IVANOFF. I thought so--Russian!

PIKE. What!

IVANOFF. That man, your friend, who calls himself Grollerhagen, is not a German--he is a Russian--not only that, he is a Russian n.o.ble. I see it in a hundred ways that you cannot.

PIKE. Whatever he is, he helped us this afternoon. I'd trust him to the bone.

IVANOFF. I have felt it inevitable that I should go back to Siberia. A thousand times have I felt it since I entered these rooms.

[He goes down toward the window.]

PIKE. I know you feel mighty bad, but perhaps--perhaps--

IVANOFF. There is no perhaps for me. There was never any perhaps after I met Helene.

PIKE [scratching his head]. Helene!

IVANOFF. Helene was my wife, she who sent me to Siberia, she and my dear, accursed English friend.

PIKE [thoughtfully]. What was his name?

IVANOFF. His name--it was Glenwood. I shall not forget that name soon.

PIKE. What was he doing in Russia?

IVANOFF. I have told you he had contracts with the Ministry of Finance--he supplied hydraulic machinery to the government. Does the name Glenwood mean anything to you? Have you heard it?

PIKE [profoundly thoughtful, pauses, looking at IVANOFF sharply]. No.

[Then to himself.] And there must be a million Helenes in France.

IVANOFF. I prayed G.o.d to let me meet them before I was taken. But I talk too much of myself. I wish to know--you--you will be safe. They can do nothing to you, can they?

PIKE [with a.s.sumed cheerfulness]. Oh, I'm all right--don't worry about me.

[Loud knock at the upper doors.]

IVANOFF [despairingly]. It is the carabiniere.

PIKE. Steady. [Looks at watch.] Not yet. Go back. We won't throw our hands into the discard until we're called. We'll keep on raising.

[Exit IVANOFF through door on the right, closing it after him.]

[PIKE scratches his head and slowly says: "Helene." Then calls: "Come in!"]

[MARIANO opens the upper doors from without and bows.]

MARIANO. Miladi Creesh--she ask you would speak with her a few minutes?

PIKE. All right! Where is she?

MARIANO. Here, sir.

PIKE. Come right in, ma'am!

[LADY CREECH enters.]

LADY CREECH [frigidly]. I need scarcely inform you that this interview is not of my seeking. [She sits stiffly.] On the contrary, it is intensely disagreeable to me. My brother-in-law feels that some one well acquainted with Miss Granger-Simpson's ambitions and her inner nature should put the case finally to you before we proceed to extremities.

PIKE. Yes, ma'am!

LADY CREECH [crossly]. Don't mumble your words if you expect me to listen to you.

PIKE [cordially]. Go on, ma'am!

LADY CREECH. My brother-in-law has made us aware of the state of affairs, and we are quite in sympathy with my brother-in-law's att.i.tude as to what should be done to you.

PIKE [in a tone of genial inquiry]. Yes, ma'am; and what do you think ought to be done to me?

LADY CREECH. If, in the kindness of our hearts, we condone your offence, we insist upon your accession to our reasonable demands.

PIKE [sardonically]. By ten o'clock!

LADY CREECH. Quite so.

PIKE. You say he told all of you? Has he told Miss Ethel?

LADY CREECH. It hasn't been thought proper. Young girls should be shielded from everything disagreeable.

PIKE. Yes, ma'am; that's the idea that got me into this trouble.

LADY CREECH. I say, this young lady, who seems to be technically your ward, is considered, by all of us who understand her, infinitely more _my_ ward.

PIKE. Yes, ma'am! Go on.

LADY CREECH [loftily]. She came to me something more than a year ago--

PIKE [simply]. Did you advertise?

LADY CREECH [stung]. I suppose it is your intention to be offensive.

PIKE [protesting]. No, ma'am; I didn't mean anything. But, you see, I've handled all her accounts, and her payments to you--

LADY CREECH [crushingly]. We will omit tradesman-like references! What Lord Hawcastle wished me to impress on you is not only that you will ruin yourself, but put a blight upon the life of the young lady whom you are pleased to consider your ward. We make this suggestion because we conceive that you have a preposterous sentimental interest yourself in Miss Granger-Simpson.

PIKE [taken aback]. Me?

LADY CREECH. Upon what other ground are we to explain your conduct?