He then wanted to know why “they” wanted to take me? to which I could give no clear answer, having wondered somewhat myself. He then tried to draw me on the subject of Bolshevism, and asked me: “What do you gather is the final and ultimate object of the Bolsheviks?” It was a difficult question--I thought for a moment, and then I said: “They are very great idealists; it may be an unpractical and unworkable idealism, but that does not alter it.” He was surprised at this, and said in a low voice, almost more to himself than to me: “Are they as clever as that”--by which I suppose he meant, had they really been clever enough to take me in! At the end of it all I said to him: “You have seen in the papers that H. G. Wells is going to Russia?” He said that Wells could look after himself. I claimed to be equally fit to do so, to which he replied: “So you still want to go?” I explained that I was prepared for anything. He seemed surprised, but practically assented to try and get my passport put in order for me, and asked me to go and see him again next week. I got back in time to dine with Kameneff at “Canuto’s.” After dinner, it being a lovely warm evening, we took an open taxi, and I suggested driving to Hampstead Heath. Arrived there, we left the taxi on the main road, whilst we went on foot off a side road on to a rough sandy track, quite away from people and lights. On a bank I spread my white fur coat, and we sat there for an hour or more. It was very beautiful. The tall pine stems stood out against the glowing sky of distant, flaring London. The place was full of depth and distance, and night mystery. I talked to Kameneff about my conversation with a friend, who was a serious, intelligent man, and told him of his opinion that I should be in danger of my life. I added that I was prepared to take the risk, but that I should regret my children being orphans. Kameneff answered me half amused, half irritated. He said it was such nonsense that he felt a great desire to start immediately, so as to show me the truth, and so that I might come back and prove to all and sundry how ignorant they are of real conditions. He considered that no matter _what_ line the Government adopted here (and he was prepared for Lloyd George to do anything at any moment), it would not affect me. I should be regarded purely as an artist, international and non-political. Then laughing, he said that he would have me put against a wall, arms crossed on breast (not blindfolded, that was a convention of the aristocrats), with a firing party before me, and then he would save me at the last moment. Then I should have lived through every thrill, and my friends would not be disappointed. He told me, incidentally, that Wrangel is defeated and discredited. (X----, having just told me that Wrangel had won the peasants over to him, and that he had a scheme of moderate Government, and was likely to rouse a counter-Revolution and depose the present lot).