CHAPTER XII THE FACE AT THE WINDOW "Monsieur Titoff," announced the first mate, entering his cabin with a hunched-up figure of a man, whose most obvious characteristics were shifty eyes, very high cheekbones and a shrivelled, yellow skin. M. Titoff and I inspected each other with care as I rose from the only chair and shook hands. He, I knew, was the guiding spirit in the syndicate of mates and engineers whom we were bribing. He produced a book of English phrases, with their Russian equivalents. Opening it at a prepared page he ran his finger down the list and said "Seegnal!" "Signal?" "Yess, ceegarette seegnal." Remembering the arrangements for the beerhouse rendezvous, I placed a cigarette behind my left ear; whereat the chief engineer and the first mate smiled, and shook hands once again. Neither of them could speak any language but Russian, so that we talked with difficulty, exchanging half-understood patter from the phrase book. After some strumming on the mandolin and balalaika by Titoff and Belaef, I slept on the first mate's couch, with my money tucked next to my skin. Next morning I was introduced to the third mate, a stocky Lett who could speak German. Using him as interpreter Titoff explained his arrangements. I was to dress myself as a Russian sailor, leave the _Batoum_, and be led to the hiding-place in Pera. White and I were to remain there for a week, until the day before the ship sailed. We could then be concealed on board the _Batoum_ until she was safely out of the Bosphorus. Wearing some old clothes belonging to Kulman, the third mate, but with their rank badges removed, I rowed ashore. Kulman accompanied me, while Titoff, prominent in white drill, waited on the quay. Neither he nor the white-bearded old man to whom he was talking took the least notice of us, but turned and passed toward the Rue de Galata. The third mate and I followed, without, however, showing apparent concern in their movements. At the corner of a side street on the far side of the Rue de Galata Titoff parted from his companion. Kulman followed suit by leaving me, after giving low-voiced instructions that I must follow the old man. The stranger led the way up the hill, toward Péra, while I kept behind him at a convenient distance, on the opposite side of the road. For a quarter of an hour he moved through a succession of uneven streets and cobbled alleys, so that I soon lost my bearings. I was not conscious of danger, however. In the faded old uniform of a sailor, and with my civilian clothes wrapped in a newspaper, I attracted little attention. Occasionally I looked into shop windows to divert the suspicions of any who might otherwise have noticed that I was following the ancient. Finally the guide halted among the wooden houses on the outskirts of Péra, produced an enormous key, and unlocked an iron door. I slackened my steps as he disappeared inside the door, but passed through it a few seconds later.