Shimilin turned to his soldiers. “Wait outside for me,” he commanded with a gesture of dismissal. “I will call you when you are needed.”
The two men with rifles went outside and closed the door behind them.
Shimilin sat down again in an effort to compose himself. “I did not wish my men to hear the Ataman insulted,” he began. “I have come here by order of Zorogoff to take your money—all of it. It is only to be a loan and you will lose nothing in the end. This is my advice—give your money to me. I will promise you safety.”
He was frankly conciliatory. It appeared that he wished to cover his chagrin over what Katerin and her father had said and to put himself in a better light with them by a tacit agreement with them that he had no stomach for the business.
“And if we had money and we gave it,” said Katerin, “how do we know that we would not be destroyed to hide the debt, as has happened to others?”
“Then it is that you do not trust Zorogoff,” said Shimilin.
Katerin laughed lightly. “Those who have trusted him are dead. He has taken fortunes before—and then the firing squad. What need has he to destroy us? We should be safe because we are poor.”
Shimilin glanced at the door. He leaned forward and whispered, “Then trust me. Turn over your money to me—and I promise safety. On my word as a Cossack! Come!”
Michael turned quickly and looked at Shimilin in surprise, but Katerin gave her father a glance of caution. She suspected that Shimilin was trying to trap them.
“You must trust us, Captain Shimilin. We have no fortune for Zorogoff or any other man.”