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Updated: June 24, 2025
Probably no one ever used the obscure and hidden trap in this dark alley. It was queer, how sure Henry felt that this curious nocturnal expedition on the part of Charles, his father-in-law, M. Kratzky and the Calvinist pastor had to do with the mystery of the delegates. He knew it beyond a doubt. Nor was he surprised. It came as a consummation of his suspicion and his hopes.
She has to keep his engagements for him. I have obtained possession of the little pocket-book in which she notes them. I have it here. See: 'Saturday, Lunch, Café du Nord, Kratzky and Sir John. Sunday, Up Salève, with Kratzky. Monday, 8 a.m., Bathe, Kra No, that can't be Kratzky; he wouldn't bathe; that must be some one else. And so on, and so on.
"Such colleagues," mused M. Croza, "would not be hard to find." "Whom do they pitch on? There are a number of possibly suitable helpers, and I can't say how many of them are involved. But what I have evidence of is that they brought in the Russian delegate to their councils Kratzky, who is a byword even among Russians for sticking at nothing.
Well, life is a gamble at all times, and more particularly to those who play the spy. Henry listened. The steps came nearer. They had a queer, hollow sound on the earthy floor. Low voices murmured. It came to Henry suddenly that these were not the voices of Charles Wilbraham, of Sir John Levis, of M. Kratzky, or, presumably then, of the little pastor. These were voices more human, less deadly.
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