Drexel stared, and in the dim light he could see that the shivering ragamuffin was grinning at his mystification. Was there some link between this lad and the young woman? “What do you want?” “I want you to come with me.” “Go with you!” “Yes. A description of you has gone to all the police. Everywhere they are looking for you. You are safe only if you come with me.” The young fellow certainly did know a lot; but when Drexel looked over his poor five feet four inches, and thought of him as a protector, his suspicion was all alive. He was in one danger, no doubt--but it would be foolishness to let himself be duped into another. “I’m not so certain I want to go with you. Who told you to do this?” “A woman.” “A woman! Do--do I know her?” “You do.” The chance to find the young woman swept for the moment all suspicious fear aside. “Will I see her?” “Maybe.” The young fellow grinned and winked. “I’ll ask Mary Davis.” “Come on!” cried Drexel. With the young fellow leading the way they worked about in a semi-circle, that had the hotel as its centre, till at length his guide thrust Drexel into a dark doorway. “Wait here, while I get my comrade; he was watching the other entrance of the hotel,” he said, and disappeared. Two minutes later he was back, with him a slender figure of medium height. “This is Nicolai; my name’s Ivan,” whispered the young fellow. He threw his newspapers into the blackness of the doorway. “Come on--we must hurry.” They walked rapidly through by-streets, Ivan chattering in a low voice all the time, calling Nicolai “comrade” whenever he addressed him. Drexel took close notice of his two conductors by the light of the infrequent gas lamps. The one called Nicolai was pale, with regular and refined features and a soft, thin, boyish beard; he was silent, but there was a set to his face that made Drexel feel that though Ivan talked the more, he did not dominate the pair. Compared to Nicolai, Ivan was something of a grotesque. He was pock-marked, his large ears stood flappingly out, his mouth was wide and lopsided and showed very brown and jagged teeth; his hair was light and close-cropped, and he had no more eyebrows than if his forehead had just been soaped and razored. His eyes were small and had a snapping brightness, and they flashed in all directions, watching always for policemen or squads of man-hunting gendarmes, seeing a spy in that shifty-eyed cabman waiting for a fare, or that little shopkeeper who at this late hour had not yet put up his shutters. They crossed the broad and frozen Neva and zigzagged through obscure and narrow streets. Presently they passed through a gateway and crossed a cobble-paved court with houses vaguely outlining its sides. At a door at the court’s farther end Nicolai gave three low raps; the door opened, they slipped quickly in, and it closed and locked behind them. A lighted candle revealed a big brown-bearded man, who gave Drexel a searching look. “All’s well, I see,” he said.