The last week in October was marked by the most daring coup ever planned by the Maximalists. It was in connection with this episode that I came nearest to the heart of this form of terroristic activity. CHAPTER XIX A CLOSE CALL A midnight meeting--An unusual request--Four women of “the movement”--A sharp engagement--How the plot was carried out--Plans for escape--Disappointment--An educated cab driver--A bold scheme--A unique “bridal” party--No news--Alarm--On the trail--A gendarme companion--Suspicious incidents--A night alarm--Caught--A desperate chance--“Au revoir”--Found--Back to the fight--Watched--Final escape. One silver night in late October I was returning home a little before midnight. St. Petersburg was subdued, but not hushed. Gorodavoys paced the Nevsky with their bayonet-pointed guns unslung. Not that they were anticipating trouble, but readiness for emergencies was now the rule among the military and the police in the capital. As I stepped briskly down the Ekaterinesky Canal toward my street I suddenly came upon my friend, Nastasia, of the fighting organization. “So late and alone!” I exclaimed. “I have been waiting half the evening for you,” she explained. “For me? Is it so urgent?” “Yes. You know--” She hesitated. “You know, there have been many arrests these days in St. Petersburg.” Nastasia was coming to something, but what I could not divine. “We are all liable to search,” she went on. “Perhaps you will not mind keeping some papers for us?” This was no unusual request. People who expected the police often handed packets of correspondence, legal papers, and other documents to friends who were not suspected. In common with many other non-Russians in St. Petersburg I had frequently accepted such a trust. An English correspondent had brought the original copy of the Viborg manifesto with its appended signatures back to St. Petersburg, at the request of the leaders of the Constitutional Democrats. Without a second thought I told Nastasia I would gladly keep anything for her, then turned, and together we walked to her house. Nastasia was living on the top floor of a large apartment building, with three other girls--all members of the organization, although one was ostensibly a student in the university, one was studying music at the conservatory, one was a teacher, and Nastasia was professionally a nurse. Nastasia had been with the troops in Manchuria and after Mukden her hospital was among those that fell into the hands of the Japanese. When we arrived the three other girls were sitting round a samovar, talking. Two of them puffed little Russian cigarettes. I drank a glass of tea with them, took the papers they gave me, and departed. I heard the Kazan bells sound one as I poked the sleeping _dwornik_ of my own lodgings, to open the door for me.