“Rakov,” she said, sweetly. “Would you not also like to see my secret store of grain?”
Rakov shifted his gaze to Marie Lou. His close-set, cunning eyes, divided only the knife-like bridge of his nose, had suddenly become full of fear. He shook his head, quickly, and backed towards the door.
“I meant no harm,” he protested, “and even if it is, true about the onions, neighbours should not tell upon neighbours. About the horses — I was questioned — what could I say?”
Not the faintest sound came from overhead. Rakov looked up again, apprehensively. Secret stores of grain were not the only things that could be hidden in an attic — Rakov knew that! White officers, Red soldiers, politicals of all sorts had hidden in the roofs of cottages before now. Rakov felt that this was no place for an honest man who tried to wrest a living from the soil. His hand was on the latch, but as he lowered his eyes he found himself looking into the barrel of Marie Lou’s little toy revolver — above it were her very steady blue eyes.
“No, Rakov, you filthy swine,” she spat at him, suddenly. “Not so fast — away from that door, please, and into the bedroom — quickly!”
He backed before her, waving her feebly from him with ineffectual motions of his thin, knotted hands.
“Be careful I beg, Barina, be careful, pray — it might go off, the little gun — I have a use for both my ears, point it the other way.”
“It will go off, Rakov — if you do not do just what I say.” She stood in the doorway of the inner room — he upon the far side by the wall. “Hands above your head, Rakov, and turn your face to the wall.” She nodded approval as he obeyed her order. “Listen now — if you so much as move your head the bullets will come crashing into that ugly curved back of yours. This door remains open, and I will shoot you for the dog you are.”
A movement at her side made her turn quickly — it was Rex, appearing from the cupboard.
“Great stuff,” he said, with his jolly laugh. “Netted the whole party. I’ll attend to this bum”; he walked over to Rakov.