Jack was bundled into a disgustingly dirty lock-up, and the two men who conducted him no sooner got him inside than they stripped off his epaulets, rifled his pockets, and took every penny of money and everything of value he possessed. One of the men then struck savagely at Jack’s head with the butt-end of his whip; but Jack, having had experience of their treatment, was on the lookout, and, his arms being free, he caught the fellow such a blow on the jaw that he retired, uttering threats of what he would do presently. Jack was then left alone, and, seating himself on a bundle of filthy straw in one corner, he reviewed his situation, which seemed pretty hopeless. That Sominoff was at the bottom of the affair he felt convinced; but he could not understand how he had prevailed over the count, who would, he felt assured, have done all he could for him. As it got dark, swarms of rats came out from innumerable holes, running over Jack’s feet and trying to claw up his legs. He had to walk about to keep these noxious vermin off him. He had an instinctive dread of rats, and shouted aloud both to frighten them away and to call the attention of his captors. No notice, however, was taken of his cries, and in sheer desperation he banged upon the door and tried to open it. To his intense surprise it yielded and opened, and, stepping out, he found himself in the passage. All was dark, and he went gently along, feeling his way with his hands. Presently a gust of cold air blew upon his face, and he came to another door, which was also open. He stepped out into the moonlight just as several men threw themselves upon him. Filled with a horrible dread of going back to the noisome den he had just escaped from, Jack struggled fiercely, and the men seemed to release their hold of him as by common consent. Then there was a dazzling flash in front of him, a loud report, and a ball whizzed by him. It missed him by a hair’s-breadth; but a scream from behind told that some one had been hit. In an instant, several men with lanterns appeared upon the scene, just as Jack was again seized. Among the new-comers was Kirchoff and a Cossack with a carbine in his hand. Just behind Jack was a Cossack lying on the ground, and one of his comrades stooping over him pronounced him dead. ‘Clumsy fool!’ cried Kirchoff furiously to the man with the carbine, ‘you have shot Ivan and the prisoner is unhurt.’ Jack was dragged back to his prison, where he was punched, thumped, struck with the butt-end of whips, and cruelly kicked, being left insensible at last on the slimy, filthy floor. He revived presently to find that swarms of rats were running over his hands and face, when, aching in every limb and feeling ready to die, he crawled to the heap of straw, and there, amidst the rats, vermin, and innumerable slimy, creeping things, he passed the night.