“Escape is impossible,” he said. “Two Cossacks are standing at the western end of the street, and the gate before the military post is still closed and guarded.”
The starosta now appeared with the news that supper was waiting, so Sandoff and Vera entered the house, leaving Shamarin with the sledge, and promising to send him out some food.
Vera and her companion felt little desire to eat as they sat down at opposite sides of the table. The post room was quite empty, and they could talk without being overheard.
“Vera, what do you wish to tell me?” asked Sandoff, as he poured a cup of tea from the samovar.
“Nothing,” she replied. “At least, nothing definite. I have only a vague suspicion.”
“Of what?”
“Of the contents of that iron chest. I believe that Serge Zamosc invented the story he told us about Colonel Nord, and I believe that the chest, if opened, would enlighten us somewhat. I can’t tell you why I think so, unless it is because Zamosc has been smiling to himself all day long and turning his eyes in the direction of the chest, when he thought he was unobserved.”
Sandoff did not reply for a moment. He ate a few mouthfuls of food, and then rose from the table.
“Your suggestion is worth acting upon,” he said. “I intend to get that chest open—by force if necessary, though I will make another short search for the key.”
They passed out into the courtyard, the gate of which was already closed for the night. Sandoff climbed into the sledge—to Shamarin’s surprise—and hauling Zamosc to an upright position began a thorough search of his clothing. It proved unsuccessful, and Sandoff was about to desist when a sudden inspiration struck him. Dropping Zamosc on his back he drew off his right boot. When Sandoff shook it something rattled, and placing his hand inside he drew out a small iron key.