Opinion was divided as to the wise thing for me to do. Two or three urged me to fly to the frontier at once--that very hour. Others counseled that I go to Moscow first to make sure of the fate of our friends and my passport, for Sasha had promised that if he was taken he would do all he could to destroy the passport. If he had succeeded in this I would merely have to obtain a fresh passport--there are always ways of doing that. The latter plan appealed to me, so I procured a seat in the same train they had traveled by three nights earlier. I took with me a dress-suit case containing necessary clothing and--alas! for the foolishness of men!--two terribly incriminating packets. No one thought I would be arrested in the train en route to Moscow, and so it did not occur to any of us that there was peril in my carrying two valuable packages to comrades in Moscow. The first was a bundle of original Peasants’ Union documents. At that time to even belong to the Peasants’ Union was sufficient cause for exile to Siberia. The other was twenty copies of one of the instalments of Shisko’s “History of the Russian People,” which had been forbidden by the police, and to be possessed of one copy was cause for arrest. Further, in my pocket I slipped a Browning revolver, although I had no permit to carry a revolver at all in that part of Russia. Russians themselves are constantly foolishly careless, but until this night I had not understood how easy it is to be blind to one’s dangers when they are close before one, or hedging one round. Until the train had actually started I had no companion in the compartment, although there were places for four. But as the bells sounded and the train started an officer of gendarmes joined me. He sat down opposite me, looked me over rather searchingly and asked me in Russian what was the time. “What a stupid question,” I thought. “He must know when the train starts.” However, I told him:--“ten-thirty.” I could speak single words in Russian clearly enough, and I could understand much of simple conversation, but I could not put many sentences together with any intelligence. “Where are you going?” next asked my officer companion. “To Moscow,” I replied. There was something in the man’s glance that made me very uncomfortable, so I drew from my grip a book and began to read. I was conscious for some time of his eyes scrutinizing me from head to foot. I tried not to let him know I knew he was watching me. I fought down my fears and read on.