“Kolinsky and nutria are no good.  We do not have them here.  Russian sable, and sea otter, and black fox, they are the best furs in the world.  We do not have them here, either, except once in a while a black, or a silver fox.”

“A coat of Russian sable would be very valuable?”

“Yes.  Real Russian sable, dark, and well silvered, would be very valuable.”

“How much would one be worth?”

“Nobody can tell unless they can see it.  It is all in the matching.”

For a full minute Wentworth studied the face across the little fire, the face with the unkempt beard, and the far-off, pondering eyes.

“I have a Russian sable coat,” ventured Wentworth.

The factor’s clerk gazed at him with unwinking blue eyes, and the head wagged slowly.  “No.  Russian sable is woman’s fur.  They do not make men’s coats of Russian sable.”

“But this is a woman’s coat,” explained Wentworth.  “I got it in Russia when I was in the Army.  She was a Russian princess and I helped her escape from the country at great risk to myself.  It was in the winter, in the dead of night, and a terrible blizzard was raging.  When she safely crossed the border she thanked me with tears in her eyes and begged me to take her coat in payment, as she had no money.  I refused, but she tossed it into my arms, and disappeared into the night.”

“Maybe she died in the storm without her coat.”

“Why, no—­you see, she had—­that is, I had arranged for a car—­a sleigh, I mean, to meet her there with plenty of robes.  But what I want to get at, is this.  If I show you this coat will you promise not to say a word to Murchison about it?  I do not want him to know I have it.  He would want to buy it, and he is my friend and I do not want to refuse him.  But I do not want to sell the coat, because sometime I am going to return it to its original owner.  But first I should like you to tell me what it is worth.  Can you tell me that?  And can you remember never to tell Murchison that I have the coat?”

Hedin nodded.  “Yes, I can tell you how much the coat is worth when I see it and feel it.  And I will not tell Murchison.  That is why I am smart, and others are foolish.  Because they tell me what they know, and I listen, and pretty soon I know that, too.  But I do not tell what I know, and they cannot listen.  So I know what they know, and they do not know what I know, and that is why I am wise and they don’t know hardly anything at all.”

“Everything coming in, and nothing going out,” laughed Wentworth.  “That’s right, Sven; you’ve got the system.  We will finish here to-morrow, and then we will return to the post, and you can come to my cabin, and I’ll show you the fur.”

XV