I laughed at him with intentional aggravation. “You are a worse fool than I thought. I am a British subject; I have done no wrong; and I care no more for your Czar than I do for you. You have just insulted me grossly and the best thing you can do is to clear out.”
“You are a revolutionary, in league with this woman and the carrion there;” and he jerked his thumb toward the dead body.
I took no notice of this coarseness, but untethered the unhurt horse and led it over to my companion.
“We are going,” I said to him. “I have told you that this is Miss Mary Smith; I have her passport here in my coat.” I rummaged in the pockets, found two passports, and handed them to him.
He glanced at them and then pocketed them with a grin of self-satisfaction at his astuteness.
“Where are you going?”
“That is our own business. I will not let you follow us. Return me those passports,” I said, threateningly. He did not see my object but backed away toward his horse. “Come, quick.”
He hesitated a moment and then mounted hurriedly. “As they were in your coat they will connect you with these people,” he said with a cunning leer.
I did not care a rap for this now; whether he kept or returned them. We could not possibly use them again, so I shrugged my shoulders and turned away. “Go to the devil,” I said.
But he had a surprise for me. As my back was turned a pistol shot rang out, and the horse I was holding plunged and tore loose from me, limped down the hill and fell to the ground.