on his left was open, and into this they walked. It
was empty, but scarcely had they closed the door than there were
footsteps outside. Cherry, with a gun in each hand, a hard and ugly grin
on his fat face, covered the door, but the footsteps passed.

There was a babble of voices outside and a rattle and creak of gates.
Malcolm crept to the one window which the office held (he guessed it was
here that Cherry had written his "statement"), and peeped cautiously
forth.

A big closed auto was entering the gate, and he pulled his head back.
Cherry was at his side.

"Somebody visiting--a fellow high up," whispered the latter hoarsely;
"they'll come in here, the guy we left in the cell told me he'd want
this room. Try that door!"

He pointed to a tall press and Malinkoff was there in a second. The
press was evidently used for the storage of stationery. There was one
shelf, half way up, laden with packages of paper, and Malinkoff lifted
one end. The other slipped and the packets dropped with a crash. But the
purring of the auto in the yard was noisy enough to drown the sound
unless somebody was outside the door.

"Three can squeeze in--you go first, Mr. Hay."

It was more than a squeeze, it was a torture, but the door closed on
them.

Malcolm had an insane desire to laugh, but he checked it at the sound of
a voice--for it was the voice of Boolba.

"I cannot stay very long, comrade," he was saying as he entered the
room, "but...."

The rest was a mumble.

"I will see that she is kept by herself," said a strange voice,
evidently of someone in authority at the prison.

Malcolm bit his lips to check the cry that rose.

"Irene!"

"..." Boolba's deep voice was again a rumble.

"Yes, comrade, I will bring her in ... let me lead you to a chair."

He evidently went to the door and called, and immediately there was a
tramp of feet.

"What does this mean, Boolba?"

Malcolm knew the voice--he had heard it before--and his relief was such
that all sense of his own danger passed.

"Sophia Kensky," Boolba was speaking now, "you are under arrest by order
of the Soviet."

"Arrest!" the word was screamed, "me----?"

"You are plotting against the Revolution, and your wickedness has been
discovered," said Boolba. "_Matinshka!_ Little mama, it is ordered!"

"You lie! You lie!" she screeched. "You blind devil--I spit on you! You
arrest me because you want the aristocrat Irene Yaroslav! Blind pig!"

"_Prekanzeno, dushink