We decided on poison.

You probably realize that by this time Vladimir Purishkevich, the great monarchist, was deeply involved. Also old Dr. Lazavert, whom I know you have already questioned at length. We were all terribly nervous—we were talking of the sin of murder, after all—but the nightmare of Rasputinism had to be stopped at all costs.

Purishkevich ran his own charitable hospital train, gathering the wounded at the front and bringing them home. Dr. Lazavert worked on this train, as I’m sure you’re well aware. It was there, in Purishkevich’s private car, that we gathered to make the final arrangements. We decided on the night of December 16 because Dmitri Pavlovich was busy every other night, and we didn’t want to change his schedule, lest we attract attention. And, as I’ve said, we decided on poison. In fact, I clearly remember Dr. Lazavert holding up a small glass vial of potassium cyanide dissolved in liquid.

“We will sprinkle it liberally into the pastries and his wine,” said the doctor.

The plan was simple. Promising a party, we would pick up Rasputin after midnight and take him to the palace on the Moika. We would lead him through the side door and down into the basement, into that cozy little dining room. As he waited for the supposed festivities to begin, he would feast on the sweets and wine. Death would come quickly.

I honestly confess I was not in favor of harming Rasputin’s daughter as well. Nor did I want to be any part of the plan against the royal family. By that, I mean just what should be done with Aleksandra Fyodorovna and the Emperor, whether or not she should be locked up and he…he…

Well, that was a matter for the senior grand dukes, you know, the Tsar’s uncles. That was family business. Getting rid of Rasputin was mine.