ation designated, and waited there all day, drinking boiling
tea.

Toward evening a train from Petrograd stopped at the station, and from
the open door of a compartment Estridge saw his chance acquaintance of
the previous day making signs to him to get aboard.

Nobody interfered. They had a long, cold, unpleasant night journey,
wedged in between two soldiers wearing arm-bands, who glowered at a
Russian general officer opposite, and continued to mutter to each
other about imperialists, bourgeoisie, and cadets.

At every stop they were inspected by lantern light, their papers
examined, and sometimes their luggage opened. But these examinations
seemed to be perfunctory, and nobody was detained.

In the grey of morning the train stopped and some soldiers with red
arm-bands looked in and insulted the general officer, but offered no
violence. The officer gave them a stony glance and closed his cold,
puffy eyes in disdain. He was blond and looked like a German.

* * * * *

At the next stop Estridge received a careless nod from his chance
acquaintance, gathered up his luggage and descended to the frosty
platform.

Nobody bothered to open their bags; their papers were merely glanced
at. They had some steaming tea and some sour bread together.

A little later a large sleigh drove up behind the station; their light
baggage was stowed aboard, they climbed in under the furs.

"Now," remarked his calm companion to Estridge, "we're all right if
the Reds, the Whites and the boches don't shoot us up."

"What are the chances?" inquired Estridge.

"Excellent, excellent," said his companion cheerily, "I should say we
have about one chance in ten to get out of this alive. I'll take
either end--ten to one we don't get out--ten to two we're shot up and
not killed--ten to three we are arrested but not killed--one to ten we
pull through with whole skins."

Estridge smiled. They remained silent, probably preoccupied with the
hazards of their respective fortunes. It grew colder toward noon.

The young man seated beside Estridge in the sleigh smoked continually.

He was attached to one of the American missions sent into Russia by an
optimistic administration--a mission, as a whole, foredoomed to
political failure.

In every detail, too, it had already failed, excepting only in that
particular part played by this young man, whose name was Brisson.

He, however, had gone about his occult b