At dusk Steinmetz went out. He had an appointment with the starosta.
Paul was sitting in his own room, making a pretence of work, about five o’clock, when Steinmetz came hurriedly to him.
“A new development,” he said shortly. “Come to my room.”
Paul rose and followed him through the double doorway built in the thickness of the wall.
Steinmetz’s large room was lighted only by a lamp standing on the table. All the light was thrown on the desk by a large green shade, leaving the rest of the room in a semi-darkness.
At the far end of the room a man was standing in an expectant attitude. There was something furtive about this intruder, and at the same time familiar to Paul, who peered at him through the gloom.
Then the man came hurriedly forward.
“Ah, Pavlo, Pavlo!” he said in a deep, hollow voice. “I could not expect you to know me.”
He threw his arms around him, and embraced him after the simple manner of Russia. Then he held him at arm’s length.
“Stipan!” said Paul. “No, I did not know you.”