"The responsibility to whom, Gregory Khodkine?" she asked.
"To those who have sent me," he replied uneasily.
"You grow bold with success."
"Who doesn't?" And then with a frown, "I warn you, Tatyana, of your promise."
Gone were the softer tones in which he had pitched his morning appeal. This was another Khodkine, the man who last night had asked her into his room at Nemi that he might try to frighten her into a confession of what she knew of the secret of the vault. She had evaded him then, had managed as she thought to throw him off the scent, but there seemed no chance of evading him now or indeed of finding any way into his confidences. She had missed her chance this morning. The sense of a possible power over him had flitted from her and with its loss came a sense of defeat and utter hopelessness.
If Monsieur Khodkine's sense of security had been increased he still drove rapidly and at turns in the road in the open country she saw him turn his chin over his shoulder and eagerly scrutinize the landscape behind them. But they had come far and it seemed hardly possible that pursuit could threaten now.
When Gregory Khodkine spoke it was to carry the war into her camp. He was quite civil and spoke in Russian in a low tone, but his question probed deep and took her off her guard.
"Princess Samarov, last night while you were outside the vault, your friend the American accused me of a connection with the Wilhelmstrasse, and obligingly gave me a dossier. Who told him that my name was Hochwald? Did you?"
Tanya was unprepared and involuntarily her hand clutched at her shirt waist where the papers were hidden in her breast. She recovered herself instantly and faced him quite calmly, her hand dropping into her lap.
"You are full of surprises, Gregory Khodkine. Hochwald! Is it true?"