"I'm all right again now," I protested. "And the vicar certainly is a very interesting companion."
There were a couple of letters, one from the _Courier_ office, and another from Harding, Lord Southbourne's private secretary, and both important in their way.
Harding wrote that Southbourne would be in town at the end of the week, _en route_ for Scotland, and wished to see me if I were fit for service. "A soft job this time, a trip to the States, so you'll be able to combine business with pleasure."
Under any other circumstances I could have done with a run home; but even while I read the letter I decided that Southbourne would have to entrust the matter--whatever it might be--to some one else.
I opened the second letter, a typed note, signed by Fenning the news editor, enclosing one of the printed slips on which chance callers have to write their name and business. I glanced at that first, and found it filled in with an almost indecipherable scrawl. I made out the name and address right enough as "M. Pavloff, Charing Cross Hotel," and puzzled over a line in German, which I at length translated as "bearing a message from Johann." Now who on earth were Pavloff and Johann?
"One of your Russian friends called here to-night, and wanted your address, which of course was not given. I saw him--a big surly-looking man, who speaks German fairly well, but would not state his business--so I promised to send enclosed on to you.
A big surly-looking man. Could it be Mishka? I scarcely dared hope it was, remembering how and where I parted from him; but that underlined "Johann" might--must mean "Ivan," otherwise the Grand Duke Loris. To give the German rendering of the name was just like Mishka, who was the very embodiment of caution and taciturnity.
"Well, I've got my marching orders," I announced. "I'll have to go back to London to-day, Mary, to meet Southbourne. Where's the time-table?"
Mary objected, of course, on the score that I was not yet strong enough for work, and I reassured her.
"Nonsense, dear; I'm all right, and I've been idle too long."
"Idle! When you've turned out that Russian series."
"A month ago, and I haven't done a stroke since."
"But is this anything special?" she urged. "Lord Southbourne is not sending you abroad again,--to Russia?"