“Please don’t trust me. I would rather not have any secrets. The greatest danger in this city is in having a secret which some person wants. I prefer to know nothing and be safe.” “Perhaps I could be of help to you,” said Peter, having an idea that by offering protection he could gain her confidence and learn from her where Kirsakoff might be found. “I am an American officer, and if I should employ you for my government no one would dare threaten your safety.” “Perhaps you could help me,” she said thoughtfully. “But I know little about you—what part of Russia are you from?” Peter hesitated. It would not do to tell her he had been a boy in Chita for that news would start gossip, and he would be under suspicion at once if Kirsakoff were killed. He drank some tea before he answered the question. “Oh, I have not been in Russia for years—I left Kiev when I was a boy. Come! What is your name? We must be friends if we are going to go into these matters.” “What is your name?” she countered. “Call me Peter—that is my name.” “Peter! That is no name for a Russian. What are your other names?” “Peter Petrovitch.” She laughed at him with a touch of saucy insouciance, and lifted her shoulders as if she put small faith in the name. “What is your generic name?” “Gordon, but I hoped you might call me Peter Petrovitch—it has been many years since I heard it thus. You make me forget that I am an American, I, who am Russian.” She turned toward the door. “I am afraid that I must go now,” she said. He rose from his chair and moved after her. “But you have not given me your name.” “Call me Vashka.” “But that is no name for a Russian,” he insisted. “The generic name, please.” “That will do for now—it is good enough for a samovar girl.” She moved toward the door, but lingeringly, as if she had other things she would say but refrained from saying them at this time. “Ah, but I know you are not really a samovar girl,” he said seriously. “You are a lady, and I shall be happy to help you and serve you if it is in my power. Promise that you will come back to me.” “Perhaps I shall come,” she replied, and smiled over her shoulder at him. She felt unable to cope with him at this time, knowing that Ilya had said he sought her father. She knew that before she talked with him further she must consider the matter and consult with the sagacious Slipitsky. “You are very kind,” she said, smiled again, and went through the door. Peter bowed as she disappeared, looking back at him from the hall as if fearful that he would run after her and see where she went. But he closed the door, and stood smiling at himself in the big mirror—smiling over his thoughts of the amazing samovar girl he had found in Chita! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ XV THE TRAP SHUTS