Adventure stories; Detective and mystery stories; Missing persons -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction
But I had time for no close inspection, for Ivanovitch walked straight
up to my door, pressed a switch at the side of it and flooded my own
cell with sudden light. “Well, Clayton,” he began, with his cold
smile, “the best of friends must part, and you and I are no exception,
it seems. I have come to find out your wishes in the matter.”
I stared back at him, my mind working like lightning. This was my last
chance, of that I felt sure, and if I were still to win out, I must
meet guile with guile. It was my only hope, faint as it was.
I went slowly up to the door and took hold of the bars. “My God,
Ivanovitch,” I cried in a broken voice, “what have I ever done to you,
that you should want to kill me?”
The man gave a bark of a laugh and the peasant with him looked up and
leered at my tone. “I have nothing against you, man,” he laughed. “But
the Emperor has. You have interfered with his plans—and that is very
dangerous.”
“The Emperor!” I cried weakly.
Ivanovitch glanced over his shoulder. “Merely a fancy of our Chief’s,
Clayton. Come, how do you wish to die?”
“I can’t believe you mean that, Ivanovitch. Surely there is some way
that I can get you to spare my life!” I said: “I have money and will
give it all to you. I will join your organization, anything.”
He laughed again. “We are singing a different tune now, eh?” He took
from his pocket one of the air revolvers that I had seen before and
fitted it into the palm of his hand. Then he turned to the other and
spoke to him in Russian. The fellow straightened up with another leer,
drew a heavy revolver from his pocket and pointed it at me. Then he
leaned back against the wall again, crossing his feet.
Ivanovitch drew a key from another pocket and fitted it into the lock
of my door. My heart leaped with hope, but I still turned upon him a
woebegone face and shrank back into the cell as though in terror.
The door swung open. “Come out,” said Ivanovitch contemptuously. “I
won’t hurt you—either now or later. But I have orders to show this
little plaything to you and see if you prefer that way. Come out, I
say!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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