“I have only a little time here,” she said, “but I would haveyou to know the whole truth. I am this man’s wife. He is not anEnglishman. He is a Russian. His name I will not tell.”
For the first time the old man stirred. “God bless you, Anna!” hecried. “God bless you!”
She cast a look of the deepest disdain in his direction. “Whyshould you cling so hard to that wretched life of yours, Sergius?”
said she. “It has done harm to many and good to none—not evento yourself. However, it is not for me to cause the frail thread tobe snapped before God’s time. I have enough already upon mysoul since I crossed the threshold of this cursed house. But I mustspeak or I shall be too late.
“I have said, gentlemen, that I am this man’s wife. He was fiftyand I a foolish girl of twenty when we married. It was in a city ofRussia, a university—I will not name the place.”
“God bless you, Anna!” murmured the old man again.
“We were reformers—revolutionists—Nihilists, you understand.
He and I and many more. Then there came a time of trouble, apolice officer was killed, many were arrested, evidence was wanted,and in order to save his own life and to earn a great reward, myhusband betrayed his own wife and his companions. Yes, we wereall arrested upon his confession. Some of us found our way to thegallows, and some to Siberia. I was among these last, but my termwas not for life. My husband came to England with his ill-gottengains and has lived in quiet ever since, knowing well that if theBrotherhood knew where he was not a week would pass beforejustice would be done.”
The old man reached out a trembling hand and helped himself toa cigarette. “I am in your hands, Anna,” said he. “You were alwaysgood to me.”
“I have not yet told you the height of his villainy,” said she.
“Among our comrades of the Order, there was one who was thefriend of my heart. He was noble, unselfish, loving—all that myhusband was not. He hated violence. We were all guilty—if that isguilt—but he was not. He wrote forever dissuading us from sucha course. These letters would have saved him. So would my diary,in which, from day to day, I had entered both my feelings towardshim and the view which each of us had taken. My husband foundand kept both diary and letters. He hid them, and he tried hard toswear away the young man’s life. In this he failed, but Alexis wassent a convict to Siberia, where now, at this moment, he works ina salt mine. Think of that, you villain, you villain!—now, now, atthis very moment, Alexis, a man whose name you are not worthyto speak, works and lives like a slave, and yet I have your life in myhands, and I let you go.”
“You were always a noble woman, Anna,” said the old man,puffing at his cigarette.
She had risen, but she fell back again with a little cry of pain.
“I must finish,” she said. “When my term was over I setmyself to get the diary and letters which, if sent to the Russiangovernment, would procure my friend’s release. I knew thatmy husband had come to England. After months of searching Idiscovered where he was. I knew that he still had the diary, forwhen I was in Siberia I had a letter from him once, reproaching meand quoting some passages from its pages. Yet I was sure that, withhis revengeful nature, he would never give it to me of his own freewill.
I must get it for myself. With this object I engaged an agentfrom a private detective firm, who entered my husband’s house asa secretary—it was your second secretary, Sergius, the one who leftyou so hurriedly. He found that papers were kept in the cupboard,and he got an impression of the key. He would not go farther. Hefurnished me with a plan of the house, and he told me that in theforenoon the study was always empty, as the secretary was employedup here. So at last I took my courage in both hands, and I camedown to get the papers for myself. I succeeded; but at what a cost!
“I had just taken the paper; and was locking the cupboard, whenthe young man seized me. I had seen him already that morning.
He had met me on the road, and I had asked him to tell me whereProfessor Coram lived, not knowing that he was in his employ.”
“Exactly! Exactly!” said Holmes. “The secretary came back,and told his employer of the woman he had met. Then, in his lastbreath, he tried to send a message that it was she—the she whomhe had just discussed with him.”
“You must let me speak,” said the woman, in an imperativevoice, and her face contracted as if in pain. “When he had fallenI rushed from the room, chose the wrong door, and found myselfin my husband’s room. He spoke of giving me up. I showed himthat if he did so, his life was in my hands. If he gave me to thelaw, I could give him to the Brotherhood. It was not that I wishedto live for my own sake, but it was that I desired to accomplishmy purpose. He knew that I would do what I said—that his ownfate was involved in mine. For that reason, and for no other, heshielded me. He thrust me into that dark hiding-place—a relicof old days, known only to himself. He took his meals in his ownroom, and so was able to give me part of his food. It was agreedthat when the police left the house I should slip away by night andcome back no more. But in some way you have read our plans.” Shetore from the bosom of her dress a small packet. “These are my lastwords,” said she; “here is the packet which will save Alexis. I confideit to your honour and to your love of justice. Take it! You will deliverit at the Russian Embassy. Now, I have done my duty, and——”
“Stop her!” cried Holmes. He had bounded across the room andhad wrenched a small phial from her hand.
“Too late!” she said, sinking back on the bed. “Too late! I tookthe poison before I left my hiding-place. My head swims! I amgoing! I charge you, sir, to remember the packet.”
“A simple case, and yet, in some ways, an instructive one,”