And now a bushy-headed man got on his feet and levelled his forefinger at Ilse: “Take shame for your-selluf!” he shouted. “I know you! You fought mit Korniloff! You took orders from Kerensky, from aristocrats, from cadets!”
Ilse said pleasantly. “I fought for Russia, my friend. And when the robbers and despoilers of Russia became the stronger, I took a vacation.”
Some people laughed, but a harsh voice cried: “We know what you did. You rescued the friend of the 235 Romanoffs––that Carmelite nun up there on the platform behind you, who calls herself Miss Dumont!”
And from the other side of the hall another man bawled out: “You and the White Nun have done enough mischief. And you and your club had better get out of here while the going is good!”
Estridge, who was standing in the rear of the hall with Shotwell, came down along the aisle. Jim followed.
“Who said that?” he demanded, scanning the faces on that side while Shotwell looked among the seats beyond.
Nobody said anything, for John Estridge stood over six feet and Jim looked physically very fit.
Estridge, standing in the aisle, said in his cool, penetrating voice:
“This club is a forum for discussion. All are free to argue any point. Only swine would threaten violence.
“Now go on and argue. Say what you like. But the next man who threatens these ladies or this club with violence will have to leave the hall.”