‘By the way, how are you called?’
‘I am known as Captain Blok. I command a small trader doing business in the Black Sea.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘She is being overhauled at Azov.’
‘Will you be alone to-night?’
‘No. The two friends you saw last night may be with me.’
‘Good. This looks like business. I will meet you without fail.’
The sailor went off, and the Jew continued his jaunt through the town. When nine o’clock came, it found him by the big stove in the restaurant. There were several other customers there, but he held aloof from them, for one had a little before called him ‘a dog of a Jew,’ saying he had no business to be there amongst Christians, and tried to pick a quarrel with him. As a quarter-past nine struck, Captain Blok entered. He was alone. He addressed a few preliminary remarks to the Jew, then requested that he would follow him to his bedroom.
‘What is your name, Jew?’ asked Blok, as he shut the door.
‘Nikolai—Israel Nikolai.’