"What would you? I was captured in it and have worn it ever since. The Boches do not trouble to send their prisoners to a tailor."
"The Boches! You were, then, a prisoner of the Germans----?"
The Russian straightened in his chair, his bony hands clasping its arms, his brows tangling suddenly.
"Until three weeks ago, yes, Monsieur."
It was not imagination that gave Phil Rowland the notion that the tone of voice of the Russian had suddenly changed again. He felt the black eyes, now almost hidden under the dark bushy brows, burning into his own. And while he could not explain the feeling of inquietude, he realized that some chance remark of his had aroused a dormant devil in his host.
"A prisoner! The Germans!" He repeated quickly. "And you come here to Nemi. Who sent you hither?"
"Why, no one, Monsieur," said the American, easily, with a smile which concealed his growing curiosity. "I do not even know just when or where I crossed the border."
"Ah. It is strange--that you should come here. Italian, too----"
Ivanitch wagged his great head quickly. The girl Tanya broke in with a short laugh.
"Monsieur Rowlan' is not the first escaping soldier who has passed through the village. You remember, last week----"