r a slight hesitation, altogether different from
the agonizing irresolution my first simple question "whether he meant to
stay in Geneva" had aroused, he made me an unexpected confidence--

"The fact is, I have received a sort of mission from them."

"Which will keep you here in Geneva?"

"Yes. Here. In this odious...."

I was satisfied with my faculty for putting two and two together when I
drew the inference that the mission had something to do with the
person of the great Peter Ivanovitch. But I kept that surmise to myself
naturally, and Mr. Razumov said nothing more for some considerable time.
It was only when we were nearly on the bridge we had been making for
that he opened his lips again, abruptly--

"Could I see that precious article anywhere?"

I had to think for a moment before I saw what he was referring to.

"It has been reproduced in parts by the Press here. There are files to
be seen in various places. My copy of the English newspaper I have left
with Miss Haldin, I remember, on the day after it reached me. I was
sufficiently worried by seeing it lying on a table by the side of the
poor mother's chair for weeks. Then it disappeared. It was a relief, I
assure you."

He had stopped short.

"I trust," I continued, "that you will find time to see these ladies
fairly often--that you will make time."

He stared at me so queerly that I hardly know how to define his aspect.
I could not understand it in this connexion at all. What ailed him? I
asked myself. What strange thought had come into his head? What vision
of all the horrors that can be seen in his hopeless country had come
suddenly to haunt his brain? If it were anything connected with the fate
of Victor Haldin, then I hoped earnestly he would keep it to himself
for ever. I was, to speak plainly, so shocked that I tried to conceal my
impression by--Heaven forgive me--a smile and the assumption of a light
manner.

"Surely," I exclaimed, "that needn't cost you a great effort."

He turned away from me and leaned over the parapet of the bridge. For a
moment I waited, looking at his back. And yet, I assure you, I was not
anxious just then to look at his face again. He did not move at all. He
did not mean to move. I walked on slowly on my way towards the station,
and at the end of the bridge I glanced over my shoulder. No, he had not
moved. He hung well over the parapet, as if captivated by the smooth
rush of the blue water under the arch. The curre