She was soon to see, for a man of distinctly Russian type, a short man with broad shoulders, sharp chin and frowning brow, approached her, and in a suave manner began to speak to her.

“You have nothing to fear from us, Miss,” he began.  “We are gentlemen of the finest type.  No harm will come to you during your brief stay with us; and I trust it may be very brief.”

Mazie heaved a sigh of relief.  Perhaps there was going to be nothing so very terrible about the affair after all.

“We only ask a little service of you,” the Russian continued as he let down a swinging table from the wall, and drawing a chair to it, motioned her to be seated.  He next placed pen, ink and paper on the table.

“You cannot know,” he said with a smile, “that your friend, Johnny Thompson, has been causing me a very great deal of trouble of late.”

Mazie felt a great desire to shout on hearing this, for it told her plainly that Johnny was no friend of this crowd.

“No, of course you could not know,” the man went on, “since you have not seen him.  I may say frankly that your friend is clever, and has a way, quite a way, of using his hands.”

Mazie did not need to be told that.

“But it is not that of which I wish to speak.”  The Russian took a step nearer.  Mazie, feeling his hot breath on her cheek, shrank back.  “Your friend, as I say, has been troubling us a great deal, and in this he has been misled, sadly misled.  He does not understand our high and lofty purpose; our desire to free all mankind from the bonds of organized society.  If he knew he would act far differently.  Of course, you cannot explain all this to him, but you can write him a note, just a little note.  You will write it now, in just another moment.  First, I will tell you what to say.  Say to him that you are in great trouble and danger.  Say that you may be killed, or worse things may happen to you, unless he does precisely as you tell him to do.  Say that he is to leave a certain package, about which he knows well enough, at the Pendergast Hotel, to be given to M. Kriskie.  Say that he is, after that, to leave Chicago at once and is not to return for sixty days.

“See?” He attempted another smile.  “It is little that we ask of you; little that we ask of him—­virtually nothing.”

Mazie’s heart was beating wildly.  So that was the game?  She was to be a decoy.  She knew nothing of Johnny’s actions, but knew they were for the good of his country.  How could she ask him to abandon them for her sake?

As her eyes roamed about the room they fell upon the little Jap girl.  In her face Mazie read black rage for the Russian, and a deep compassion for herself.

“Come,” said the Russian; “we are wasting time.  Is it not so?  You must write.  You should begin now.  So, it will be better for all.”

For answer, Mazie took the paper in her white, delicate fingers and tore it across twice.  Then she threw it on the floor.