“I have never questioned any rights that Zorogoff may claim,” said Peter. He saw that he had Shimilin worried. “But the Americans have not officially recognized Zorogoff as a ruler,” went on Shimilin. “You have been here several days, yet you have not called upon the Ataman.” Peter saw in this an attempt to draw from him some hint as to the American attitude toward Zorogoff, and had no intention of committing himself on the subject. “I do not feel accountable to any person for my actions here, other than my superiors,” said Peter. “If Zorogoff seeks information as to the attitude of the Americans, let him send some one to Vladivostok.” “Would you defy an officer of the Ataman?” asked Shimilin. “Would you tell me that I cannot arrest a Russian subject here in your rooms?” “This man is under my protection while he is in my room. I have not defied you—but I suggest delay. I shall not attempt to control your actions.” “You don’t want him arrested? Is that what you are saying?” “I don’t want him arrested now.” “My Ataman will not like that. It is interference,” snapped Shimilin. “I cannot help what the Ataman thinks.” Shimilin smiled and bowed. “Suppose I report your attitude to the Ataman himself?” “I would consider that wisdom on your part,” said Peter. “There are some aspects to this case which I cannot discuss now. That is why I suggested delay.” Shimilin clicked his heels and walked straight to the hall door. He opened it, and turned. “I will submit your proposal to the Ataman—if you are willing to take the consequence.” “Thank you,” said Peter, bowing in dismissal. “You are very kind.” “And,” continued Shimilin, “I shall hold you responsible that Michael Kirsakoff is here when I return.” Shimilin shut the door with a quick jerk, suggestive of the closing of the jaws of a great trap. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ XXIII A LIFE FOR A LIFE WHEN he heard his own name uttered by Shimilin as the Cossack captain departed, Michael locked his grip upon the ends of the blanket as if against a blow. A startled moan broke from his lips, an expression of horror that at last Peter would know him. Peter turned upon the old man swiftly, alert at once and his own hand dropping to the butt of his pistol. “I—I am revealed to you!” whispered Michael, thrusting his head forward toward Peter. “And before you were ready, eh?” said Peter. “But you thought you could fool me, Michael Alexandrovitch, before——” Kirsakoff made a quick flick of his right hand, and there dropped down from the sleeve of his shirt a small derringer. The weapon fell into his hand, and he made a movement to adjust it for use. But Peter was too quick for him, and before Michael could get proper hold of it, much less aim it, Peter had leaped upon the old man and pinioned his arms against his sides.