"Well, keep an eye on yourself."
"What for?"
"That man is an exiled Nihilist, and there may be danger in what you are doing," said he.
"Oh, I guess not. It is only to deliver a letter to a certain man in St. Petersburg," replied Barnwell, carelessly.
"Well, in these times, anything that is connected in the remotest way with the city of the Czar is suspicious. Have an eye to yourself, Billy," he added again.
"Oh, never fear. I shall at least do that. But come, I have some good cheer waiting for you in my cabin. Friends, follow me," said he, leading the way through the crowd to the cabin stairway.
And there they gathered to receive his cheer, and to wish him all the fortune and good luck that could wait on mortal man.
But while all this was going on there was a pair of small black eyes fastened upon him, as his own shadow might cling to him–fastened from the moment Paul Zobriskie drew him aside to converse.
Those eyes belonged to one Tobasco, a Russian detective, stationed in New York, and he knew his business thoroughly, having been intrusted with the duty of watching the Nihilists who were fermenting plans against the empire on this side of the Atlantic.
He had overheard but little that had passed between Paul Zobriskie and the unsuspicious young American, but while his eyes appeared directed in some other way, he saw the well-known Russian Nihilist deliver him a parcel, knowing him to be going to St. Petersburg (for this much he had overheard), and it at once became his duty to shadow this young man and ascertain the nature of his mission, even though he did not know it himself.