“I shall ascend the steps, knock, and ask for Danilovitch,” the great detective said. “The probability is that the door will be unceremoniously slammed in my face. But you will be behind me. I shall place my foot in the door to prevent premature closing, and at first sign of resistance you, being behind me, will help me to force the door, and so enter. At word from me don’t hesitate—use all your might. I intend to give whoever lives there a sudden and sharp surprise.”
“But if they are refugees, they are desperate. What then?”
“I expect they are,” he laughed. “This is no doubt the hornets’ nest. Therefore it behoves us to be wary, and have our wits well about us. You’re not afraid, Mr Trewinnard?”
“Not at all,” I said. “Where you dare go, there I will follow.”
“Good. Let’s make the attempt then,” he said, and together we strolled leisurely back until we came to the flight of unclean front steps, whereupon both of us turned and, ascending, Hartwig gave a sharp postman’s knock at the door.
An old, grey-whiskered, ill-dressed man, palpably a Polish Jew, opened the door, whereupon Hartwig asked in Russian:
“Is our leader Danilo Danilovitch here?”
The man looked from him to me inquiringly.
“Tell him that Ivan Arapoff, from Petersburg, wishes to speak with him.”
“I do not know, Gospodin, whether he is at home,” replied the man with politeness. “But I will see, if you will wait,” and he attempted to close the door in our faces.