Katerin had exposed her face and smiled joyfully at the old Jew.
“Take care or you will be heard speaking to us and we shall be betrayed,” warned Michael. “No one must know we are here, or Zorogoff comes——”
“Enough!” cried Slipitsky, and ran out from behind his desk, keys jangling in his pockets, and shot the bolt on the door. “As you say, the place is like a beehive with spies,” he whispered, turning back to Michael. “That rascal, Dazo, below stairs is one of Zorogoff’s men, I know! The Cossacks made me make a place for him there at the door to watch—but I know he is an underground for the Ataman!”
“Then we shall be delivered,” said Michael, pulling up his muffler over his face again. “If it be already known to him that we are here——”
“We must fool him,” said Slipitsky. “What is the good of having a head if we do not use it? You must go out again and——”
“But where shall we stay?” demanded Michael, alarmed at the Jew’s saying they must go. To be turned into the streets again meant certain capture by soldiers of the Ataman.
“Please, you must hide us for our lives!” pleaded Katerin. “If you do not hide us somewhere we shall be killed!”
“We shall all be killed!” exclaimed Slipitsky. “Take off your covering and let me see your face again, mistress! Ah, yes, it is you! Can you doubt that I will not do what I can for old friends? Be patient.”
“Then we can stay?” asked Katerin. “But what of the spy below? Will he not reveal us?”
“We are desperate,” urged Michael. “Zorogoff has given us the mental torture—if he finds us again he will take my daughter to his palace to——”