“There are many who are not,” said Lutoff, a trifle annoyed by Peter’s coolness. “Surely, you do not think that all civilians quartered here are in the service of Zorogoff?”
“I am not so sure,” returned Peter. “But why shouldn’t I trust them? What is there wrong—or dangerous about the civilians?”
“There are spies among them.”
“You mean they are spies for the Ataman?” asked Peter, not taking his eyes from Lutoff’s. Peter was somewhat amused by Lutoff, and was taking considerable delight in beating him about the bush. The whole incident was so Cossack-like, so childishly dramatic.
Lutoff shrugged his shoulders. “The Ataman has his spies, of course.”
“And perhaps I have talked with some of them,” suggested Peter.
“Perhaps. But that is not what I mean. I only warn you to be careful.”
“You are very kind,” said Peter. “But have you any particular person in mind?” He wondered if Lutoff could be working along a definite line.
“You would be wise to avoid those people you have been talking with,” said Lutoff, and leaned back in his chair to blow smoke rings toward the ceiling, thoughtfully.
Peter laughed quietly. “Rather a vague warning,” he said. “I have talked with several persons in the city—just as I am talking with you.”