“You may know more than you want to know about it before you get out,” warned Rimsky. “Are you going to stay long—and buy more of my cigarettes?” “I’ll be here a few weeks, I suppose. I came to see if I could buy some furs.” “Oh, but you are a soldier,” said Rimsky. “And you will find no furs that are good. Everybody is hunting men these days,” and he broke out again in his cackling laugh, as he drew himself some tea in a little yellow bowl. “Did the unfortunates kill the Governor who was here when they got out of the prison and freedom came to the people?” “Did they?” asked Rimsky. “You tell me.” “But you were here, and you know. I was not here,” said Peter. Rimsky shrugged his shoulders and sucked his tea from the bowl. “The _provodnik_ on the train told me that the soldiers killed the Governor here. What was the name? Kir—— well, I can’t remember.” “Those fellows on the trains do a lot of talking,” said Rimsky. “They are know-it-alls, and all they do is take grease from people who want to have food sent up to us.” “I’m afraid they don’t tell the truth,” said Peter. “So they told you the soldiers killed Kirsakoff, did they? But Kirsakoff was not the Governor. You see that they lied.” “Perhaps they did not say he was Governor when he was killed. But they said he had been a Governor in the old days.” “If Kirsakoff had been killed, I would know it,” said Rimsky. “True,” agreed Peter. “I thought the _provodnik_ was talking to make wind and a big man of himself. I knew he was lying.” “How did you know that?” “I guessed it. Now that you say Kirsakoff was not killed, I know it was a lie. Just big talk.” “Why should anybody kill Kirsakoff?” demanded Rimsky. “That is what I should like to know. Everybody said he was a good man, but perhaps some people did not like him—people in the prison, of course, who were against the government.” “General Kirsakoff had been retired when the troubles came,” said Rimsky. “More than seven years ago he was retired. I remembered well the time—I had a sore foot.” “Was he gone from Chita when the troubles came?” “No, he was here,” said Rimsky, looking straight at Peter. “Ah!” said Peter. “So the _provodnik_ lied when he said Kirsakoff was dead. He is still here.” “What does it matter where he is?” asked Rimsky. “It does not matter,” said Peter, and set the glass on the table, buttoning his coat about his neck in preparation for leaving. “I hear much gossip in this place,” said Rimsky. “Where do you live in the city?” “Thank you for the tea,” said Peter. “It is cold outside. I may want some more cigarettes—at twenty rubles a box.” “I hear many matters spoken of here,” hinted Rimsky with confidential air. “About where governors are and such talk.” “Is Zorogoff a good man?” asked Peter. “It is a very cold day outside, true,” said Rimsky. “But this is a good place to hear gossip.”