Michael leaned back against the table, his back to the window, watching Peter closely. The old general’s head nodded gently with the palsy, suggestive of being moved by the beating of his heart. He divined in Peter some sudden change of manner, and suspected that Peter was not going to protect him against the Cossack. But he said nothing.
“I would advise you to call later,” suggested Peter suddenly, affecting a serious mien with Shimilin.
The Cossack was visibly surprised at this.
“What! Come later? What difference can it make?”
“It might make some difference to your Ataman,” said Peter, purposely putting a dash of mystery into the sentence. “I do not demand, captain, that you come later. I merely advise it—for your own benefit. I can’t explain now—but if you will come back in an hour——”
“Oh, no,” said Shimilin, though not quite sure of himself. “I am not to be prevented from carrying out my orders.”
“I also have my orders,” said Peter significantly.
“Oh,” said Shimilin. “It would be unfortunate if your orders conflicted with mine.” He drew his lips tightly across his teeth, and his eyes looked squarely into Peter’s.
“True!” retorted Peter. “It would be unfortunate. But I have been talking with this old gentleman here—and we have not finished our conversation.”
“What have you been talking about?”