Oscarovitch was silent for a few moments, for the earnestness, and yet the calmness, with which they were spoken made it impossible for him to doubt them.

As he had asked, what could such a man as he be watched for by this thousand-eyed organisation of which he himself was one of the supreme Directors?
It was impossible that these people could suspect his great scheme of treachery and self-aggrandisement.

That was known to only three persons in the world--himself, Phadrig, and the Princess Hermia; and the Princess, the woman who had willingly sacrificed her brilliant young husband to her guilty love and her boundless ambition--no, she could be no traitress.
It must be something else: and yet what?
He took two or three rapid turns up and down the room, chewing and puffing at his cigar, until he stopped before Phadrig, and said quietly, but with angry eyes: "Very well, we will grant that I am watched by the International.

Tell me how you came to know it." The Egyptian took a few sips of his coffee, and then related almost word for word his interview with Josephus.

He ended by saying: "Your Highness may believe or not now as you please, but I presume you will when you read in your paper to-morrow morning of the suicide of a respectable Hebrew merchant named Isaac Josephus at the address which I have mentioned." Oscarovitch had pretty strong nerves, and he was well accustomed to regard any kind of crime as a quite proper means of furthering political ends: but there was something in this man's utter soullessness and the weird horror of the crime which he had just accomplished--for by this time his victim would be already lying self-slain on the floor of his own spider's lair--that chilled him, cold-blooded as he was.