“Now, comrades,” he went on, as they were drawing the robes high about them, “as I’m going to be a guest at that hotel of yours for some time, let’s stop along the way and get a mattress that isn’t paved with cobblestones. I don’t exactly fancy— Hello! What’s that?”
A blunt object had suddenly been thrust against the middle of his back.
“That,” explained Ivan, “is the muzzle of your Browning.”
“If you’re going to return my property,” said Drexel, “I wish you’d return it by some less direct route. You might hand it around me, for instance.”
“We don’t know your game,” said Nicolai, “but if you make one suspicious move, or one cry, that pistol will go off.”
“All right. But say there, Ivan, be careful, will you! I’ve got used to that spinal column of mine, and if you spoiled it I might never get another that suited me as well. Drive on.”
The horse started up. But before it had fairly swung into a trot, some one running behind cried out, “Wait! Wait!”
They drew up, and a man thrust a piece of paper into Nicolai’s hand and immediately turned back. Nicolai opened the paper and glanced at it.
“Of all the strange things!” he cried, and turned the paper over to Ivan.
“The devil!” exclaimed Ivan. “Where did it come from?”