“That would be the end of it,” Clara remarked, in dismay.
The next day Pavel telegraphed it all over to Makar, by means of his handkerchief, from the hill which commanded the prisoner’s window.
“I have a scheme,” Makar’s handkerchief flashed back.
“For God’s sake don’t run away with yourself,” Pavel returned. “It’s a serious matter. Consider it maturely.”
“Do you know anybody in Paris or any other foreign city you could write to at once?”
“I do. Why?” Pavel replied.
“Get me some foreign paper. I shall write two letters, one to my father and one to my wife, both dated at that place. If these letters were sent there and that man then sent them to my people at Zorki, it would mean I am in Paris. Understand?”
“I do. You are crazy.”
“Why? Father will let bygones be bygones. I should tell him the whole truth. He is all right.”