“It came about this way,” resumed Wassili. “I heard my friend boasting of how he had brought a rich American to the Dauria—this officer—and how he paid double fare in Imperial rubles without any complaint. Not knowing what was the right fare, and not knowing that Imperials are worth thrice the money now in this city prove him to be a stranger. That he was an American, my friend is sure, for he was in Vladivostok last month and smuggled opium in here for the Chinese when he came up by the train. Why, he even knows the Americans so well that he speaks American. He cannot be fooled—he got rich in Vladivostok changing money for Americans.”
“But does the American seek us?” urged Katerin. She was anxious to establish the fact that the American had come to help them escape the Ataman.
“I heard nothing of that, mistress,” replied Wassili.
Michael pondered the matter carefully.
“It all means no good for us,” he said finally. “This officer may have sent Ilya to us, but why was Ilya shot? I say it looks like a trap.”
“But Zorogoff’s spies may have known that the American sent Ilya, and may have killed Ilya so no word could go back from us,” said Katerin.
“I grant that, yes,” said Michael, but still he had his doubts, and shook his head sadly.
“And if Zorogoff knows that an American officer has come, then the Ataman will not dare persecute us further. Did you hear the name of this American, Wassili?” asked Katerin.
“Mistress, I know nothing more. I did not dare go to the hotel when I heard that Ilya had been killed, but came back here for the orders of Excellence.”
“And that was right,” said Michael.