Then the thought suggested itself that if I could effect an entrance I might discover food and clothing, for it was impossible for me to go far in a convict’s dress with a yellow diamond upon the back, without being rearrested. I tried both doors, but they were securely fastened. After a search, however, I came across a long piece of iron in an outhouse, and with it contrived to wrench off the latch of a window-shutter. Afterwards I broke open the double windows and clambered in. The one large room facing the road was a bare-boarded, dirty apartment, and, like all Siberian post-houses, devoid of any furniture beyond a plain deal table, a couple of rush-bottomed chairs, and a bench. In the centre stood a large, round stove, while on the wall was a badly executed picture of the Virgin. There was some food upon the table, and the room bore evidence of recent occupation. As I passed into the sleeping apartment beyond, I started and drew back in alarm, for lying upon the unclean straw mattress, fully dressed, and covered with a heavy fur overcoat, lay a man. His face was turned from me, but after a moment’s hesitation I shook him gently by the shoulder. He did not stir. I placed my hand upon his face, but drew it back instantly, for its contact thrilled me. It was icy cold! The man was dead! As I realised the truth, my eyes fell upon a piece of paper lying upon the chair beside him. Taking it up, I read the following words written in pencil in a feeble, shaky hand— “_I shall die before you can return with medical aid. I order you in the name of the Tzar to send on the despatches by a trusty messenger. You will be repaid.—IVAN DRUKOVITCH._” On searching the body I found the dispatches referred to secreted in the money-belt around his waist. There were three official letters, secured by the Imperial seal, and addressed to General Sergius Okoulow, Governor of the District of Kolymsk, the Arctic exile settlement in the Province of Yakoutsk. With the letters I found about 500 roubles in notes, and a passport which declared the bearer to be “Ivan Drukovitch, messenger in the service of His Imperial Majesty the Tzar, on official business to the Governor of Kolymsk.” It did not take me long to decide what course to adopt. Divesting myself of my rags—which I put in the stove and set fire to—I attired myself in the dead man’s uniform, strapped the money-belt with its contents around my waist, together with a revolver, and destroyed the note the dead man had written. After a brief search I discovered a file among the tools belonging to the post-house keeper, and in half an hour had succeeded in freeing my ankles of the galling fetters. Getting out of the window, I went to the stable, where I found the courier’s horse, and having saddled it mounted and rode away in the direction the convoy had taken.