"Well, bring him on to me while his impressions are red-hot, you understand? We want to bring it home to the real instigators." * * * * * While these two high functionaries were discussing matters, the travelling carriage, with the senseless young man inside, was proceeding on the Moscow road at a fast pace. One of the two ruffians produced a stout piece of cord and proceeded to twist it round the arms and legs of the helpless man. "He doesn't seem capable of showing much fight," he said to his companion with an evil grin, "but one never knows. A liver-hearted chicken would fight for life and liberty. Best to make sure." He bound him securely. The other man handled the violin-case which had dropped from Corsini's hand when so suddenly assailed. His eyes betrayed a covetous gleam. "This is worth something, I expect, but we dare not handle it." "More than our lives are worth," replied the other ruffian, in an equally regretful tone. "There will be a hue and cry in St. Petersburg to-morrow when it is known that the Director of the Imperial Opera has disappeared. We must all lie low. Any attempt to realise on that violin would give us away at once. Besides, we are being very handsomely paid." "That is true," grunted his companion in villainy, as he sank back on his seat beside the unconscious man. "We don't ask too many questions, but we can pretty shrewdly guess who is working this job. Peter is a wary bird and doesn't let out much, but we know who is his master." The carriage sped on through the gathering night till it reached Pavlovsk. Here there had been ordered a relay of horses, which was awaiting them at a small posting-house. Corsini was still wrapt in a profound slumber. Once he had shown signs of consciousness, and one of the two miscreants had given him another dose of the powerful narcotic. It saved trouble, to keep him in that condition till they reached their destination. It had been a cold drive. The two men who had guarded the prisoner stepped outside and stamped their feet. The other two, who were more chilled, dismounted from the box. The leader of the party peered at the unconscious figure. "He is still in the land of dreams, my dear friends," he said. "Well, while he is sleeping and we are changing horses, we will get a warm drink." The four men tramped into the bar of the small inn, where they comforted themselves with the refreshment they desired. They had no wish to delay their departure, but it would take a few minutes to change the tired horses, they might as well enjoy themselves in the interval. They were members of the criminal class whom Peter, the valet, had employed in his master's interests, but they were very game fellows. They would never round on their old friend Peter.