He found Paul alone in his study. In a few words he explained the situation.
“What do you think it means?” asked the prince.
“Heaven only knows!”
“And you will go?”
“Of course,” replied Steinmetz. “I love a mystery, especially in Petersburg. It sounds so like a romance written in the Kennington Road by a lady who has never been nearer to Russia than Margate.”
“I had better go with you,” said Paul.
“Gott! No!” exclaimed Steinmetz; “I must go alone. I will take Parks to drive the sleigh, if I may, though. Parks is a steady man, who loves a rough-and-tumble. A typical British coachman—the brave Parks!”
“Back in time for dinner?” asked Paul.
“I hope so. I have had such mysterious appointments thrust upon me before. It is probably a friend who wants a hundred-ruble note until next Monday.”
The cathedral clock struck six as Karl Steinmetz turned out of the Nevski Prospekt into the large square before the sacred edifice. He soon found the Kazan Passage—a very nest of toyshops—and, following the directions given, he mounted a narrow staircase. He knocked at the door on the left hand at the top of the stairs.