“Oh — ou — ou.” Rakov laughed a greasy laugh, his thin lips drew back and his long narrow nose almost met his chin. “To say that I lie — Rakov lies! It is well known that I give all that I have to the Soviets. I am an upright man!”
“You are a thief, and a hider of corn,” Marie Lou went on, accusingly. De Richleau, with his ear to a crack in the floor overhead, smiled as he heard her attack.
“Let us not trouble about that now,” said the civilian. “It is known that these politicals seek horses to escape — it is strange that Rakov should report you as having tried to buy them. Explain that, please.”
“Rakov has heard the rumour that these people seek horses. Rakov smells money like a ferret blood. He is a man who would steal his father’s horses and say that the father had sold them if he could make ten kopecks!”
The peasant stepped forward, angrily — an ugly look on his mean face. He raised his fist to strike her.
“Enough,” cried the man from the Ogpu, thrusting him back. “I am not satisfied.” He turned again to Marie Lou.
“Where were you when we came here earlier — two hours ago?”
“In the village,” she lied, glibly.
“What — at eleven at night?”
“It could not have been so late.”