They went up.
Colonel Haki’s office was a large room at the end of a corridor on the top floor of the building. The Colonel himself walked down the corridor to meet them.
He was a tall man with lean, muscular cheeks, a small mouth and grey hair cropped Prussian fashion. A narrow frontal bone, a long beak of a nose and a slight stoop gave him a somewhat vultural air. He wore a very well-cut officer’s tunic with full riding breeches and very tight, shiny cavalry boots; he walked with the slight swagger of a man who is used to riding. But for the intense pallor of his face and the fact that it was unshaven, there was nothing about him to show that he had recently been asleep. His eyes were grey and very wide-awake. They surveyed Graham with interest.
“Ah! Nasil-siniz. Fransizca konus-abilir misin. Yes? Delighted, Mr. Graham. Your wound, of course.” Graham found his unbandaged hand being gripped with considerable force by long rubbery fingers. “I hope that it is not too painful. Something must be done about this rascal who tries to kill you.”
“I’m afraid,” said Graham, “that we have disturbed your rest unnecessarily, Colonel. The man stole nothing.”
Colonel Haki looked quickly at Kopeikin.
“I have told him nothing,” said Kopeikin placidly. “At your suggestion, Colonel, you may remember. I regret to say that he thinks that I am either mad or hysterical.”
Colonel Haki chuckled. “It is the lot of you Russians to be misunderstood. Let us go into my office where we can talk.”
They followed him: Graham with the growing conviction that he was involved in a nightmare and that he would presently wake up to find himself at his dentist’s. The corridor was, indeed, as bare and featureless as the corridors of a dream. It smelt strongly, however, of stale cigarette smoke.
The Colonel’s office was large and chilly. They sat down facing him across his desk. He pushed a box of cigarettes towards them, lounged back in his chair and crossed his legs.