“The breed, the breed!” roared the squat man. “Ha, but you should have seen! Those gay officers and their damned master--we left them with their faces in the mud, Stefani; in the mud! And the women begged. Fine music! Those proud hearts, begging Boris Karlov for their lives--their faces in the mud! You, born of us in those Astrakhan Hills, you denied us because you liked your fiddle and a full belly, and to play keeper of those emeralds. The winding paths of torture and misery and death by which they came into the possession of that house! And always the proletariat has had to pay in blood and daughters. You, of the people, to betray us!” “I did not betray you. I only tried to save those who had been kind to me.” A cunning light shot into Karlov's eyes. “The emeralds!” He struck his pocket. “Here, Stefani; and they shall be broken up to buy bread for our people.” “That poor boy! So he brought them! What are you going to do with me?” “Watch you grow thin, Stefani. You want death; you shall want food instead. Oh, a little; enough to keep you alive. You must learn what it is to be hungry.” The squat man picked up the bundle from the table and tore off the wrapping paper. A violin the colour of old Burgundy lay revealed. “Boris!” The man in the chair writhed. “Have I waked you, Stefani?”--tenderly. “The Stradivarius--the very grand duke of fiddles! And he and his damned officers, how they used to call out--'Get Stefani to fiddle for us!' And you fiddled, dragged your genius though the mud to keep your belly warm!” “To save a soul, Boris--the boy's. When I fiddled his uncle forgot to drag him into an orgy. Ah, yes; I fiddled, fiddled because I had promised his mother!” “The Italian singer! She was lucky to die when she did. She did not see the torch, the bayonet, and the mud. But the boy did--with his English accent! How he escaped I don't know; but he died to-night, and the emeralds are in my pocket. See!” Karlov held the instrument close to the other's face. “Look at it well, this grand duke of fiddles. Look, fiddler, look!” The huge hands pressed suddenly. There was brittle crackling, and a rare violin became kindling. A sob broke from the prisoner's lips. What to Karlov was a fiddle to him was a soul. He saw the madman fling the wreckage to the floor and grind his heels into the fragments. Gregor shut his eyes, but he could not shut his ears; and he sensed in that cold, demoniacal fury of the crunching heel the rising of maddened peoples. CHAPTER X Meanwhile, Captain Harrison of the Medical Corps entered the Conover apartment briskly. “You old vagabond, what have you been up to? I beg pardon!”--as he saw Kitty emerge from behind Cutty's bulk. “This is Miss Conover, Harrison.” “Very pleased, I'm sure. Luckily my case was in the coat room at the club. I took the liberty of telephoning for Miss Frances, who returned on the same ship with me. I concluded that your friend would need a nurse. Let me have a look at him.”