“... a man by name Alexander Petrovich Mamaev from Novo-Nikolaevsk.  He has a plan of his own, which he wants to accomplish.  He has some people working for him, nothing serious, if I may judge.  Mamaev’s plan is being worked out this way:  his people will buy out the sentinels and take the Emperor and the Heir (perhaps the Princesses, but, as he says “the old woman will never be considered”) and rush both eastward by the old highway.  On the stations Mamaev’s people are now hiring horses and coachmen.  They have collected money amongst the merchants.  They plan to take the Emperor as far as Blagoveshchensk-on-Amur.  Thence to San-Haliang, on the Chinese side of the river.  From San-Haliang somewhere out of the country,—­I never heard where to.  The organization works successfully in the region of Tomsk, where all is ready for immediate action.

There is much imagination in Mamaev’s plan, and though I know his preparations are watched in Ekaterinburg, they do not meet with approval at all.  Captain Kaidalov of the Crimea Horse Regt. is now the soul of Ekaterinburg and he does not approve.  He is a fine fellow, I know, and very courageous:  he went to the local soviet, became their confident and persona grata and I think is virtually the only one who really understands the problems and realizes their difficulty and their danger.  Please let me know whether I should inquire any longer about all of this!

Yours,

Alex.  Syv.”

33

Sunday she came back from the trip.  I felt quite lonesome all of this week.  Two men were with her:  one—­a Russian, the silent type, with a big hat, who was taking care of the horse:  the other, a tall, broad faced Anglo-Saxon fellow, whose bronzed face would be appropriate in the tropics but not on the white steppes of Siberia.  A little longhaired pony brought the trio in a fancy sledge early in the morning.  The Englishman (his name is Stanley) started to work with the radio, silent, serious, smoking a short black pipe.  He took me for Lucie’s servant.  If I had had any doubt of his nationality, I never could have mistaken his tobacco:  Navy Cut,—­the one make I can’t tolerate.  He filled our small house with blue clouds of stink.  When they all came I ran to the sledge, but from a distance Lucie signaled to me with her eyes that no tender expressions were needed.  She sent me out for food, then to a drug store, then to the post-office, etc., etc.  I obeyed.

So around noon I went to see the Princess.  They all make me sick, especially since the L. tragedy.  “If God does not help—­we cannot.”  A certain Mme. K-v is now hanging around her.  A suffragette—­that’s what she is.  She said “some women are now here—­we know nothing about ...” alluding of course to me.  I hardly could wait until evening.

It was evening when S. finished connecting the kitchen station with the city current.  When I came home he and the Russian were trying to harness the pony.  The poor little horse was choking from the smoke of his pipe and trying to bite the torturer.