“He knew at once that I was not of the servant class,” said Katerin.
“Only a Russian could do that,” mused Slipitsky. “It is all very strange,” and he wagged his head slowly and thoughtfully as he puzzled over it. “Did he tell you why he had come to Chita at all?—did he say nothing of his mission to this place?”
“Nothing. Yet if Ilya spoke the truth, Rimsky was told why the American had come. Why does he trust a moujik and hide his purpose from me?”
“It would not be wise to have too many in the secret,” said the Jew. “He knew you were not what you pretended to be, and was careful. The man who rides a tiger cannot get off, and this Peter Petrovitch from Kiev is not too trusting. I give him credit for that, though we would like to know his business.”
“He is an enemy!” declared Michael.
“Then we shall know in good time,” said the Jew. “An awl cannot be hidden in a sack.”
“A Russian from America—the worst of all,” said Michael into Slipitsky’s ear, as the old general came and hung over the Jew’s chair. “They come back here from America with their accursed ideas of liberty! And what do they do? Kill the Czar and ruin the country—turn it over to the Mongols! Old friend, we have an enemy on our hands who is a greater danger than the Ataman. And we have brought trouble to you and your house.”
“We are all in the same boat, Excellence. If we lose our wits, we are lost. I am no worse for your coming, and you are no worse. The thing to do is to weigh and consider—and in time settle with this fellow who calls himself an American officer but hunts with peasants.”
Katerin was discouraged. She had set her hopes on the American’s coming to solve their problems and relieve them of the danger from the Ataman. But now they were involved in a new puzzle, and could not see their way out of it. For more than two years she and her father had managed to save themselves, but now it seemed that all their bravery, all their devices and stratagems had but pushed them further into a trap. Life had become an intolerable nightmare, and the trifles of daily existence had become a burden. It seemed easier to die than to go on with the struggle against the madness which had come over their world.
Michael went roaming about the room again while Katerin and Slipitsky sat in thought. He gazed abstractedly at the furniture, as if he expected to find in it some astounding quality which he had never noticed before. After he had walked about in this way for several minutes, he returned to his position between the chairs of his daughter and the old Jew, and leaning down between them, whispered, “We must rid ourselves of this man! We cannot live here under his nose and wait for him to strike. He is a Russian hunting me. That is no new thing—but it proves he wants me for no good. We must poison him!”