One afternoon, a week later, an electric cab waited in front of the great Russian importing house of S. Constantine & Co.  It was three o'clock when Sergius Constantine himself emerged from the private office and was accompanied to the cab by the manager, to whom he was still giving instructions.  Had Hausmann or Lanigan watched him enter the cab they would have recognized him immediately, but not by the name of Sergius Constantine.  Had they been asked, and had they answered, they would have named him Ivan Dragomiloff.

For Ivan Dragomiloff it was who drove the cab south and crossed over into the teeming East Side.  He stopped, once, to buy a paper from a gamin who was screaming "Extra!"  Nor did he start again until he had read the headlines and brief text announcing another anarchist outrage in a neighboring city and the death of Chief McDuffy.  As he laid the paper beside him and started on, there was an expression of calm pride on Constantine's face.  The organization which he had built up worked, and worked with its customary smoothness.  The investigation - in this case almost perfunctory - had been made, the order sent forth, and McDuffy was dead.  He smiled slightly as he drew up before a modern apartment house which was placed on the edge of one of the most noisome East Side slums.  The smile was at thought of the rejoicing there would be in the Caroline Warfield group - the terrorists who had not the courage to slay.

An elevator took Constantine to the top floor, and a pushbutton caused the door to be opened for him by a young woman who threw her arms around his neck, kissed him, and showered him with Russian diminutives of affection, and whom, in turn, he called Grunya.

They were very comfortable rooms into which he was taken - and remarkably comfortable and tasteful, even for a model apartment house in the East Side.  Chastely simple, culture and wealth spoke in the furnishing and decoration.  There were many shelves of books, a table littered with magazines, while a parlor grand filled the far end of the room.  Grunya was a robust Russian blonde, but with all the color that her caller's blondness lacked.