"'MY DEAR FELLOW', EXCLAIMED THE YOUNGER OF THE TWO, 'WHAT ON EARTH IS THE MEANING OF ALL THIS?'"
The two policemen, their last doubts dissipated by the promptitude with which the officers claimed their charge's acquaintance, acquiesced readily enough. A cab was procured and Petroff and his new-found friends installed therein, while the coachman was directed to drive to an address in a fashionable neighbourhood.
As the vehicle started off, Petroff looked at his deliverers with fresh wonder.
"Where have I met you before?" he murmured. "I don't seem to remember. Did you ever come to my boot-shop? If so, I mush have been drunk!"
The officer thus addressed shook his head gravely. "We had the honour of meeting your Excellency when you served in the army."
Petroff looked more puzzled than ever.
"The army?" he repeated. "What do you mean? I'm not a soldier. I'm a bootmaker."
The two officers exchanged glances.
"I beg your pardon for venturing to contradict you, sir, but the Czar has just been pleased to promote you to major-general in appreciation of your distinguished services."