“You have our sympathy,” said Katerin. “And you must find the Governor. If you will give me time to talk it over with my father——” She gave Peter a significant look, which he interpreted to mean that it would be wiser not to press now for information about Kirsakoff, but to leave it in her hands.
“Thank you,” said Peter, and he rose, and bowed.
“You shall find Kirsakoff,” said Michael, staring at his hand on the table. “By morning I shall know where he may be found—perhaps. We must not act hastily.” The palsied head was shaking gently, and the old man was lost again in thought.
“Yes, yes,” Katerin put in hastily. Peter saw tears in her eyes. She followed after him as he turned to go back through the rooms, and they left Michael and Wassili alone.
Peter stopped at his own door, and looking back over Katerin’s shoulder, saw against the light of the room he had just left, a shadow cross—and then the figure of Wassili peering after them.
“Good-night,” said Katerin. She seemed nervous and worried. She also had caught a glimpse of the old moujik outlined against the glow of her father’s lamp.
Peter seized her hands in sudden impulse and pressed them heartily. “I cannot tell you of my gratitude, Vashka,” he whispered. “It was you who helped me in this—and I have waited long! You are going to persuade your father to tell me where I shall find Kirsakoff!”
She gently drew away from him, and he released her hands.
“I shall do what I can,” she whispered. “But take care—this house is full of enemies. If we are to defeat the Ataman, be wary. Bolt both your doors to-night!”
Then she slipped away to her father.