XVII SETTING THE SNARE

KATERIN returned to her father. She found him sitting by the table playing a game of solitaire, and he looked up from the patterns of the cards with blinking, questioning eyes. She did not speak at once, but her face was eloquent of the surprise and shock she had suffered in her talk with Peter. She was coldly calm, as if she knew now something of what was before them, and was ready to meet the issue. A plan had already formed in her mind, but it was not yet clearly defined and she wanted time to think and prepare for whatever was necessary.

“What have you learned?” whispered Michael, leaning toward her from his chair. “I can see that you know much—and I doubt that it is good. Do you know why this man has come?”

“Yes, I know,” she said, and sat down beside him and drew herself a glass of tea. Her hands shook for all her resolution not to betray to her father the fact that once more they were blocked in their hopes of escape.

Michael waited till she had refreshed herself, and Wassili, who had been making Michael’s bed and pottering about the room in pretended busyness, came and stood close to Katerin with anxious face, keen to hear what the mistress would have to report of her visit to the room of the American.

“Then Rimsky spoke the truth?” pressed Michael. “It is true that the American came seeking me?” He had already divined it from Katerin’s manner.

“Yes, Rimsky spoke the truth,” said Katerin slowly, and Wassili crossed himself and uttered a smothered exclamation of satisfaction.

“And what did the American say?” urged Michael, impatient to have the whole story. “Come! You hold it back from me! Is his quest evil?”

“He is most eager to find you,” said Katerin, who was reluctant to give the full story too abruptly. She was trying to devise some way of giving the facts to her father which would not be too abrupt and alarm him to rashness. And she wished to have her own plan worked out mentally so that she might have it to offer against the startling import of what she had learned from Peter.

“For what purpose?” insisted Michael. His head was beginning to shake faster, as it always did when he was in an excited frame of mind. He reached for a cigarette from a tin box, and his hands shook so that he dropped the tiny tube of tobacco.

“I am not sure yet,” said Katerin. “That is something I have still to learn. All I know now is that he is not a friend—that he means evil to you and we must be careful. We must do nothing to stir his suspicions of who we are, till we have gone to the bottom of what brings him here and what he hopes to do.”

“We know enough!” said Michael. “He comes for evil—and I shall kill him!” The old general’s agitation disappeared as if by magic. The scent of danger steadied him, he thrust his chin out and squared his old shoulders, sitting back in his chair as if it were all settled now and all that remained for him to do was to go out into the next room and kill Peter.

“No, no,” said Katerin hastily. “Nothing must be done too soon! First, we must learn more about him.”

“He is an enemy, that is enough,” said her father. “Wassili, a match!”

“Yes, he is an enemy,” admitted Katerin. “But we are not in a position to attack an enemy now; besides, what good would it do us to kill him, if we do not know anything about him? First, as I said, it is my business to draw his secret from him.”

Wassili held a flaming match forth to Michael. “Master,” said the moujik, as he applied the flame to the cigarette between Michael’s lips, “I am quick with the knife—I can strike a good stroke, and no one will be the wiser, for I can have the body carted into the forest. Then you and the mistress will be free from his danger.”

“If we do well, we can use this man to protect us from the Ataman,” put in Katerin. “Though he seems to be a menace, he may in fact be so twisted to our use that he will be our salvation.”

“A man who is an enemy! Protect us? Are you talking madness, my daughter, or have my wits become addled by age? I shall not allow a man who is my enemy to save me even if he would or could. No, no, I say it—this American—this Russian who calls himself an American—must die. And no time lost in the matter, let me say!”

“But I say you are wrong, father,” insisted Katerin, putting her hands on his knees. “If he does not know who we are, what difference does it make to us or him if he is an enemy. The thing for us to do is to make friends with him—and fool him into the belief——”

“But he will know me!” protested Michael. “You expect him to talk with me—even see me—and not know who I am? That would only be putting our heads into the maw of the lion! I can tell you this, my daughter—I shall strike first, while the advantage lies with me!”

“Truth!” exclaimed Wassili excitedly. “The master speaks truth! And I am the one to attend to the task!”

“But he will not know you,” pleaded Katerin. “He thinks of you as you were years ago, in the days when you were Governor, while now you are an old man in the rags of a peasant, with——”

“Ah, he will know, he will know! We must not trust to ice so thin! I shall not turn my horse loose too soon when danger is over the hill. I may be old, but I have not lost my cunning with my enemies, I hope.”

“You forget that our lives depend upon our deceiving this Peter Petrovitch, my father.”

“I think our lives depend upon his not seeing me till I am ready to strike,” argued Michael. “What would our lives be worth if he were to come in here now and see me? A beggar’s kopeck—the turn of a hand, the call of a quail in the brush! P-fooh! I know!”

“But we have no time to spare. The Ataman’s men may be at the door at any minute. Before that we must win this stranger to our side, and before he can discover who we are, slip away with him to Vladivostok—to Harbin—to——”

“Vladivostok! You expect an enemy to take us to Vladivostok? To Harbin? Why, I would sooner, than that——”

“He wants to find you. What if I tell him you may be found in Harbin? Or Vladivostok?”

Michael thrust aside a cloud of smoke that had gathered before him, and squinted his eyes at his daughter, as if he really doubted her sanity now.

“And how could you find me in Vladivostok, when I am here in this rat-hole in Chita? Truly, my ears hear strange words. They are not worth a last year’s egg.”

“You do not understand. If this stranger looks to me to help him find Michael Kirsakoff, and he does not know you for Michael Kirsakoff, what is to prevent our telling him that we can take him to some other city—to find you?”

Michael cocked his head to one side and pursed his lips. Then a smile broke over his face as he began to comprehend.

“We have no time to spare,” pressed Katerin. “It must be done before he can learn by any mischance who we are. Once we are free of the city, his chances of discovering our ruse diminish.”

“But how can he take us away, even if what you say is true? The Ataman would prevent us—he would betray us. There would be some slip—and we would be in the hands of our enemy, or delivered into the hands of the Ataman. We double our danger and gain nothing,” objected Michael.

“The Ataman would not dare stop an American officer. We must chance that. This stranger would give his eyes to find you. Very good, then! We shall fall in with his desires and turn them to our advantage. We must take him away under the pretext that he is to find you, then in reality he will be aiding our escape from the city.”

“Oh, but he would get to know me in time. My voice, my looks, my way of speaking. If he has ever seen me at all, he will know me. He may have my description—do not be trapped by him. The wolf knows the color of the hare he pursues.”

“I told him how you looked——”

“What!” cried Michael. “You told him how I looked and you expect him not to know me?”

“How you looked twenty years ago, my father. And he did not know the difference.”

“That was to blind your eyes to his purpose,” said Michael.

“And I shall blind his,” said Katerin, with sudden resolution. “Wassili! Fetch me the cover of the pillow from the bed! And a knife—with a sharp edge!”

Wassili, with a puzzled look upon his face, turned away to obey her.

“And what is all this?” demanded Michael. “Am I to be wrapped like a mummy and put into a bundle? Am I to be carried about with a rope to my middle like a handle?”

“I shall make sure that the stranger does not recognize you—leave it to me, and we shall outwit this stranger and come to safety.”

“Then you had better take good pains with it,” said Michael, “for if he gives the glimmer of an eye that he so much as thinks I look like myself, I shall kill him!”

“If that must be done, then it must,” admitted Katerin, as she cut the edges of the pillow and began ripping it into long strips. “But your face must be hidden from him, for he might see something in you that would remind him of you in the old days. We must take care against such betrayal.”

“And what are these rags for?” demanded Michael.

“A bandage about your face to conceal you further.”

“Oh, p-fooh!” said Michael disgustedly. “What nonsense is this, that I should be wrapped up like a Turk? How the devil am I to talk or breathe or eat my soup? I’ll have none of it—I, who was a general of majesty!”

“You have had a bullet through both cheeks,” said Katerin. “Come, please! Hold up your head—these cloths will only keep your teeth warm against the cold. That is my dear father—and remember, it is to save us. Better this chance than to sit here and wait till the Ataman sends Shimilin for us again. Come!” She held up a strip of the cloth.

“Are you going to tie up my face as if I were an old beggar with boils?” demanded Michael.

“Trust to me, my father. When the lion is stricken he must still roar, that his enemies will be misled. You have said that to me many times. Trust to my wits—and we shall see.”

He puzzled over it for a minute, and then threw back his head in submission. “I shall not stand in the way of your safety,” he said. “I leave it in your hands. My heart is brave, but the years have put chains upon my body,” and he sighed wearily.

Without more ado, Katerin wrapped the grizzled old face with the strips of cotton. They passed over the top of his head and down under his chin. His eyes, nose, and mouth were clear of the cloths, and his ears stuck out oddly behind the wrappings. The white hair on his chin gave him a more aggressive look than usual for his beard was thrust forward by the bandage. The scant hair on the top of his head stuck up, and wavered as he moved, like the crest of a bird.

Katerin leaned back and studied him with critical eye when she had finished.

“It will serve well enough,” she said finally. “If he knows you now, he would know you in spite of anything we could do. And now listen to my plan. You have been a political here for the past ten years—and you hated General Kirsakoff, who was a cruel Governor and——”

Michael gave a snort of wrath and wrested the bandage off over his head and threw it upon the floor.

“I will have nothing more to do with this madness! I was not cruel—I was but just! And I shall not blacken my own character! Not an inch shall I give to my enemies on that score—I, who was a general in the army of majesty!”

Katerin laughed heartily, and picked up the bandage. She knew better than to take her father seriously when he was in such temper, and she also knew that she should gain her end if she were patient with him.

“I only say what the American thinks,” she explained. “If he already thinks that of you, you do not damage yourself. And what a joke! A joke that will save us! General Kirsakoff telling how cruel Governor Kirsakoff was! Would you not fool this stranger now, to laugh at him after we have lost him in Harbin where we are safe?”

Wassili sneaked away into a corner to laugh discreetly, his shoulders heaving with suppressed merriment over the wrath of Michael.

“Be still, you, Wassili,” growled the old man, turning to look after the moujik. “By the Saints!” he cried to Katerin. “You see how it is? Am I to be made into a buffoon for my servants in my old age? Am I to be turned into an actor in a play, a silly clown of a fellow to make the country folk giggle into their drink? Am I to forget what figure of a man I was——”

“You forget my danger,” she chided gently.

“I forget nothing!” he retorted. “It is I who am remembering that I once was Governor here!”

“Do you remember the Ataman Zorogoff?” she asked, with sober face.

“Yes, and I’ll dance on his grave—but I’ll not have my head wrapped up like an old woman doing a penance.”

“Very well, then we shall do nothing more, but wait till the Ataman comes. Then we can take the poison of honor.”

Katerin sat down by the table and threw the loops of the bandage from her.

Michael looked at her, and an expression of infinite tenderness and love came over his face. His lips quivered, and he struck several matches violently without getting a flame. He threw the last one to the floor, and held out his hands to her.

“Forgive me, Katerin Stephanovna—I did forget. But now I remember, and I see what you are striving to do. It is true, what you say, and we must play with this American. And if we take good care, it may all come out as you say—it will be a way out of our danger and our troubles. Come, please! Put on the rags, and I shall be the best old exile ever was seen, one who is fleeing from the wicked Governor—from Kirsakoff! Please! Again the bandage, and I’ll be good.”

“Ah, little father, there is another way to fight without using swords and guns. There is a way to gain your ends without your enemy’s suspecting that he is pushing your cart.”

She gave her attention to putting the bandage back.

“I grant the truth of what you say,” said Michael. “But what will Slipitsky say to this? He is a shrewd fox, and there is many a twist in a game of this sort that he knows—he has helped many a man to escape from me, for all his friendship for me in the old days. Never did I dream that we should have to resort to his cleverness—but the fox takes his wisdom where he finds it, and that is why we say that he is wise.”

“It does not matter what Slipitsky thinks of it. We cannot leave all the tricks to our enemies. And you must have faith in me, if I am to work this out so that good will come of it, and we get away from the soldiers of the Ataman.”

“I’ll trust you, my daughter. By the Saints! You should have been a man, Katerin Stephanovna!”

“And perhaps if I were a man, we should both be dead by now,” said Katerin. “This is a war of wits, and we women have had to use our wits for many years. And if those in the high places had heeded the women, Russia might not have come to what she has.”

“It is good that there are wits between the two of us, for mine are gone, my daughter. I am a hindrance. I am but a millstone about your neck, else you would have escaped from Chita long before this.”

“You won’t be a millstone if you will obey what I advise in this affair with the American officer. If we cannot go through with this thing, it is better not to try our hands at it.”

“Have no fear—I’ll say black is white if it does you any good,” said Michael, now once more with his face trussed in the bandages.

“Listen well to what I say,” cautioned Katerin. “And you, too, Wassili. For if we fail, we have not one enemy, but two—this stranger as well as the Ataman. And if we succeed, we have none, for one will save us from the other. What better can we ask than that a man who is an enemy should deliver us from danger?”

“Give me two enemies, if that can be done,” said Michael.

“Mind what must be done. Our name shall be Natsavaloff. You were banished for plotting against the government of the Czar. First, we must learn why the American seeks Kirsakoff—for he may not be alone in his reasons, but have others who are equally dangerous. We must get to the bottom of why he seeks you, though the reason does not matter for our purpose. We shall have Slipitsky’s advice, too, before we bring the American to this room to learn where Kirsakoff may be found. And we are not to tell the American where Kirsakoff may be found unless he takes us to the city where we shall say Kirsakoff is hidden—anywhere, it does not matter, so long as we get away from Chita.”

“And how is Wassili to help in all this?” asked Michael. “Where lies his task?”

“When we bring the American here, Wassili shall stand behind his chair. We must be on our guard against the stranger every second, and if the American should recognize—or make a move to draw a weapon——”

Wassili finished the sentence for her in pantomime with a quick and eloquent gesture—a short thrust, done quickly, and an explanatory grunt.

“And you, my father, shall have your little pistol in your hand, and the blanket thrown over your knees to hide it—so that you shall be able to defend yourself. But do nothing rashly—unless he should know you, we must not do him harm.”

Wassili was sent for Slipitsky, and the Jew came. The four of them went over the whole plan of escape in case Peter should not recognize Michael. They spent the afternoon in taking up every possible angle of the situation. And on one thing they agreed—if Peter really proved to be a deadly enemy, and should recognize Michael—then the American officer must die.