“Anna what? Oh—Petrovna. Why, yes, of course they stand for that, but it’s a Russian name, isn’t it? And this lady was English, or American!”
He was silent for a minute, fingering the handkerchief, which I longed to snatch from the contamination of his touch.
“A mistake has been made, as I now perceive, Monsieur,” he said smoothly, at last. “I think your release might be accomplished without much difficulty.”
He paused and looked hard at my pocket-book.
“I guess if you’ll hand me that note case it can be accomplished right now,” I suggested cheerfully. I don’t believe there’s a Russian official living, high or low, who is above accepting a bribe, or extorting blackmail; and this one proved no exception to the rule.
I passed him a note worth about eight dollars, and he grasped and shook my hand effusively as he took it.
“Now we are friends, hein?” he exclaimed. “Accept my felicitations at the so happy conclusion of our interview. You understand well that duty must be done, at whatever personal cost and inconvenience. Permit me to restore the rest of your property, Monsieur; this only I must retain.” He thrust the handkerchief into his desk. “Perhaps—who knows—we may discover the fair owner, and restore it to her.”
His civility was even more loathsome to me than his insolence had been, and I wanted to kick him. But I didn’t. I offered him a cigarette, instead, and we parted with mutual bows and smiles.
Once on the street again I walked away in the opposite direction to that I should have taken if I had been sure I would not be followed and watched; but I guessed that, for the present at least, I would be kept under strict surveillance, and doubtless at this moment my footsteps were being dogged.
Therefore I made first for the café where I usually lunched, and, a minute after I had seated myself, a man in uniform strolled in and placed himself at a table just opposite, with his back to me, but his face towards a mirror, in which, as I soon discovered, he was watching my every movement.