The Duke smiled. “You are well informed. I do not always use my title, and if I choose to translate my name at times, it is my own affair. Doubtless if you knew so much you are aware that I am the Duke De Richleau.”
“A bourgeois,” Leshkin sneered.
De Richleau raised his grey eyebrows, and his smile deepened. “A bourgeois? Indeed you are enchanting, Monsieur le Kommissar. My friends and my enemies have called me many things, but never before have I been called a bourgeois!”
“You are an hereditary enemy of the workers — it is enough.” Leshkin lit a cigarette and leaned back, regarding them in silence for a few moments. Suddenly he said:
“What have you done with your friend — the American, why is he not with you?”
Simon and the Duke both looked blank.
“Come, do not pretend that you do not know who I mean.” The Russian’s voice was quiet and cold. “You made inquiries about this man in Moskawa. I, myself, supplied the information to you through Valeria Petrovna that he was in prison in Tobolsk. He escaped only yesterday — and with you, in a sleigh. Where is he?”
“Well, I’ll tell you,” said Simon, slowly. He realized that if the Kommissar knew so much of their movements it would do none of them any good to deny all knowledge of Rex. “Van Ryn wanted to strike back to the railway, and we were for going farther north, so we separated — that’s why he’s not here.”
“When was this?”
“Early this morning, after we — er — lost our sleigh, you know!”