Jack felt that he was giving the Chinaman a bare chance to close with him; but the man seeming so cowed, he took the risk, careful, however, to keep the revolver conspicuous. As they lifted the Pole they saw his face distorted with rage and hate. They stood him upright in the press, and closed the door, leaving sufficient space between it and the sides to admit air. Then with a feeling of relief after the tension of his perilous situation, Jack took up the order signed by Sowinski, and was wondering how to dispose of the Chinaman, when there was a loud knock at the outer door, followed immediately by footsteps in the passage. Jack's heart beat violently; he caught a malicious look of triumph in the servant's eyes. But he recovered his sang-froid, and at the same moment made his decision. A voice in Russian was calling for Sowinski; just as the footsteps approached the inner door Jack pushed the Chinaman in front of him.
"Send him away," he whispered. "Remember the pistol."
He had no time for more. The visitor was at the door. It opened.
"Ha, Sowinski!—" said the new-comer, a captain of Cossacks. Then he paused, seeing only two Chinese servants.
"Where is your master?"
"He is away, Excellency," faltered the man; "not at home; he will not be back for some hours." Jack touched his heel to quicken his invention. He continued: "He said he was going first to the Green Dragon, then to the railway-station. He expected to meet a friend. Can I give him any message?"
"It is very annoying," said the officer. "I must see him to-night. The Green Dragon, you say? I will see whether he is there. If he returns, say that Captain Sinetsky called, and that he is to come and see me at my quarters at once."
He turned on his heel and left the house. The tension was relaxed. The immediate danger was past, but Jack saw that his escape was still to be deferred. The captain's look and tone of vexation showed that his business with Sowinski was important. Failing to find the Pole at the hotel he might return himself or send a messenger, and then, if Jack were absent, the prisoner would be discovered and released, and the hue and cry after the disguised Englishman would be hot before he could get his pass and be clear of the city. The gates would not be opened before daybreak. It would hardly be safe to leave the house much earlier. He made up his mind to wait.
Creaking and groaning, the massive gates barring the eastern entrance to Moukden swung back on their hinges; the squatting crowd patiently awaiting the opening awoke to sudden activity; there was a general movement of foot-passengers, chairs, and carts towards the archway. In a moment the rush was checked: a Cossack officer with a dozen sturdy troopers barred the way—one man only might pass at a time, and that after careful scrutiny.
When some two or three score had run the gauntlet, the officer, whose patience seemed to be sorely tried, permitted himself a hearty Russian oath, and growled to the sergeant at his side.