“Since you take advantage of my helplessness I will tell you,” he said reluctantly. “For more than a year past Colonel Nord, the military commandant at Riga, has been beseeching the authorities at St. Petersburg for a new barracks, and shortly before I began my journey he was notified that I was coming and that I would make an inspection of the building and report on its condition. I hope you are satisfied now.”
He bore Sandoff’s keen glance without flinching. Either he was telling the truth, or he was an adept in the art of lying.
“That certainly seems plausible,” said Sandoff, as he regagged the captive and put him back among the rugs. “Circumstances seem to bear out his story. When I get to the next station I will telegraph back to Colonel Nord that I was compelled to—no, I won’t either. I’ll let matters go as they are. The colonel will be furious with rage, and will open communication with St. Petersburg at once, but by the time he gets any definite answer we shall be out of reach.”
Faster and faster sped the sledge. Mountains and hills, forests and ravines loomed up ahead, shot swiftly by, and faded into the distance. At last far off on the plain a speck appeared, and soon the speck was transformed into a tiny Siberian village—a post house, a military station, a telegraph office, and a few lonely cabins—not more than five or six.
The sun was just sinking into a crimson bed of clouds when the faithful horses entered the little street on a gallop. An instant later they were pulled back on their haunches with foaming nostrils and steaming flanks, as a gate swung suddenly across the road checking further progress. It was directly in front of the little box-like military post that this occurred, and as Sandoff broke into an angry exclamation at the audacity of the deed, an officer came out into the road.
“What do you mean by this?” cried Sandoff angrily.
The man bowed almost to the ground. “Pardon, a thousand pardons, your excellency!” he entreated. “There was no other way—you were going so fast. The noise of the bells would have prevented you from hearing my voice.”
“And now what do you want—my passport?” demanded Sandoff roughly.
“No! No! Your excellency, I beg you not. It is a matter of a different nature. You are the honorable Inspector Serge Zamosc—I am not mistaken on that?”
“Yes, I am he. Go on.”