No. Russian sable is woman's fur. They do not make
men's coats of Russian sable."

"But this is a woman's coat," explained Wentworth. "I got it in Russia
when I was in the Army. She was a Russian princess and I helped her
escape from the country at great risk to myself. It was in the winter,
in the dead of night, and a terrible blizzard was raging. When she
safely crossed the border she thanked me with tears in her eyes and
begged me to take her coat in payment, as she had no money. I refused,
but she tossed it into my arms, and disappeared into the night."

"Maybe she died in the storm without her coat."

"Why, no--you see, she had--that is, I had arranged for a car--a
sleigh, I mean, to meet her there with plenty of robes. But what I
want to get at, is this. If I show you this coat will you promise not
to say a word to Murchison about it? I do not want him to know I have
it. He would want to buy it, and he is my friend and I do not want to
refuse him. But I do not want to sell the coat, because sometime I am
going to return it to its original owner. But first I should like you
to tell me what it is worth. Can you tell me that? And can you
remember never to tell Murchison that I have the coat?"

Hedin nodded. "Yes, I can tell you how much the coat is worth when I
see it and feel it. And I will not tell Murchison. That is why I am
smart, and others are foolish. Because they tell me what they know,
and I listen, and pretty soon I know that, too. But I do not tell what
I know, and they cannot listen. So I know what they know, and they do
not know what I know, and that is why I am wise and they don't know
hardly anything at all."

"Everything coming in, and nothing going out," laughed Wentworth.
"That's right, Sven; you've got the system. We will finish here
to-morrow, and then we will return to the post, and you can come to my
cabin, and I'll show you the fur."

XV

Ever since the evening in camp when Wentworth had confided in him that
he had the coat, Hedin had been debating his course of procedure. His
first impulse had been to denounce Wentworth to his face, to seize the
coat and obtain the engineer's arrest. He knew that Downey expected to
return to the post--but there was Jean to consider. Jean--the girl of
his fondest dreams, who had forsaken him and fallen under the spell of
the courtly manners of the suave soldier-engineer. What would Jean
think? If she loved the man she wo