“The morning is the best time for me to go to the American,” said Katerin. “I shall take his morning samovar to him, the girl bringing it to me first. And I shall go on serving him till I have learned what I need. And if he should not tell me before he is to leave the city, I shall tell him that we wish to escape the city under his protection. Surely, we need not be afraid of an American!”
“No,” agreed Michael. “He cannot be from enemies if he is not from friends. But it is best to learn what we can first, and you must have a good rest before you begin a battle of wits.”
The Jew left them again, and later in the day he put Michael and Katerin into two rooms next to the room in which Peter was resting and planning how he should deal with Michael Kirsakoff if he could be found in Chita.
XIV
THE SAMOVAR GIRL
IT was nine o’clock by his wrist-watch when Peter got out of bed that morning. From what he could see of the city through the frosted windows, it was a cold gray day, with the position of the sun above the ridge of hills marked by a yellow blotch through the scattering fog.
The room was cold and he dressed rapidly. He rang at once for a samovar, and began shaving. He had made up his mind to make definite efforts this day to trace Michael Kirsakoff, for he was now rested from his journey on the train. He thought of Rimsky. It might be wise to go in and see the graybeard again, and pick up once more the conversation and the gossip. In time Rimsky would be willing to talk more freely, Peter was sure.
The samovar girl was slower than usual in coming. Peter rang again—three times, and with as much insistence as he could put into the pressure of the button. He finished shaving, and had a mind to go out to the dreary dining room and see what could be done about getting some hot tea there. It was apparent that the stupid and slatternly girl who had been serving him could not be depended upon for prompt service—and he was beginning to suffer from the cold.
When he had decided that he should wait no longer, there came a knock at the door. He opened it—and stared! For instead of the peasant girl who had been serving him since his arrival at the hotel, there was a tall young woman with a beautiful face—a patrician face, the face of a woman of noble lineage! And he was startled, though he was too well trained in his business to reveal his amazement to her. Still, he paused for an instant, not sure that she had not mistaken the room and had not come in response to his ringing. He looked at her over the top of the big brass samovar which she bore on a tray before her, and her keenly intelligent blue eyes met his with a self-possessed and frank gaze. He half expected her to mutter some apology and go away. Instead, she stood gazing at him, waiting for him to make way for her, and the trace of a smile came into her eyes, as if she felt like saying to him, “Here is your samovar! How do you expect to get it if you stand all morning in the doorway?”
Peter bowed slightly, and said good-morning with an effort to be casual. In the second which he had stood stock still looking at her, a suspicion had crossed his mind—this well-born woman had not taken the place of his unkempt serving girl without good reason. It was quite possible, and quite in the Russian style, to send an attractive woman to serve him and spy upon him. Very well! He decided that he should play a little at that game himself.