VASILI.  You have until ten o’clock. [Valet appears in the doorway.]

Mon chapeau et pardessus.

[Exit valet.]

In the meantime my friend believes Naples a safe place for me.

[Valet returns with his coat, hat, and gloves.]

And so, auf weidersehn.

[Dismisses the valet with a gesture.]

PIKE [going to him and shaking hands heartily].  Good-bye, Doc, and God bless you!

VASILI.  To our next meeting.

[Exit briskly through the upper doors.  As they close behind him, IVANOFF’S manner changes.  He goes rapidly to a table, picks up the cigarettes, which are in a large silver open box, and touches the bottle of vodka significantly.]

IVANOFF.  I thought so—­Russian!

PIKE.  What!

IVANOFF.  That man, your friend, who calls himself Groellerhagen, is not a German—­he is a Russian—­not only that, he is a Russian noble.  I see it in a hundred ways that you cannot.

PIKE.  Whatever he is, he helped us this afternoon.  I’d trust him to the bone.

IVANOFF.  I have felt it inevitable that I should go back to Siberia.  A thousand times have I felt it since I entered these rooms.

[He goes down toward the window.]

PIKE.  I know you feel mighty bad, but perhaps—­perhaps—­

IVANOFF.  There is no perhaps for me.  There was never any perhaps after I met Helene.

PIKE [scratching his head].  Helene!

IVANOFF.  Helene was my wife, she who sent me to Siberia, she and my dear, accursed English friend.

PIKE [thoughtfully].  What was his name?

IVANOFF.  His name—­it was Glenwood.  I shall not forget that name soon.

PIKE.  What was he doing in Russia?

IVANOFF.  I have told you he had contracts with the Ministry of Finance—­he supplied hydraulic machinery to the government.  Does the name Glenwood mean anything to you?  Have you heard it?

PIKE [profoundly thoughtful, pauses, looking at IVANOFF sharply].  No. [Then to himself.] And there must be a million Helenes in France.

IVANOFF.  I prayed God to let me meet them before I was taken.  But I talk too much of myself.  I wish to know—­you—­you will be safe.  They can do nothing to you, can they?

PIKE [with assumed cheerfulness].  Oh, I’m all right—­don’t worry about me.

[Loud knock at the upper doors.]

IVANOFF [despairingly].  It is the carabiniere.

PIKE.  Steady. [Looks at watch.] Not yet.  Go back.  We won’t throw our hands into the discard until we’re called.  We’ll keep on raising.

[Exit IVANOFF through door on the right, closing it after him.]

[PIKE scratches his head and slowly says:  “Helene.”  Then calls:  “Come in!”]

[MARIANO opens the upper doors from without and bows.]

MARIANO.  Miladi Creesh—­she ask you would speak with her a few minutes?