“Your pardon, good Alexis. I was not aware of that.”
Wilfrid guided the stranger to a chair, and offered him wine. “And what does the brother of Lieutenant Voronetz want with me?” he asked, when the other had set down his glass.
“My errand is a strange one. I am sent by a certain person, whose will is that I should escort you to a place, not far hence, where your coming is awaited.”
“What place?”
“I am forbidden to reveal its name. You will learn, if you come.”
“Without doubt,” smiled Wilfrid. “But why should I go to this person? If he wish to see me, here I am, easily accessible.”
“It is impossible for——” he hesitated for a word—“for the person to visit you.”
“Why not? Is he on a sick bed? Dying? In prison? Who is he?”
“I am on oath not to reveal the name of my principal. You are suspicious, I see; and your suspicions are, perhaps, natural; but in the name of God”—and here the speaker lifted his hand—“no hurt is intended you.”
Wilfrid knew that when a Muscovite swears by the name of God, he may usually be trusted. Still——