CHAPTER XX
earing the sound of lightly-falling footsteps behind him, Boris Ivanovitch ceased his investigations of Sir Paul's kit-bag and cautiously turned his head.
As he did so, he experienced a painful sensation. He felt a little cold ring of steel pressed against his right temple, and from past experience, both objective and subjective, he knew that a Colt cartridge was held, so to speak, in leash within five inches of his head.
For several infinitely long seconds Boris did not entirely revel in the pause that followed.
It was, indeed, with some relief that he heard Paul's distinctly pleasant, though slightly mocking, voice break the accentuated silence and say:
"Don't be alarmed, Ivanovitch. I mean you no harm. I am simply psychologically interested in your movements. The fact that I am attempting to protect the contents of my kit-bag from your attentions is of comparatively small importance."
Boris drew a little breath of relief, not the less sincere because he was conscious that the muzzle of the revolver was withdrawn from his temple.
He heard the door of the chamber close softly; then the pleasant voice spoke again, though with a slightly harder ring in its tones.