XXIII
A LIFE FOR A LIFE
WHEN he heard his own name uttered by Shimilin as the Cossack captain departed, Michael locked his grip upon the ends of the blanket as if against a blow. A startled moan broke from his lips, an expression of horror that at last Peter would know him.
Peter turned upon the old man swiftly, alert at once and his own hand dropping to the butt of his pistol.
“I—I am revealed to you!” whispered Michael, thrusting his head forward toward Peter.
“And before you were ready, eh?” said Peter. “But you thought you could fool me, Michael Alexandrovitch, before——”
Kirsakoff made a quick flick of his right hand, and there dropped down from the sleeve of his shirt a small derringer. The weapon fell into his hand, and he made a movement to adjust it for use. But Peter was too quick for him, and before Michael could get proper hold of it, much less aim it, Peter had leaped upon the old man and pinioned his arms against his sides.
“So the old wolf has a snap left in him yet,” taunted Peter, as he bore the frail Michael back against the table and wrested the derringer from his fingers. Michael made no struggle, but relaxed in Peter’s hands, and when released, sank weakly to his knees.
Peter pocketed the derringer, and then leaned down to Michael.
“You would kill me, would you? You have not forgotten your tricks, Michael! Perhaps you came prepared to kill me! So the escape to Harbin was all pretty talk, to throw me off my guard that you might——”