My real name had never transpired in connection with the work of the Executive, therefore she had all these years believed that I was still in exile in Siberia, where she had heard our father had died while chained to his wheel-barrow in the Nerchinsk mine.
I was relating how I escaped, when the opening of the street-door by a latch-key, and flying footsteps on the stairs startled us. The handle of the door was turned, and a thin, dark-haired young man dashed into the room. He must have sped quickly, for he put his hand to his side, and with difficulty gasped—
“Quick! They are searching. The police are already on their way here!” Then turning to me, said, “Hide! hide, for your life!”
Mascha wrung her hands, crying, “Fly! fly, Anton! They must not discover you! Fly!”
I was making blindly for the door, when Liustig’s voice arrested me.
“No—no time; they will meet you—you must hide!”
“Where can I?” And I looked round the room in dismay.
“The window—it is dark.” Mascha spoke, pointing upwards. The man who had warned us had already disappeared.
My sister saw my hesitation. The window was high in the wall, and I could not reach it.