I could not decide anything until I saw the General; and before I rose he had gone out and had left word for me to wait in the house for him.
After the harrassing uncertainty of my spell in prison, the scene with Bremenhof on the previous day, and the disturbing ordeal of the crisis it had produced, the mere rest and sense of security were indescribably welcome.
I had plenty to think about, of course, but it was more like floundering speculation than consecutive thought. How Volna had returned to Warsaw? What was behind her visit to the prison? What the connection was between her and Colonel Bremenhof? What his motive could be in bringing her to the prison? Whether she had fallen under suspicion? How was I to set about ascertaining the truth? How to find means of seeing her again? With no facts to guide me, I could not answer the puzzling questions which suggested themselves thus readily.
“I have settled your matter,” said the General when we were closeted together in the evening. “Here are your papers, passport, and letter of credit; and I have succeeded in making Colonel Bremenhof understand that the affair with him had better be regarded as a personal quarrel. I have pledged my word for you—that you are no more a revolutionary than I am; that in anything you may have done, you were just a tool in others’ hands.”
“That’s rather rough on the ‘others,’” I protested.
“There will be an opportunity given to you, the day after to-morrow, to say all you know about the partner of your flight from Bratinsk.”
“It will be devilish awkward,” I murmured.
“Better than three hundred lashes, isn’t it?” he returned drily. “But you don’t see the point. The day after to-morrow.”
“One day is just as awkward as another.”
“You’re not as sharp as your father, Bob.”