The Lett and I remained. I stood for half an hour near my window,--then it opened. I fixed the note on the bayonette and it went to its destination.

After, a voice said:

"Mister * * *, we are afraid! What can we do? Do you think that you can protect us? Please tell the truth, don't try to console us."

"I am sure, your Highness," I said, "please don't worry."

The voice continued: "They took out the keys from the doors. We cannot even lock ourselves in, or hide. Can't you tell this to the Budishchev's--perhaps they can do something?"

"You shouldn't try to hide, and there is no use to tell it to anybody, believe me. Be in the room on the second floor and wait there. I will be on the watch as I said."

--"You know better perhaps,--we believe you."

With a "Thank you so much" and "We are so frightened!" repeated with despair and horror, the window closed.

I had to invent something, and invent quickly, for I had no plan as yet.

The Browning was with me but I reserved it for the last chance, and I decided to keep it loaded to finish some of the Reds--and myself--if it should come to an open fight. With such thoughts I was desperately rambling within the fence.

My vague plan was to come right after Pashinsky and knock him on the head with something heavy,--then I rejected this project: the scoundrel could yell and I would be discovered. I came to the quarters and looked around. It was the office of Tanaevsky before occupied by us. In the classic disorder, with an inch of cigarette butts and dust on the floor, among the remnants of the Governor's House stored here, I saw a gold metallic rope cord which in better times had been used to support the heavy drapery of the reception room. The idea of a silent strangulation came into my head with the picture of Jacolliot's Thugs.

I cut the tassel away and put it under somebody's pillow, and hid the rope in my bosom.

At seven Pashinsky finally came back, surprisingly clean, shaven, and smelling of some cheap and penetrating perfume. He was slightly drunk.

When clean,--he looked to me a thousand times worse.

Neither Pashinsky, nor I, could wait until the night came. He was continually repeating what I should do, and continually asking me whether I thought everything was safe. Finally night arrived. At nine the lights in the Mansion were put out--all but in one window. I knew how hearts were beating there: mine was echoing.

--"I am going, Syva," Pashinsky whispered. "I can't wait any longer--all is burning inside of me."

He put his rifle behind the rain-pipe, straightened his belt, and started towards the entrance door.

The door of the Mansion squeaked and swallowed him, and before I heard him walking up the stairs I followed him.

All was dark inside, only a feeble light from the court penetrated through the windows. We passed the corridor, then a large room, then a small room. Here Pashinsky stopped--and I heard his heavy breathing.

Then he threw open the door.

I saw mattresses on the floor and in a far corner pale, trembling figures, glued together by fear.

Pashinsky hesitated for a moment--to pick out the one he wanted--and then with an outcry, suddenly rushed to this mass of helpless panic-stricken bodies, and a struggle between a delirious man, feebled by desire, and these ladies, began.

I jumped on him from behind; preoccupied, he did not feel when I put the rope around his neck so that the collar wouldn't be in my way, tightened my weapon in a deadlock and dragged him away--almost before his carnal touch contaminated the Princesses--into the next room, and shut the doors.

He was making some efforts to free himself, hitting my knees with his heels, and growling from rage; then he bit me in the hand. But in a minute I was already firmly sitting on his back, with my knees on his awkwardly turned arms, twisting the rope with all of the strength I had.

"Please, don't kill him," I heard a sobbing whispering voice say, and other voices, too, repeated the "don't kill."

This Kerensky idea made me quite angry and I said as calmly as I could under the circumstances:

"With all of my reverence for your order, your Highnesses, I refuse to obey. Please shut the doors and don't wake up the others,--I have my own accounts to settle." And when the doors closed, I kept tightening and tightening the rope until his head turned and his tongue,--rough and dry,--came way out and was touching my hands, and his face became hot and wet. He made a few convulsive movements--and became still.

When his head fell with a dull sound on the floor, I took him out under cover of the night, and threw his body into the well. I walked out onto Tuliatskaya Street and chatted for a while with Leibner and Vert.

I was changed and nobody asked me where my friend Pashinsky was.

52

Comrade Fost was shot yesterday at nine in the morning for murder. It was a glorious inspiration to put the tassel under _his_ pillow. In the afternoon we buried Pashinsky. I gave my share for a wreath with red ribbons and the inscription "To him who fell for Proletariat--Long live the International," and was present at the funeral. Dutzman made a speech; a very pathetic one.

In the evening the sentinels were doubled. There are lights in every room now. There was a light in every corridor. The ladies--are,--for the moment being, out of immediate danger. The Soviet decided to transport all to Ekaterinburg,--as soon as a steamer will be available.

Today Nachman called on me. He took me to the Square and when we were sitting on a bench, he said, that "It was well done" ("that's all right, sir, perfectly all right"), but if he were in my place he would go away. "It's easy," he continued,--"supposing I give you a good letter of recommendation to my people in Ekaterinburg? The interesting part of all of this,--believe me, has started only. Don't fear me,--this scabby Jew, this very Nachman,--will not betray."

I thought it over and said:

"I would do so, if I only could leave some trace here. A friend may ask for me here, and I would be sore if she could not find me,--if she only cares."

"Oh, she will," he laughed, "she will. Of course, I am not posted in your personal affairs, but--a lady always _can find_ one, _if_ she cares. Ha-ha-ha! Youth is always youth! But you better go without leaving traces...."

I continued:

"Nachman, there is another thing. Here is an old man,--a friend of mine,--he is very sick. His days are numbered, and I feel very sorry for him. If I go away all will be lost for this old chap; he has nobody in this world. Could you use your power and place him in a hospital? I will give you money, of course,--I have some."

Nachman sighed: "This is so out of time! Nowadays love and charity are much more dangerous than murders and thefts."

Then after a pause, he continued;

"Very well, friend, I will take care of your man. Hand me the money."

Then he gave me a letter to his friends in Ekaterinburg (it was ready in his pocket) and we parted.

I am free, happy, independent, with a good standing amongst the present Russians. And if only _she_ could be near me ... but there is no perfect happiness on this strangest of planets of ours.

53

(_pages missing_)

... heavy trucks, and other military paraphernalia. Some of the men on them surely are not Russians, Letts, or Germans, or ...

(_nine lines scratched out_)

... I don't know whether it was Nachman's talk or the truth.