“What is the first thing to be done?” he asked, as if anxious to get about the business.
“Send Wassili for the droshky and the driver who is in the plan—a man who can be trusted. That can be done as soon as Slipitsky has the passports ready. He was drying the ink this morning, over a smoky lamp to make the signatures fast and soften the wax of the seals so that the counterfeit seal could be pressed in. Then we drive straight toward Zorogoff’s headquarters, to make it appear first that we are going there. But we go around the building, so that it will appear to the first line of sentries on the other side that we have just left headquarters. That will make the first cordon willing to let us pass with scarcely any questioning. The next cordon will take it for granted that we are all right because we have passed the first—and if there is any trouble, the passports will let us through. The earlier we start, the better.”
She rose, flushed with hope, which was engendered by the very telling of how they were to escape.
“I am ready when you are,” said Peter. “Let us not lose any time.”
Tears came into her eyes. “We put our lives in your hands,” she said. “God will bless you if you aid us in our escape.”
“The road to Harbin is before us yet,” he said with a smile. “You and your father are not yet out of danger.”
“True,” she said, moving toward the door of her room. “I shall have him get ready at once, and see Slipitsky about the passports.”
Peter opened the door for her, and bowed as she passed out. He closed the door after her, and stood looking at the windows of his room, the same queer twisted smile of the morning at the corner of his mouth.