My object in seeing him at work was twofold. The first was to watch the movement of his face, but I found that it wore the blank, expressionless look of a blind man. The second was to make an investigation. His coat was hanging upon a nail behind the door, and holding up my finger to my friend as an indication of secrecy, I crossed noiselessly to the garment, and placing my hand in the breast-pocket, abstracted its contents. A momentary glance was sufficient to detect the object which I sought, for, folded in half and lying among a number of letters and bills, was the missing copy of the revolutionary pamphlet. I pushed the papers back hurriedly, and with Goldberg left the old man’s workshop. I was sorely puzzled to know what the blind man wanted with a document of that description, and after replying evasively to Goldberg’s questions, I bade him farewell, and left. One evening I visited the house in Little Alie Street and found Dobroslavin, Bolomez, and Karelin smoking together in the dingy little sitting-room. We sat gossiping for an hour, when the old man knocked the ashes from his pipe, and rising, said, “I must be going now. I promised Elyòna to return early. She will be so lonely, poor child.” The tender manner in which he spoke of her touched me, and I reflected upon her dull and lonely life, for she was unable to speak English, and had no friends. “I will see you home,” I said, and presently we set out and walked together to his humble abode. Elyòna was sitting as usual, bright and cheerful, ready to welcome him. She jumped to her feet, kissed him affectionately, ran to get his slippers, and bestowed upon him various little attentions which showed how great was the affection between father and daughter. After remaining chatting with her for half an hour, I returned to Little Alie Street, but judge my astonishment when I found that a crowd had assembled outside the house. Hastily inquiring the nature of the disturbance, I was informed by a lad that a police inspector had entered the place. Such intelligence naturally caused me a good deal of consternation, but I remembered that it was no offence against English law to print Russian pamphlets. I resolved to put on a bold front and enter the premises. As I was forcing my way through the crowd to the door, the latter opened, and I saw Dobroslavin and Bolomez in the custody of several constables. “For what am I arrested?” I heard Bolomez ask in his broken English. “You’ve already been told,” the constable replied. “Come, you’d best go quietly.”