During the northward march Jack rode between Captain Kargopol and Lieutenant Borisoff. They were eager for the promised explanation of his partnership with brigands. Jack had already made up his mind to be chary of details. He would give no hostages to fortune in the shape of information that might be used against him later; nor would he say anything about the friends whose assistance had been so valuable to him. Of Gabriele Walewska and the missionary, of Herr Schwab and the compradore's brother, he therefore said never a word. The gist of his explanation was that, being uncertain and suspicious in regard to his father's fate, he had resolved to stay in the country, and found that he could only do so safely in disguise. This being penetrated by Sowinski's acuteness, he had perforce taken refuge with Ah Lum, one of whose lieutenants was an old friend of his.
"That rascally guide of ours, I suppose," said Borisoff. "Well, it happens that I can give you a little information——"
"About my father?'
"No, I know nothing about him. A few weeks ago a curious thing happened to that fellow Sowinski, a man I loathe. Kuropatkin received a telegram from Petersburg asking for particulars of the charges brought against your father, and for information as to his whereabouts. Your Foreign Office had apparently been making enquiries. Kuropatkin knew nothing about it, of course; after some delay he discovered that Bekovitch had dealt with the matter. Bekovitch produced a number of letters found in your father's office conclusively showing that he had been in treasonable correspondence with the Japanese——"
"That's a lie!" said Jack.
"Well, there were the letters," said Borisoff with a shrug. "Kuropatkin asked if there was any independent evidence. Bekovitch at once sent Sinetsky for Sowinski. He couldn't find the man, and though he left an urgent message he didn't turn up. So he went to his house again early next morning. There was nobody about, the door was wide open, and he walked in. The house was empty, but he thought he heard a strange rustling in a big press in the dining-room; Sowinski had appropriated your house, by the way. He opened the door, and there was the Pole, gagged, tied hand and foot, and nearly dead from exhaustion. Sinetsky cut him loose; the poor wretch couldn't speak for half an hour, his tongue was so much swollen. He'd been tied up by a Chinese servant, it appeared, though the job must have taken more than one man."
"Yes—I was the other."
"You!" The officers laughed heartily. "You're a perfect demon of ingenuity, Ivan Ivanovitch. Why didn't he say it was you?"
"He had his reasons, I suppose. What happened then?"
"He went to Kuropatkin and swore to all manner of things against your father. The information was telegraphed to Petersburg, and that's all I know about it."