"You are the Master of this tower, I believe?"
"At present, indeed, I am."
"And for what purpose did you have it built, pray?"
The Master glanced sharply at his questioner.
"May I first inquire," said he, "what entitles you to ask such a question?"
"You shall hear," replied the officer. "You see, of course, by my uniform that I am Commodore on a ship of the line in the service of his Majesty the Tsar of all the Russias. The three-decker lying out there is my vessel the St. Thomas. Of late years an enormous number of ships have been lost in the Baltic, and that in the most mysterious circumstances. I have therefore received orders to stop and search every suspicious vessel on the high seas, as well as to make any investigations upon the coast which I may consider advisable. My name is Count Zeno von Ungern."
Surely the Master's features must long ago have assumed the repose of death itself not to have been convulsed with every evil passion at the very mention of that name—the worst passion of all being joy.
It was his brother who stood before him.
The two sons had never seen each other since their earliest childhood. Zeno had visited his elder brother's house only in Feodor's absence at sea, while Feodor had never once appeared in the brilliant salons of the court. The elder brother, moreover, now looked much older than he really was. It was impossible, therefore, for Zeno to recognise him.
Feodor acknowledged his visitor's mission with a polite bow.