“What did the American say? Who knows?” asked Ilya.
“The fool is drunk!” growled Michael. “Come! Speak up! Or have you drowned your tongue in vodka and come here to make fools of us?”
Ilya’s face began to perspire, and he twisted his cap into a rope.
“Have no fear, Ilya,” said Katerin soothingly.
“May God smite me!” cried Ilya. “It was Rimsky who told me about it and I ran here to tell the Excellence!”
“And who is Rimsky?” demanded Michael. “Where did he learn of the man who has come to see me?”
Ilya brushed his brow with the back of his hand. “Rimsky is an old friend of mine—a good man, Excellence, who means harm to no one and is a loyal man to his Czar.”
“And what did this Rimsky tell you?”
“That the Excellence would pay me well to bring the news.”
Michael laughed and his irritation disappeared.