Plans for escape haunted his mind. But escape was not so easy. True, the one hundred and thirty pounds of either of his captors would have been nothing to his one hundred ninety, but Ivan or Nicolai, whichever it was, always had the black pistol in readiness, and always had his quick eyes upon him. Before he could leap upon his guard, or before he could burst the window and spring out or shout for the police, there would be a deadly bullet in him. Besides, leaping from the window, even should he escape the bullet, would probably mean serious injury upon the cobblestones below; and shouting for help would mean his capture, and the capture of Ivan and Nicolai. He did not wish to involve them in trouble, for he liked the queer pair. And, moreover, this move might endanger the safety of Sonya. No, if he escaped, his escape must bring no risk upon these hostile friends; it had to be an escape from the police as well as from revolutionists. In the end his escape proved to be a comparatively simple matter. In the afternoon of the fifth day of his captivity Nicolai turned over the watch to Ivan and sallied forth. It had been part of Drexel’s craft to lie upon his couch, appearing to nap much of the time, thinking that thus he could best watch his jailers and throw them off their guard. He was now stretched upon the sofa, his semblance that of a sleeping man. Ivan looked at him, looked at the table which needed clearing after their late lunch, a chore which he could easily do if the prisoner slept--then tip-toed to Drexel’s side, gazed at him with his sharp eyes, then bent low to make certain. Suddenly Drexel’s arms shot up. His left hand, with a powerful wrench, tore the pistol from Ivan’s grasp, the right closed upon the little fellow’s throat. Drexel had some knowledge of anatomy, and with all his force he pressed his thumb up under the jaw against the pneumogastric nerve. Ivan struggled convulsively beneath this paralyzing pressure--weakened--then quieted into limp unconsciousness. Instantly Drexel thrust his handkerchief into Ivan’s mouth, tied this gag securely, and by the time Ivan’s eyes fluttered open had him bound hand and foot with the ropes prepared for his own confinement. “Excuse me, comrade,” said he, gazing down at his late captor. “But I did not want to impose upon your hospitality any longer, and I did not see any other way to leave. I really am sorry if I hurt you--for I like you, Ivan.” As he slipped into his big coat, Ivan tugged impotently at his bonds. “Well--good-bye, my lad,” said Drexel. “And tell your people they have nothing in the world to fear from me. I’m as safe outside as I would be in here with your guns against my chest.” He picked up his Browning and was putting it in his pocket when he caught a look of longing in Ivan’s eyes. He laid the pistol on the table. “Keep it as a little souvenir,” he said, and with a friendly wave of the hand he unlocked the door and went out.