“You know her,” I said. “Where is she?”
“In hiding.”
“Far from here?”
“Well, not very,” he answered. “I could take you to her this very night—if you made it worth my while.”
“Why not in daylight?” I inquired.
“Because the frontier-guards are here in swarms.”
Then, in reply to my questions, he admitted that he was one of those who obtained his living by smuggling contraband goods and persons without passports across the frontier into and out of Germany. Along the whole of the Russo-German frontier there are bands of peasantry who live by smuggling emigrants, Jews, malefactors, and others who have no permit to leave the country, across into Germany by certain by-paths that remain unguarded, notwithstanding the constant vigilance of the military.
“And what is Sonia doing at present?” I inquired, after he had frankly related to me his position in a low tone so that we might not be overheard by any eavesdropper or police spy.
“She has always been a leader,” he answered, laughing gaily. “She is so still.”
“A leader of smugglers!” I exclaimed, surprised that the pretty girl who had been admired in every capital in Europe should adopt such a hazardous, reckless life.