The next man below me at table was the police-master of Tamboff. Casually he asked me if I knew about Marie Spiradonova. I was startled by the abruptness with which he introduced the subject that was giving me so much concern, but I answered carelessly:
“I have seen her name in the papers.”
“The papers say terrible things about our treatment of her,” he added.
“Newspapers are the same the world over,” I responded diplomatically.
After a pause the police-master went on: “It is very hard on an official like myself. You see she is in a prison in my city, and many people—revolutionists and fanatics—believe I am responsible for all the cruelties that the newspapers say she has suffered.”
“Did you know the man she shot?” I asked.
“Yes—and while I cannot countenance assassination, I must say that he was a very bad man and deserved all he got.”
This was the first time an official had ever been so outspoken, and I was surprised. The next thing he said fairly made my heart thump.
“So many lies have been told about this girl that I wish some one who would tell the literal truth would interview her and give the facts to the world—up to now no one has seen her at all.”
“I should think you could easily find some one to do that,” I replied.