“On what business are you going to Tokio?” he demanded.
I smiled.
“Since when have the police of the Third Section been obliged to render an account of themselves to the officers of the customs?” I asked defiantly.
“How do I know that you are not a Japanese spy?”
I laughed heartily.
“You must be mad. How do I know that you are not a Nihilist?” I retorted.
The customs officer turned pale. I saw that my chance shot had gone home. The Russian imperial services are honeycombed by revolutionary intrigues.
“Well, I shall detain your luggage for examination,” he declared.
This time I pretended the greatest agitation. Of course, the more I resisted the more he insisted. In the end he allowed me to depart without my person being searched. The fact is I had convinced him that he held an important prize in my worthless valise.
I was just in time to catch the steamer. As I crossed the gangway, a man dressed like a coal-trimmer turned on me a last careful scrutiny, and remarked,