“Where from?” asked the officer.
“From the north,” was the reply.
“Where are your horses and sleigh?”
Boris shrugged his shoulders.
“Probably devoured by wolves by this time, your excellency,” he returned. “When we leaped out the horses were still running and the wolves after them.”
“Are you from the prison camp?” demanded the officer suddenly.
The question came so suddenly that, although Boris had been expecting it, it caught him off his guard. His face turned red as he stammered:
“Why—why, n-no, your excellency.”
“That,” said the officer, who had not been fooled, “is an untruth. When did you escape?”
“Yesterday,” replied Boris in a dull voice, for it was evident to him that it was only a question of time until he would be back in the dungeon.