“Take me to your superiors,” I said; and from that reply I would not be moved. At last I was sent back to the cell with the guard to watch me as before.
I was getting on better than I had even hoped. My insistent repetition of the fact that I was an Englishman had had its effect.
The Warsaw agent who had seen me first at Bratinsk had no doubt satisfied himself on the point; and from what I had seen in the recent conference, he had made this clear to the others.
My chief anxiety was about food. It was now late in the afternoon and having had nothing since the breakfast at the priest’s house I was egregiously hungry. I recalled my experience at Pulta station and began to speculate what effect a gold coin would have upon my guard. He was a heavy stupid-looking fellow; but the biggest fool in Russia knows the difference between a gold piece and a kopeck.
The coins in my pocket had not been taken from me and although I was still handcuffed I was able to wriggle my hand into my pocket and get some out. The man watched me sullenly.
“I am hungry,” I said.
“Prisoners mustn’t talk.”
“I have had no food for hours. Wouldn’t this buy some?” and I held up a couple of roubles.
“Silence,” he growled, with a surly frown.
I substituted a gold piece for the two silver ones. “Food is perhaps dear in Solden.”