“Mr. Razumov is a young man of conspicuous abilities. I have it at heart that his future should not....”
“Certainly,” interrupted the General, with a movement of the hand. “Has he any weapons on him, do you think, Mr. Razumov?”
The General employed a gentle musical voice. Razumov answered with suppressed irritation—
“No. But my razors are lying about—you understand.”
The General lowered his head approvingly.
“Precisely.”
Then to the Prince, explaining courteously—
“We want that bird alive. It will be the devil if we can’t make him sing a little before we are done with him.”
The grave-like silence of the room with its mute clock fell upon the polite modulations of this terrible phrase. The Prince, hidden in the chair, made no sound.
The General unexpectedly developed a thought.