CHAPTER XIII — UNMASKED
For a moment there was silence in the hovel, broken only by the wail of the dying man in the corner. Paul and Catrina faced each other—she white and suddenly breathless, he half frowning. But he did not meet her eyes.
“Paul,” she said again, with a lingering touch on the name. The sound of her voice, a rough sort of tenderness in her angry tone, made Steinmetz smile in his grim way, as a man may smile when in pain.
“Paul, what did you do this for? Why are you here? Oh, why are you in this wretched place?”
“Because you sent for me,” he answered quietly. “Come, let us go out. I have finished here. That man will die. There is nothing more to be done for him. You must not stay in here.”
She gave a short laugh as she followed him. He had to stoop low to pass through the door-way. Then he turned and held out his hand, for fear she should trip over the high threshold. She nodded her thanks, but refused the proffered assistance.
Steinmetz lingered behind to give some last instructions, leaving Paul and Catrina to walk on down the narrow street alone. The moon was just rising—a great yellow moon such as only Russia knows—the land of the silver night.
“How long have you been doing this?” asked Catrina suddenly. She did not look toward him, but straight in front of her.