Part 21 (1/2)

The Coerian Gate It was a house of such noble proportions that at first Malcolht it was one of the old public offices, and when Malinkoff had drawn up at the gate he put the question

”That is the house of the Grand Duke Yaroslav,” said Malinkoff quietly

”I think you were inquiring about hiht a little pang to Malcolm's heart, and he asked no further questions There was a sentry on the _podyasde_--an untidy, unshaven roup of soldiers filled the entrance, evidently the reuard

The Commissary was out When would he be back? Only God knew He had taken ”the Little Mother” for a drive in the country, or perhaps he had gone to Petrograd--who knew? There was nobody to see but the Commissary--on this fact they insisted with such veheentleman was, he brooked no rivals and allowed no possible supplanter to stand near his throne

They came back at four o'clock in the afternoon, but the Commissary was still out It was nine o'clock, after five inquiries, that the sentry replied ”Yes” to the inevitable question

”Now you will see him,” said Malinkoff, ”and the future depends upon the potency of your favourite patron saint”

Malcolm stopped in the doorway

”General----” he said

”Not that word,” said Malinkoff quickly ”Citizen or comrade--co you into danger--I have been horribly selfish and thoughtless Will ithiht, it is always dangerous to attract the attention of the Co the Counter-Revolution,” he said, ”but since I have taken you in hand I ht as well see him as stay outside on ht you here, and it ht look suspicious if I did not come in with you Besides, soood comrade and friend of the Soviet”

He was half in earnest and half joking, but wholly fatalistic

As they went up the broad spiral staircase which led to the main floor of the Yaroslav Palace, Malcol this er So far as he was concerned, as he told himself, there was no risk at all, because he was a British traveller, having no feeling one way or the other toward the Soviet Government But Malinkoff would be a marked man, under suspicion all the time Before the office of the Commissary was a sentry without rifle He sat at a table which coht inches at one side He inquired the business of the visitors, took their names and handed them to a soldier, and with a sideways jerk of his head invited them to squeeze past him into the bureau

CHAPTER XI

THE COMMISSARY WITH THE CROOKED NOSE

There were a dozen men in the room in stained military overcoats and red armlets One, evidently an officer, who carried a black portfolio under his ar his fingers to a dingy white terrier that leapt to his repeated invitations

At the table, covered with documents, were two people, theindolently forward, her head upon her ar brown face turned to the reasy where her thick black ringlets had rested, and the ashes of her cigarette lay in little untidy heaps on the table

The h hands

But it was his face which arrested the feet of Malcolht hih to see and recognize the Commissary

It was not by his bushy red beard nor the stiff, upstanding hair, but by the crooked nose, that he recognized Boolba, so-htless eyes, felt his spine go creepy

Boolba lifted his head sharply at the sound of an unfamiliar footfall

”Who is this?” he asked ”Sophia Kensky, you who are my eyes, tell me who is this?”