“How?”
“I am in danger, almost at my last turn. I am being hunted down—and you can save me. Every refuge is closed by these dogs of police.”
“Do you think I can call them off? I’m no longer even playing at being Emperor.”
“I have no money, monsieur—and dare not go where I could get it.”
So the cat was belled at last. To my profound relief, the desperate Nihilist and picked assassin was just a common beggar, and his six shooter and threats mere picturesque bits of stage colour, and no more. An almost ludicrous bathos, but yet unutterably welcome to me.
A moment’s reflection convinced me that he was in earnest. I knew of the raid on the Nihilists and that there had been a great number of arrests. Panic had no doubt seized the bulk of them, as it will do at such moments, and this man had caught the infection: oaths, pledges, revenge, the brotherhood, friends, everything had been blown to the winds by the passion of the panic and fear for his skin.
I took my hand from the bell and rose.
“Come,” I said quietly, in a tone of reassurance. “Put that gun away and don’t monkey with it any longer. I’ll help you if only to show I’ve no cause of enmity with you. You shall get out of the country if you wish. How much do you want?” and without more ado I pulled out a roll of notes.
This readiness completed his conquest. He tried to maintain some show of stolid indifference, but the sight of the money and the knowledge of all it meant was too much for him; and for the moment he could not speak.
“How much?” I asked again. “Five hundred roubles?” and I laid notes for that amount on the table.