Pretending to read the address I called out an address in an entirely different quarter of the city. I discharged that fellow, and looked about for one of the usual peasant drivers such as are always found on the streets of Moscow and St. Petersburg, having finally deciphered the address and put it into Russian. My driver left me before a very grand house in a fashionable quarter. I was admitted with considerable ceremony. The atmosphere of the establishment was much more like that of the court than of anything else. Presently a young exquisite introduced himself to me as the man whose name Sasha had given me. “Sasha wants me. Where is he?” he said. “At my house,” I replied. “But you are at dinner--” “Dinner can wait. Where is your house?” I told him. “Is it a ‘white’ house?” he inquired further. I told him it was to the best of my knowledge, whereupon he slipped on a rich greatcoat and we returned together. Sasha and this mysterious stranger embraced like brothers. They kissed each other repeatedly. Whatever their business was it was quickly despatched, for in ten minutes the young man departed. Sasha never offered any explanation concerning him, but I have always suspected that he was one of the treasurers of the organization, for these are usually men of social standing above suspicion. When the stranger had gone Sasha unfolded to me the plan for the night. The Finnish frontier was so closely guarded that to escape in that direction seemed impossible. They had decided upon a bold scheme that would succeed if only it were carried out with sufficient dash. A first-class compartment for two was engaged on the gilt-edged St. Petersburg-Moscow train which leaves St. Petersburg at ten-thirty every evening. Nastasia dressed as a bride, Sasha as a bridegroom. A party of half a dozen friends got together in proper attire for the wedding party seeing the happy couple started on their way. Sasha being without a passport was the one obviously vulnerable point in the outfit. If any suspicious gendarme should happen to question the pair a passport of any kind would probably disarm his suspicions, whereas no passport at all would mean sure arrest. “Lend Sasha your passport,” Nastasia said to me. “Mine! Oh, I can’t do that!” I explained. “Why not? It may be the means of saving his life. If he gets caught to-night without a passport he will be executed. Let him have yours for this night only. From Moscow it will be returned to you.” I hesitated a long time but finally handed my precious identification paper over to Sasha.