She gave me the key and I turned it as softly as the stiff lock would permit. I was opening the door gently when it was pushed quickly, and a man entered and seized Volna by the arm.
“We thought you might——”
Before he could finish the sentence I grabbed him by the throat. Fortunately for us he was a small man and like a child in my hands. I gave him a pretty rough shaking and then pitched him backwards into the middle of a wide laurel bush where he lay kicking helplessly, struggling to extricate himself, and gasping for breath to call for help.
Before he succeeded in getting out his first loud cry we were out of the garden, had locked the door upon him, and turned the first corner. We had to run for it, and by good luck there was no one about to notice us in the first two or three streets.
When we reached the main thoroughfare we slackened our pace to a quick walk until we got a sleigh which carried us out of the chance of immediate pursuit.
“Almost like a moment of Bratinsk,” said Volna.
“I wish we were there, or anywhere out of the city. We’ll change sleighs in a minute.” I stopped the sleigh soon afterwards at the door of an hotel, and held the porter in talk while the driver whipped up and left. Then we hurried away in the opposite direction.
“Now where are we going?” asked Volna.
“An old nurse of mine lives in the Place of St. John, No. 17; I shall be safe there until we decide what to do.”
“Is it far?”