The outlaw stretched his hands out, and for a moment it seemed as if he would dissolve in tears. Then he recovered himself, and his voice rang out, clear and firm.
“And, at last, Signor, I shall have revenge on those who wronged me and my family.”
“Say rather, Ivan, justice, not revenge,” interrupted the young Italian mildly.
“It is the same, Signor, is it not?” cried Ivan. He pointed with his finger to an inert figure in the corner of the room, apparently inanimate.
“That is Stepan. I have given him a narcotic in order to prevent accidents. He does not look at his best at the moment. But just go and have a peep at him and see the likeness to yourself.”
Corsini crossed over the small room and looked at the prostrate form, of the man, wrapped in a deep slumber, and breathing heavily. Yes, Stepan might have been his twin brother under normal conditions.
“The time is short,” said the outlaw. “We must make you look as like Stepan as possible, with regard to the externals.”
He went to the door and whistled softly. A small, slouching man answered to the summons.
“Paul, my friend,” said Ivan in an imperious tone, “I have told you something of this affair. You have got to convert this gentleman into the speaking likeness of our sleeping friend. Do your little tricks at once.”
The small, slouching man went to work immediately. He stripped off the rough clothes from the slumbering man in the corner, and signalled to Corsini to divest himself of his own garments. In a trice, Corsini was dressed in Stepan’s habiliments. He then proceeded to stain his face and hands.