"Sh!" she warned. "I'm not trifling. I've wasted no time. I've learned what I wanted to find out. Monsieur Rowland knows nothing."
"Does he look as if he knew anything?" he said contemptuously. "I could have told you that much. Khodkine twists him around his thumb."
"And so do I."
"Ach--and at what cost?" he muttered suspiciously.
Madame Rochal smiled up at Khodkine's lighted window.
"That's my affair," she said coldly.
"And in the meanwhile," he went on, "this precious Khodkine will get into the vault. Tonight, perhaps--How do I know that even now he hasn't the combination to the doors in his pockets. And I don't trust Fräulein Korasov."
"Nor I. She is much too quiet."
Liederman threw his cigar into the bushes, thrust his fists into his trouser pockets and swayed heavily from one foot to the other.
"Zoya Rochal," he said hoarsely, "you see how things are here at Nemi. While Ivanitch led our committee we were sure at least of a man pledged deeply to Internationalism and the socialist cause. It was his fetish. He was orthodox. He even gave his life for his convictions. And now whom do we find as Priest of Nemi--a friend of France, full of meaningless catchwords about Peace and Liberty--a boy from America, now the enemy of my country, ready to be caught by the first wind that blows. You, Zoya, voted for him. You have placed yourself on his side,--why, God knows, when with Khodkine he may work our ruin."