

“She will tell me only on one condition.”

“And what is that?”

“If I induce you to give her a false passport, and promise not to inform the frontier police of her intended departure, she will relate to me the truth,” I said.

“And are you actually prepared to accept as truth the allegations which this woman uses as a lever to compel you to exercise your good offices on her behalf?” he observed, in a tone of reproach.

I was silent, for I now recognised for the first time the strength of his argument.

“You see her position is this,” he continued. “She has nothing to lose and everything to gain. You get her the permit she desires; and she, in return, will tell you some absurd romance or other, concocted, perhaps, because she has taken a fancy to you and is jealous of Ella. We are friends, Deedes, or I should not speak so plainly. But I tell you that if I were in your place I would refuse to hear any lies from this pretty, soft-spoken criminal.”

“I quite appreciate your argument,” I answered, reflectively, “and I thank you for your good advice.” Were the words she had uttered lies, I wondered? Assuredly, her allegation that Ella was my enemy was a foul falsehood; nevertheless that she was well aware of the tragic end of Dudley Ogle I could not doubt, and her assertion that it had been intended that I should be the victim had startled me and aroused my curiosity. I was determined, at all hazards, to ascertain the truth.

“Do not be entrapped by a pretty face or a fine pair of eyes, that’s my advice,” my companion said, slowly striking a match.

“I can assure you, old fellow, I shall not be misled by any pretty face, even if it has diamond eyes,” I said, quite unthinkingly, Sonia’s strange words recurring to me at that moment.

“Diamond eyes!” gasped Paul Verblioudovitch, starting visibly and holding the burning match still between his fingers without lighting his cigarette. He had in that instant grown paler, and I thought I detected that his hand trembled, almost imperceptibly be it said. “What do you mean?” he demanded, with a strange fierceness in his gaze. “What do you know of Diamond Eyes?”

Chapter Seventeen
A Spy’s Story

“I know nothing of diamond eyes,” I replied, surprised at Paul’s excited inquiry. Instead of showing a good-natured friendliness towards me as usual, he had suddenly become agitated and suspicious. He glanced at me in doubt, saying, —

“Sonia has been revealing something. It is useless now to try and disguise the fact.”

“No,” I replied quickly. “She has not explained anything. What do you expect her to reveal?”

“Oh, nothing, my dear fellow, nothing,” he answered, smiling, with that indifference cultivated by the diplomat. “The expression you used was as original as it was unusual, that’s all.”

“I don’t claim originality for it,” I laughed. “To Sonia is the credit due.”

“To Sonia?” he exclaimed uneasily, glancing sharply at me. “Then it is true, as I suspected, that she has been telling you some of her ingenious falsehoods.”

“Scarcely that,” I replied, thrusting my hands deeply into my pockets. “She has merely urged me to go to Ella and ask her whether she is acquainted with anyone with diamond eyes.”

“As I thought,” he cried, rising and pacing the room furiously. “It is exactly as I expected. She is trying to entrap you as she has the others, and has embarked upon the first step by speaking thus of Ella, and sowing seeds of suspicion in your mind. This is the character of the woman you seek to help, and you invoke my assistance in your efforts! No, Geoffrey,” he said, halting suddenly, and looking me straight in the face, “I shall not stir on her behalf.”

“But remember, that in return for the passport, she has promised to tell me all regarding Ella,” I cried anxiously.

“All?” he echoed, in surprise. “Is she such a mysterious person, then? Surely you have confidence in her, or you would not have asked her to be your wife?”

“There is a mystery connected with her,” I said quietly. “A mystery, deep and inscrutable, that perplexes me to the point of distraction.”

“Tell me about it,” Verblioudovitch said, interested.

It was upon my tongue to relate to him the whole of the facts sub silentio, but a thought at that instant occurred to me that such a course would be unjust to Ella, therefore I evaded his invitation to make him my confidant. Returning quickly to the object for which I had sought him, I persuaded him to assist me by giving me a passport for Sonia.

“What will she do in return?” he again inquired, raising his eyebrows and shrugging his shoulders in a manner habitual to him when unduly excited. “She will concoct some idiotic, romantic story, in order that the woman you love shall suffer. I really cannot see, Geoffrey, what end can be attained in assisting a criminal to re-enter the country from which she is a fugitive. You don’t know the real character of this apparently ingenuous girl, or I feel certain you would never ask me to imperil my reputation by rendering her assistance. If I had done my duty long ago, I should have allowed the extradition proceedings to go on. I’m sorry now I didn’t, for if I had you would have been saved a world of worry, and we should have been rid of the pair for ever.”

“You seem actuated by some spirit of animosity against her,” I blurted forth.

“Not at all. I’ve never seen her in my life,” he protested. “You apparently want confirmation of my words. Well, you shall have it at once,” and he touched an electric button.

The summons was instantly obeyed by a messenger in uniform, and to this man Paul spoke some words. A few minutes later a short, middle-aged Russian entered.

His hair was grey, his clean-shaven face was rather red and slightly pimply, his small, jet black eyes were set too closely together, and his low brows met above his nose. Fashionably attired in frock coat of light grey, with a pink carnation in the lapel, he looked so spick and span that I regarded him with genuine surprise, when my friend, introducing us, said, —

“This, Geoffrey, is Ivan Renouf; I daresay you have heard of him. He is now chief of the section of Secret Police attached to our Embassies of London and Paris.”

I nodded in acknowledgment of the bow of this expert detective who, at the time I had lived in St Petersburg, had been the terror of all criminals. The stories told of his amazing ingenuity in detecting crime were legion, though many of them were perhaps fabulous; yet there was no doubt that he was one of the most experienced police officers in Europe.

“Renouf,” my friend exclaimed, “I want to ask you a question. What character does Sonia Korolénko bear?”

“Sonia?” answered the great detective, reflectively, in fairly good English. “Ah! you mean the daughter of Anton Korolénko who escaped from St Petersburg? – eh?”

“Yes. Tell my friend, Deedes,” Paul said, with a slow gesture indicating me.

“Well,” he answered, glancing quickly at me with his searching eyes, “for the past nine months we have kept her under strict surveillance, expecting that she intended to re-commence operations in London. Indeed, I have here in my pocket the report for the last forty-eight hours,” and he took from his breast-pocket a long folded paper. “It shows among other things that she has had several visitors at her house in Kensington, one of whom was a gentleman who, according to the description, must have borne a strong resemblance to m’sieur. Two hours before this man had called a lady visited her, and remained with her about an hour.” Then, reading from the report, he continued, “the description says, tall, good-looking, blue eyes, reddish-brown hair, straw hat trimmed with pale-blue, brown shoes, light blouse, black cycling skirt.”

“By Heaven!” I cried excitedly, “that’s Ella! Every word of that description tallies, even to the dress, boots and hat!”

“She is a frequent visitor,” the detective observed. “She calls on her bicycle every day.”

“Every day!” I echoed in astonishment. “I did not know they were friends.”

“Did I not tell you that she was concealing the truth?” Paul observed, smiling at my dismay. “Tell m’sieur of the past, Ivan.”

“Ah! her record is a very black one – very black,” the officer of police answered gravely, again fixing his small dark eyes upon me. “Her swindling transactions extend over several years, and she has no doubt acquired quite a fortune, while at least one of her victims has lost his life. By one coup she accomplished in Moscow, with the aid of that soft-spoken old scoundrel, her father, they pocketed nearly one hundred thousand roubles between them.”

“I really can’t believe it,” I exclaimed, dumbfounded.

“There is no doubt whatever about it,” Renouf answered. “It was all in the papers at the time and made quite a stir throughout Europe. The story is a rather tragic one; sufficient to show what kind of woman she is. About three years ago she went with her father from St Petersburg to Moscow, where they took a handsome house, furnished it luxuriously, and gave a number of brilliant entertainments. At one of these the pretty Sonia, whose jewels were the admiration of half the city, met the young Prince Alexis Gazarin, a mere youth of twenty-two, who had only a few months before inherited a huge fortune from his father, the well-known promoter of the oil industry at Baku. Alexis fell violently in love with her, made her many costly presents, proposed marriage and was accepted, the parental consent being extracted only when he had deposited in the bank in Sonia’s name one hundred thousand roubles as settlement upon her. A week before the marriage, the body of Alexis was discovered floating in the yellow Volga near Kostroma, but whether his death was due to accident, suicide or foul play has never been ascertained. The fact, however, remains that Anton Korolénko and his pretty daughter left Moscow a week later, carrying with them one hundred thousand roubles of the dead man’s money.”

“Do you allege that the pair actually murdered him?” I inquired, astounded at this story.

The detective smiled mysteriously, gave his shoulders a significant shrug, but did not reply.

“This,” exclaimed Paul, “is the sort of woman you are trying to befriend! No doubt she has told you a most touching story of persecution, and all that; but can anyone be surprised if our police endeavour to arrest her? I tell you plainly she’s a mere adventuress, with a plausible story ever upon her tongue.”

“Do you refuse to do what I ask?” I inquired at last, when Renouf, pleading an appointment, had bowed and departed.

“I can really see no satisfactory reason why I should,” he answered, standing in the centre of the Persian rug spread before the fireplace.

“You are my friend, Paul,” I urged. “At all times I am, as you are aware, ready to perform you any personal service.”

“It is not rendering you a personal service if, by giving the passport, I induce her to tell you a tissue of untruths.”

“But it is evident, even from Renouf’s report, that Ella visits her. It is to obtain an elucidation of a secret that I am striving, for I am convinced Sonia knows the truth.”

“If she does, then you may rely upon it she will not tell it to you, but substitute some romantic fiction or other,” he laughed. “It is really astounding to find you so confident in her honesty.”

Paul Verblioudovitch’s attack of ill-temper vanished as he threw himself back in his chair and showed all his white teeth in a hearty guffaw.

“I am not confident,” I declared. “I have assisted the girl to obtain her freedom, therefore I cannot see that she can have any object in wilfully deceiving me. Her promise to reveal the truth regarding Ella in exchange for the passport is but a mere business arrangement.”

“You apparently suspect the woman you love of some terrible crime or other,” Paul said, after a pause. “I can’t understand you, Geoffrey, I must confess.”

“If you were in my place, fondly loving a woman who was enveloped in bewildering mystery, you would, I have no doubt, act quite as strangely as myself,” I exclaimed, smiling grimly. “I only want to discover light in this chaos of perplexity; then only shall I be content.”

“But if circumstances have so conspired to produce a problem, why not remain patient until its natural elucidation is effected? The police, when baffled, frequently adopt that course, and often very effectually, too.”

“Truth to tell, old fellow,” I said confidentially, “I am anxious to marry Ella, but cannot until I have ascertained some substantial truth.”

“Of what do you suspect her – of a crime?” he inquired, smiling.

I paused.

“Yes,” I answered gravely, “of a crime.”

I fancied he started as I spoke, almost imperceptibly, perhaps, yet I could have sworn that my words produced within him some nervous apprehension.

“A crime!” he echoed. “Surely she cannot be guilty of anything more serious than some little indiscretion.”

“It is more than mere indiscretion that I suspect,” I said, in a low tone.

“Well,” he observed mechanically, as, after a pause, he stood at the window, gazing fixedly into the street, “I certainly would never accept as truth anything whatever told me by Sonia Korolénko.”

I was, however, inexorable in my demand, more than ever determined to hear Sonia’s story. The strange, hesitating manner in which my friend had endeavoured to avoid complying with my request had aroused suspicion within me; of what, I could not tell. It struck me as curious that he should thus defend Ella so strenuously, although he knew her but slightly. He was, perhaps, acting in my interests as his friend, but if so, his intense hatred of Sonia was more than the mere official denunciation of an evil-doer. I did not believe his declaration that he had never met Sonia, but it seemed rather as if he had cause to well remember his meeting with her, and that its recollection still rankled bitterly within him.

The admission by Renouf was a little disconcerting. Sonia certainly did not dream that the Tzar’s spies were even now watching her every action and carefully scrutinising each person who called at Pembroke Road. I saw that this knowledge I had acquired might prove extremely useful to her, for it was plain that even if she obtained the passport she would have to leave England secretly to avoid the vigilance of the secret agents of the Embassy. Again, why did Ella visit her? Instead of cycling in the Park she went to Pembroke Road, according to the report furnished to Renouf, nearly every day. For what purpose, I wondered. The more I reflected, the more deeply it became rooted within me that through Sonia I might ascertain the truth I sought.

Therefore I abandoned none of my efforts to persuade my friend to issue the document that would pass the sad-eyed girl across the frontier into the land she loved. For fully half-an-hour we discussed the situation, but he would not consent. She was an adventuress and a criminal, he said, and he was not prepared to risk the consequences if she were arrested in Russia with a false special permit issued by him.

“Besides,” he added, “you have heard from Renouf how she is constantly kept under observation.”

“But you could arrange that with him if you liked. A word from you and the vigilance of the police would be relaxed for an hour or two while she escaped,” I observed.

“Ah, no,” Verblioudovitch answered, “we have nothing whatever to do with Renouf and his subordinates, who are under the direct control of Sekerzhinski, the chief of the department in St Petersburg. They take no instructions from us.”

“Renouf would, however, do you a personal favour,” I hazarded.

“I fear not,” was the reply. “We are not the best of friends. That is the reason I hesitate to issue a document that might implicate me. If he discovered the truth, my prospects in the diplomatic service might be ruined.”

With all Paul’s gay spirits and careless manner he possessed an eager enthusiasm, and an insatiable curiosity concerning humanity at large.

“But there is yet another way,” I said.

“How?”

“Obtain the signature of His Excellency, the Ambassador. You can make an excuse that the permit is for a friend.”

Paul remained silent, pacing the room with stolid face and automatic movement. At last he turned to me, saying, —

“I see, Deedes, it’s quite useless to argue longer. I admit that I am exceedingly anxious to render you this service, but knowing as I do that the consequences must be disastrous either to you, or to the woman Korolénko, I have hesitated. Yet if you are determined to assist her I suppose I must obtain for you the necessary paper.”

“Thanks, old fellow, thanks! I knew you would help me,” I exclaimed enthusiastically.

“I cannot let you have it before this evening. If you will send Juckes round at seven you shall have it with the visé and everything complete.”

“What a good fellow you are!” I cried joyfully, rising and shaking his hand. “Some day I hope to be able to perform a service for you.”

“Let’s hope so, old chap,” he answered cheerily, but next second his face assumed a grave expression, as he added, “Take my advice now, and do not let any of Sonia’s wild allegations disturb you. She certainly is too expert an adventuress to tell you anything to your own advantage, although whatever she does reveal will be to the detriment of the woman you love.”

“Why are you so certain of this?” I inquired quickly, in genuine surprise.

“I have strong reasons for anticipating the course she will adopt,” he answered ambiguously. “I therefore give you warning.”

“It seems that she is acquainted with Ella,” I observed.

“Yes, from Renouf’s report. But remember my words, and don’t be led away by any of her false statements. Do not forget that there is a very strong motive why she should denounce Miss Laing – a motive you will perhaps discover ere long,” and he smiled mysteriously.

“Very well,” I exclaimed, after a brief pause. Then again shaking his hand, I left, after expressing thanks and promising to send Juckes to the Embassy that evening.