To this an absolute denial was given. “But,” he continued, “every good citizen considers himself under an obligation to report to the Commission everything he sees which he considers to be of a counter-revolutionary nature.” It was denied that any conscientious objector had been shot. It was denied that anybody had been shot without trial. It was denied that any great tyranny was exercised. It was declared that the object of the Extraordinary Commission was to protect perfect liberty of speech outside of those who were fomenting armed opposition to the Republic. The independent translator who was with us on this occasion said before leaving the room, her eyes swimming with tears: “It is hard for me to hear these replies and be able to say nothing.” I left the room cold with horror and dislike, for I knew without the implication of the interpreter’s words that much of what had been said to us was absolutely untrue. There had been held a few days before this a meeting of Mensheviki, or moderate Socialists, the members of the old Social Democratic party. The meeting was held under the auspices of the Printers’ Union, a body numbering seventy thousand members in Russia. This meeting was attended by some thousands of persons, including (as I was informed) about three hundred Communists, a noisy little group in the heart of the gathering. I was not myself present, but I give the story as I had it from one of the members of the British Delegation, not himself in sympathy with the Mensheviki. The Communists had telegraphed to England that the British Delegates had attended a public meeting at which they heard in perfect freedom the great Menshevik, Tchernoff, make a speech. The facts of the case are these. An unknown man made a passionately eloquent speech which was greatly applauded by the vast body of the meeting and frequently interrupted by the Communists present. At the end of his speech the audience loudly demanded his name. He hesitated. He was strongly pressed not to give it. He then stepped forward, and in ringing tones announced: “My name is Tchernoff.” Instantaneously the vast audience broke into tumultuous applause, during which Tchernoff made his escape. The leading Communist present fumed, and declared loudly he would have Tchernoff arrested. He had come to the meeting with his pocket full of warrants! But Tchernoff had gone. And the circumstances of his coming and going were interesting in view of the claim of free speech. For fifteen minutes before his speech nobody was allowed to enter the hall. For fifteen minutes after he got away, nobody was allowed to go out. The telephone wires had been disconnected so that no communication with the police could be made. Tchernoff’s wife and children were arrested as hostages, but afterwards released. He himself lives in a garret in Moscow, and was seen by one of the Delegates in a condition of starvation.