“Rimsky told me, mistress, that is how I know,” said Ilya with a bow. “And it was Rimsky who sent you to this house?” said Michael. “Now, the truth!” Ilya stared at the floor and tried to think. In a way, it was true that Rimsky had sent him to the house, and yet it was not true in just the way that Michael was saying. The _moujik’s_ brain was not equal to a quick and accurate reply when folk of education twisted things up so. “I? No, master. Rimsky does not know I came to this house. How could he send me here when he has no knowledge of where the Excellence lives? I told no one because I am very secret, master.” “Then the American did not send you?” snapped Michael. Ilya turned to Katerin. “There is an American, mistress,” he insisted. “You know nothing of an American but what this fool Rimsky told you?” insisted Michael. “Come! You have not seen the American?” “How could I see him, master?” asked Ilya. Michael gave a snort of disgust and leaned back in his chair. “It is nothing,” he said sadly. “Send Ilya away,” with a look at Wassili. “I can see the American, mistress,” pleaded Ilya, aghast at the idea that his visit had come to nothing and fearful of what Wassili might do once they were in the courtyard again. “I speak truth! There is an American officer come seeking the master general!” “Ilya Andreitch, I will give you fifty rubles if you will find this American,” said Katerin, hopeful again as she saw that Ilya was in earnest—at least she was determined not to make the mistake of sending Ilya away without making sure of what he did know. She knew that he was frightened, and that behind his fear there was more information than he was able to put into words. “I can find him, mistress, if he is at the Dauria—I know the place well. I was there but yesterday with pig-livers.” His eyes glittered with the richness of the reward promised. “This is a trap of Zorogoff’s to get us to leave the house,” growled Michael. “Not if there is an American in the city to see us,” said Katerin. “Some spy got Rimsky to tell this story to Ilya and then watch him to see where he went. I do not like it. Or perhaps they want you to go to the hotel seeking this mythical officer and seize you there. I tell you it is a trap, my daughter.” But Katerin picked up the pen on the table and wrote on a sheet of paper this note in Russian: _The man who takes this to you can find us again. Time is precious for we are in great danger. Be discreet. Say who sends you that we may know you are from friends._ She did not sign the note, but dried the ink over the candle, folded it, and handed it to Ilya with a handful of rubles which she took from between the leaves of a book on the table.