“...’We are looking for a man of approved courage,’ she continued earnestly; ’we are more than satisfied that YOU are the man.’...  Again I muttered my thanks....  ‘How long have you been a member?’ she then asked carelessly....  THIS was not so easily answered....  I thought quickly....  ‘Long enough to KNOW my lesson!’ I answered oracularly....  ’You still remember your instructions?’...  ‘What instructions?’ She answered my question by asking, ’Were they not BURNED?’...  ’Who is this encyclopaedic lady?’ I asked myself.  ’What manner of TRAP is she setting for me now?’...  ‘Why did you SANDBAG me?’ was MY answer....  ‘You are NOT to ask questions,’ she returned.  ’Are you not satisfied with results?’...

“...  ’I am still alive.’...  ‘Well,’ she smiled, ’a live Bolshevik, of OUR kind, is much better than a dead diplomat!’...  I was taken into an improvised kitchen and indulged in a splendid meal....  I took no wine....

“...  My meal being finished she offered me an excellent cigarette....  Glancing up through a ring of smoke my eyes fell upon a rough black-and-white sketch of a tall, smooth-faced, keen-eyed man with rather large ears, firm and thin-cut lips, high forehead and steadfast gaze, dressed in the uniform of a General Officer, with a single decoration on his left breast.... she observed me closely as I gazed....  I KNEW this man and was about to exclaim:  ’The savior of this country!’... but something restrained my enthusiasm....  ’You recognize him, I see,’ she insinuated....  ‘WHO is he?’ I dodged....  She merely smiled....  She evidently realizes the wonderful power of that disarming smile and the fascination of good teeth in a shapely head....  ‘You’ll do!’ she said with apparent reservation as she tapped a tiny bell....

“...  A short, thickset man appeared—­he is not positively ugly, but he has a way of staring at one that is rather ill-bred....  There is a gold band around his left wrist and a scar upon his right cheek....  I am sure he is the SAME man I met at one of Sadakichi-Hartmann’s readings from Ibsen’s Ghosts....  He may recall the time....  It was in an abandoned palace on Russian Hill, somewhere in America; the lady at his left was discussing the difficulties of getting her motor car into Ragiz; the younger one on his right was known as Alma and gave her address as East 61st Street, New York.... and ALL THREE were quite convinced that the Central Powers will defeat the Allies....  He is an international character and will remember this incident as well as the following:  ’...  This gentleman will join your party for Ekaterinburg tonight, YOU understand.  If there are any mistakes I shall not answer for results!’ There were NO introductions....  The man bowed and began to back away....  ‘YOU may accompany him,’ she said, rising and flitting from the room....  I believe I understand what this party means!...  There is to be a SHOOTING party at Ekaterinburg under the auspices of the Bolshevists in a day or two and I may be ONE of the ‘mistakes’ for which that mystifying lady disclaims responsibility....  My companion certainly looks like a bandit, and manifests the strength of a wild bull....  He seems much interested in that patch on my shirt sleeve....”