“That remains to be seen—and is somewhat dependent upon how the Ataman Zorogoff conducts what he is pleased to call his government,” said Peter. “Do the Americans intend to tell Zorogoff how he shall govern?” Lutoff showed in his face that this was a most important question to the Ataman—it was what Lutoff was seeking for Zorogoff, and Peter knew it. “They might even do that,” replied Peter. “But it might depend upon the wishes of the bulk of the Russian people in this district.” Lutoff grinned. “The bulk of the Russian people are behind Zorogoff,” he said. “According to Zorogoff,” retorted Peter. Lutoff rose. “I am not speaking officially,” he said. “Is that understood?” “It is if you say so,” said Peter, also rising. “But I am speaking officially. And I wish to thank you for sending me the supper ticket, and for your advice. But I cannot limit myself regarding the people with whom I talk in Chita, even to please the Ataman.” “Am I to tell the Ataman that?” asked Lutoff. “You may tell the Ataman what you please of what I have said, or I am ready to tell him the same myself.” “Very good, sir,” said Lutoff, and clicked his spurs again most formally. “But I can tell you now, sir, that you will come into conflict with the Ataman Zorogoff if you interfere—if you take any further action with these people to whom I have referred. And——” “I cannot consider your warning unless you make clear to me just whom you are talking about,” interrupted Peter. “You still pretend not to know?” asked Lutoff in surprise. “I want names, not assumptions,” said Peter. “Very good, then,” said Lutoff. “Let us not have any doubt about it, and then you cannot plead that you were not warned by the Ataman. I tell you not to mix yourself in this affair of the Kirsakoffs—old General Kirsakoff and his daughter Katerin Stephanovna!” And Lutoff bowed again and walked directly out of the dining room, leaving Peter clutching at the table as he swayed before he sank back into his chair. “Kirsakoff!” he whispered. “Kirsakoff—and his daughter Katerin Stephanovna!” and then his voice rose in a hysterical wailing burst of laughter above the playing of the orchestra. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ XXI THE CAT’S PAW HAS CLAWS THE electric lamp on Peter’s writing table was still glowing under its shade, but it gradually waned as morning whitened the frost-bound windows.