Michael threw up his hand in a gesture for silence, and did not turn his head, but continued to look back over his shoulder into the two rooms behind him. “Some one outside my door,” he whispered. Peter listened but heard nothing. “Wassili has gone for a droshky, and my daughter has gone down to Slipitsky—I did not want to lock the door against her. But—the Cossacks have come—I heard them talking outside.” “Come in here, sir,” said Peter. “And we will leave this door open, so that we may watch if anybody enters and see who they are before they discover that you have come to me.” The old man obeyed, and Peter stood in the doorway looking into the Kirsakoffs’ rooms. The curtain between them was caught aside by a cord, so that both rooms were visible to Peter, the farther one by the width of the passage between them which was enough to reveal to Peter any one who might enter and pass it. There were a few minutes of silence except for the quick breathing of Michael crouched beside Peter and standing to one side of him so that he was hidden from the other rooms. And during this time Peter began to suspect that it was all a ruse of Michael. The old general was probably trying to catch Peter off his guard, and attack him. It was quite likely, so Peter thought, that Michael in some way had come to knowledge of the fact that Lutoff had apprised Peter of the identity of the Kirsakoffs. But Peter abandoned his suspicion when he heard a rattling of the door in the far room. Some one was rattling the knob in place of knocking, a practice customary when one wanted to enter without attracting the attention of those in other rooms opening into the hall. The rattling ceased. The next instant Peter saw in the gloom of the far room a high white cap of wool, and a gray sheepskin coat, and a Cossack stood looking in the direction of Peter, head bent forward against the sharper light from Peter’s windows. The Cossack hesitated but a moment, then he advanced toward Peter, one hand behind him as if he held a weapon in concealment. “What do you want?” asked Peter. The Cossack did not reply, but came on till he was close to Peter. “Who are you?” asked the Cossack. He moved slightly to the right and looked past Peter, his eyes upon Michael. “I am an American officer,” said Peter coldly. “These are my rooms.” “An American officer! You speak Russian well, for an American.” “You are intruding,” said Peter. “Or have you come on a mission?” “I am Captain Shimilin of the Ataman’s staff,” said the Cossack, and put his hand on the hilt of his saber as he clicked his heels and bowed, formally polite. “And I am Lieutenant Gordon of the American army,” said Peter. “This is my room. Please! Come in!” There was no other thing for Peter to do, unless he wished to bring on hostilities with Shimilin. It was very likely that the Cossack captain had soldiers within call. And now it looked very much as if an escape to Harbin would be out of the question.