And the keen, kind eyes saw what they expected in the flickering light of the lamp.

At this moment Steinmetz was pushed aside from within, and a hulking young man staggered out into the road, propelled from behind with considerable vigor.  After him came a shower of clothes and bedding.

“Pah!” exclaimed Steinmetz, spluttering.  “Himmel!  What filth!  Be careful, Catrina!”

But Catrina had slipped past him.  In an instant he had caught her by the wrist.

“Come back!” he cried.  “You must not go in there!”

She was just over the threshold.

“You have some reason for keeping me out,” she returned, wriggling in his strong grasp.  “I will—­I will!”

With a twist she wrenched herself free and went into the dimly lighted room.

Almost immediately she gave a mocking laugh.

“Paul!” she said.

CHAPTER XIII

UNMASKED

For a moment there was silence in the hovel, broken only by the wail of the dying man in the corner.  Paul and Catrina faced each other—­she white and suddenly breathless, he half frowning.  But he did not meet her eyes.

“Paul,” she said again, with a lingering touch on the name.  The sound of her voice, a rough sort of tenderness in her angry tone, made Steinmetz smile in his grim way, as a man may smile when in pain.

“Paul, what did you do this for?  Why are you here?  Oh, why are you in this wretched place?”

“Because you sent for me,” he answered quietly.  “Come, let us go out.  I have finished here.  That man will die.  There is nothing more to be done for him.  You must not stay in here.”

She gave a short laugh as she followed him.  He had to stoop low to pass through the door-way.  Then he turned and held out his hand, for fear she should trip over the high threshold.  She nodded her thanks, but refused the proffered assistance.

Steinmetz lingered behind to give some last instructions, leaving Paul and Catrina to walk on down the narrow street alone.  The moon was just rising—­a great yellow moon such as only Russia knows—­the land of the silver night.

“How long have you been doing this?” asked Catrina suddenly.  She did not look toward him, but straight in front of her.

“For some years now,” he replied simply.

He lingered.  He was waiting for Steinmetz, who always rose to such emergencies, who understood secrets and how to secure them when they seemed already lost.  He did not quite understand what was to be done with Catrina—­how she was to be silenced.  She had found him out with such startling rapidity that he felt disposed to admit her right to dictate her own terms.  On a straight road this man was fearless and quick, but he had no taste or capacity for crooked ways.

Catrina walked on in silence.  She was not looking at the matter from his point of view at all.