I saw that she at least spoke the truth, and ran to the outer door; but there was no sign of the dwarf,—he had escaped. I came back, determined to learn the truth from the woman, who, I saw, was a dull tool, little schooled in evasion.
“When did the young lady leave here?” I asked her sharply.
“About an hour ago, perhaps,” she replied, simply enough, “and much against her will; she would rather have stayed with me.”
“Who was with her?” I asked, a horror possessing me.
“A tall man, master,” she said slowly. “I did not know him, but he gave the signal and he had the boyar’s signet,—a man with an ill-favored face, and one eye turned in towards the nose, and very long teeth.”
There was no difficulty in recognizing the description; it was Viatscheslav.
“Did he say where he was going?” I asked, curbing my excitement.
“To the Kremlin,” she replied promptly, “and they have scarcely been gone an hour.”
Without waiting for another word, I dashed out and turned my steps towards the Kremlin, frenzied with anxiety.