reful to avoid the big
thoroughfares which led to the Krasnaya Plotzad and that centre of
Moscow which is the Kremlin.

Presently it drew up before a small eating-house in a poor street, and
the driver hoisted himself to the ground. He left his horse unattended
and, leading the way, pushed open the swing doors of the restaurant and
passed down a long, low-ceilinged room crowded with diners, to a table
at the far end.

"Sit down, Mr. Hay. I can promise you a fair but by no means sybarite
feast--good morning, Nicholas Vassilitsky."

He nodded pleasantly to a grey-haired man in a workman's blouse sitting
at the next table, and the man addressed rose stiffly, bowed and sat
down.

"If you wish your clothes valeted whilst you are in Moscow, I recommend
my friend," said the driver, snapping his fingers towards a stout
waitress. "Colonel Nicholas Vassilitsky is not only an excellent
Director of Military Intelligence but he can press a pair of trousers
with any man."

He gave his orders briefly, and turned to his companion.

"First of all, let me interrogate you. You are on your way to
Petrograd?"

"Yes--I am on my way home. During the war I have been controlling allied
supplies in Little Russia--the Revolution stopped that."

"Fortunate man--to have a country," said General Malinkoff, and he spoke
seriously and without bitterness. "A country and an army--coherent,
disciplined comrades in arms."

He shrugged his padded shoulders.

"Yes--you are on your way to your home? It will take you months to leave
the country--if you ever leave it. I tried to leave last month. I am a
reactionary with a leaning toward discipline. I cannot breathe the air
of democracy. I used to think I had Liberal ideas. There was a time when
I thought that a day would dawn when the world would be a great United
States of Free People. Ah, well--I am still a reactionary."

Malcolm knew that behind those grave eyes was a world of laughter, that
beneath the solemn words was a gentle irony, and yet for the while he
could not distinguish how much of tragedy there was in the man's fun.

"But why are you----"

"Driving a cab?" The general finished the sentence. "Because, my friend,
I am human. I must eat, for example; I must have a room to sleep in. I
need cigarettes, and clean shirts at least three times a week--for God's
sake never let that be known. I must also have warm clothes for the
winter--in fact, I must live."

"But haven't you--money?"