The peasant swung round, his small eyes lit with the terror of death, he wrung his knobbly hands. “Mercy, master, mercy,” he pleaded. “I have a family, little ones — they will starve. I am an old man.”
“What about the horses?” asked Rex, in halting Russian.
“Yes, master, the best — and I should only ask a little price — less, much less than before; also you shall have my sleigh.” He trembled as he eagerly spread out his greedy hands.
“No,” said Marie Lou, decisively. “He would play us some trick. Deal with him as with the others.”
“What you say goes,” Rex agreed, with a smile. “Come here, you.” He seized the whining Rakov by the collar, and threw him face down on the bed. Kneeling on the peasant’s back, he tied his hands behind him with a scarf, and gagged him with a towel. His feet he secured with the man’s own belt. Then, picking him up bodily, he thrust him under the bed.
“What of the others,” asked Marie Lou, anxiously.
“Easy money. While they were giving you the once over down here, we made a sand-bag out of some sacking and your box of nails. De Richleau coshed ’em as they put their heads through the trap, and I drew ’em in. They’re trussed up now all swell and dandy.”
“Mademoiselle, my congratulations.” It was the Duke who had joined them. “As I speak Russian I was able to appreciate every word of that exciting conversation; your presence of mind was beyond all praise.”
The dimple on Marie Lou’s little chin deepened as she smiled. “It was a difficult moment, Monsieur, when the man of the Ogpu decided to go up. I feared that you would shoot. He was a brave one, that — or foolish!”
“Guess he thought he’d found our hide-out, but reckoned the birds had flown,” Rex laughed.