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"Now you understand," she said, looking straight into my eyes. "They are nothing to me, my father and the doctor I hate them both. It is you I am thinking of you only." She leaned forward and swiftly, almost fiercely again kissed my mouth. "When the time comes," she whispered "Sonia! Sonia!" Once more Savaroff's voice rose impatiently from the hall. In a moment Sonia had crossed the room.
With its combined touch of seriousness and flippancy, this appeared to me exactly the sort of letter that McMurtrie would expect me to write. I couldn't resist putting in the bit about his "amiable" friend, for the recollection of Savaroff's manner towards me still rankled gently in my memory.
"You're absolutely sure they're the same pair?" asked Tommy. "Absolutely. I've got their full description from the Russian police. It tallies in every way even to Savaroff's daughter. There is a girl with them, I believe?" "Yes," I said. "There's a girl." Then I paused for a moment. "Look here, Latimer," I went on. "What is it you want me to do? I'll help you in any way I can.
Once I heard Sonia's name mentioned by McMurtrie, and I just caught Savaroff's muttered reply to the effect that she was all right where she was, and could follow us to Germany later. As far as I could judge, they none of them had the remotest suspicion that she was in any way connected with the crisis.
"I am very much obliged to you," I said. "There is one question I should like to ask if I may." He took off his spectacles and polished them with his pocket-handkerchief. "Well?" he observed encouragingly. "I should like to know whether Savaroff's daughter is in custody the girl who gave the police their information about me."
His face, though strong and hard, had none of Savaroff's brutality in it, and he was quite lacking in that air of sinister malevolence that seemed to hang about the doctor. As far as I could see, most of the talking was being done by the man with the scar.
He entered the room, and looked round with his usual suave smile. To all outward appearance he was as composed as ever, but I had a curious presentiment that something unexpected had happened. However, I thought it best to show no sign of any such impression. "Good-morning," I said, knocking out my pipe and stuffing it away in my pocket or rather Savaroff's pocket. "A grand day, isn't it!"
"I should imagine you were a dangerous ruffian from the intelligent way in which you murdered Marks." It was a last desperate stroke, but it went home with startling effect. Savaroff's face flushed purple, and with a fierce oath he gripped the back of a chair and swung it up over his head. The doctor stopped him with a gesture of his hand.
Apart from the fact that Savaroff's suit was by no means in its first youth, I had a strong objection to wearing his infernal things a moment longer than I could help. I was determined to have a decently cut suit as soon as possible, but I knew that it would be a week at least before any West End tailor would finish the job.
I recognized him just as I was making an instinctive dive for Savaroff's revolver, under the unpleasant impression that Hoffman and the other German had returned from the post-office. You can imagine the delight with which I scrambled up again, clutching that useful if rather belated weapon in my hand. One glance round showed me everything there was to see.
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