bad.'
Evstratii Pavlovich frowned in annoyance and muttered: As you wish, Mr Lieutenant Colonel, but I'd like to have a little talk with these bastards after my own fashion. You'll only spoil everything with all this liberalism of yours. Just give them to me for half an hour and they'll sing like nightingales, I give you my word of honour as a gentleman on that.'
'Oh no,' Pyotr Ivanovich hissed. 'Spare me your methods, please. I'll find out everything I need to know for myself. Mr Larionov, what have you got behind that door over there - a study? You don't mind if I use it to have a chat with your guests, one at a time, do you? Please do excuse me, gentlemen, but this is a bit of an emergency' The Lieutenant Colonel ran his glance over the detainees. 'This morning Adjutant General Khrapov was murdered. The same Khrapov ... Ah, but I see you're not surprised? Well, we'll have a little chat about that too. If you have no objections.'
'"If you have no objections" - Oh, my God!' Mylnikov exclaimed, grinding his teeth as he dashed out into the corridor in a fury, knocking over a chair on the way.
Erast Petrovich gave a doleful sigh - the entire manoeuvre was far too transparent; but it seemed to produce the required effect on the detainees. At least, all of them were gazing in stupefaction at the door through which Evstratii Pavlovich had made his exit.
But no, not all of them. One slim young lady who was sitting by the piano, off to one side of the main developments, did not appear to be stupefied at all. Her black eyes were blazing with indignation, the pretty, dark features of her face contorted into a mask of hatred. The young woman curled up her scarlet lips in a furious, silent whisper, reached out one slim hand to the handbag lying on the piano and pulled out a small, elegant revolver.
The intrepid young miss grasped the gun tightly with both hands, aiming it straight at the back of the Lieutenant Colonel of gendarmes. From a standing start, Erast Petrovich vaulted almost halfway across the drawing room in a single prodigious leap, lashing his cane down on the gun barrel before his feet even touched the floor.
The toy with the mother-of-pearl handle struck the floor and fired - not really all that loudly, but Burlyaev flung himself violently to one side and all the agents swung their gun barrels round towards the reckless young woman. They would undoubtedly have riddled her with bullets if not for Erast Petrovich, whose tremendous jump had terminated just in front of the piano, so that the malefactress was hidden behind the State Counsellor's back.
Ah, so that's the way!' exclaimed the Lieutenant Colonel, still recovering from the shock. 'So that's the way! You bitch! I'll kill you where you stand!' And he pulled a large revolver out of his pocket.
Mylnikov came running in from the corridor at the noise and shouted: 'Pyotr Ivanovich! Stop! We need her alive! Take her, lads!'
The agents lowered their guns and two of them dashed over to the young lady and seized her by the arms.
Burlyaev unceremoniously shoved the State Counsellor aside and stood in front of the black-haired terrorist, towering over her by almost a full head.
'Who are you?' he gasped out, struggling to recover his breath. 'What's your name?'
'I shall not reply to impolite questions,' the nihilist replied jauntily, looking up at the gendarme.
Mylnikov came over. 'Would you please tell me your name?' he asked patiently. And your title. Do let us know who you are.'
'Esfir Litvinova, daughter of a full state counsellor,' the detainee replied with equal politeness.
'The banker Litvinov's daughter,' Evstratii Pavlovich explained to his superior in a low voice. 'Under investigation. But not previously known to be involved in anything like this.'
'I don't care if her father's Rothschild himself!' Burlyaev hissed, wiping the sweat offhis forehead. 'You'll get hard labour for this, you scum. Where they won't feed you any of your Yiddish kosher
Evstratii Pavlovich frowned in annoyance and muttered: As you wish, Mr Lieutenant Colonel, but I'd like to have a little talk with these bastards after my own fashion. You'll only spoil everything with all this liberalism of yours. Just give them to me for half an hour and they'll sing like nightingales, I give you my word of honour as a gentleman on that.'
'Oh no,' Pyotr Ivanovich hissed. 'Spare me your methods, please. I'll find out everything I need to know for myself. Mr Larionov, what have you got behind that door over there - a study? You don't mind if I use it to have a chat with your guests, one at a time, do you? Please do excuse me, gentlemen, but this is a bit of an emergency' The Lieutenant Colonel ran his glance over the detainees. 'This morning Adjutant General Khrapov was murdered. The same Khrapov ... Ah, but I see you're not surprised? Well, we'll have a little chat about that too. If you have no objections.'
'"If you have no objections" - Oh, my God!' Mylnikov exclaimed, grinding his teeth as he dashed out into the corridor in a fury, knocking over a chair on the way.
Erast Petrovich gave a doleful sigh - the entire manoeuvre was far too transparent; but it seemed to produce the required effect on the detainees. At least, all of them were gazing in stupefaction at the door through which Evstratii Pavlovich had made his exit.
But no, not all of them. One slim young lady who was sitting by the piano, off to one side of the main developments, did not appear to be stupefied at all. Her black eyes were blazing with indignation, the pretty, dark features of her face contorted into a mask of hatred. The young woman curled up her scarlet lips in a furious, silent whisper, reached out one slim hand to the handbag lying on the piano and pulled out a small, elegant revolver.
The intrepid young miss grasped the gun tightly with both hands, aiming it straight at the back of the Lieutenant Colonel of gendarmes. From a standing start, Erast Petrovich vaulted almost halfway across the drawing room in a single prodigious leap, lashing his cane down on the gun barrel before his feet even touched the floor.
The toy with the mother-of-pearl handle struck the floor and fired - not really all that loudly, but Burlyaev flung himself violently to one side and all the agents swung their gun barrels round towards the reckless young woman. They would undoubtedly have riddled her with bullets if not for Erast Petrovich, whose tremendous jump had terminated just in front of the piano, so that the malefactress was hidden behind the State Counsellor's back.
Ah, so that's the way!' exclaimed the Lieutenant Colonel, still recovering from the shock. 'So that's the way! You bitch! I'll kill you where you stand!' And he pulled a large revolver out of his pocket.
Mylnikov came running in from the corridor at the noise and shouted: 'Pyotr Ivanovich! Stop! We need her alive! Take her, lads!'
The agents lowered their guns and two of them dashed over to the young lady and seized her by the arms.
Burlyaev unceremoniously shoved the State Counsellor aside and stood in front of the black-haired terrorist, towering over her by almost a full head.
'Who are you?' he gasped out, struggling to recover his breath. 'What's your name?'
'I shall not reply to impolite questions,' the nihilist replied jauntily, looking up at the gendarme.
Mylnikov came over. 'Would you please tell me your name?' he asked patiently. And your title. Do let us know who you are.'
'Esfir Litvinova, daughter of a full state counsellor,' the detainee replied with equal politeness.
'The banker Litvinov's daughter,' Evstratii Pavlovich explained to his superior in a low voice. 'Under investigation. But not previously known to be involved in anything like this.'
'I don't care if her father's Rothschild himself!' Burlyaev hissed, wiping the sweat offhis forehead. 'You'll get hard labour for this, you scum. Where they won't feed you any of your Yiddish kosher
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