“I shall send you for supper a splendid fish pie and some hot tomato soup.”

As he left, my host clasped his head in desperation and said: 

“With such scum of the earth are we now forced after this revolution to work!”

A few minutes later a soldier from Sepailoff brought us a tureen full of soup and the fish pie.  As the soldier bent over the table to set the dishes down, the Chief motioned me with his eyes and slipped to me the words:  “Notice his face.”

When the man went out, my host sat attentively listening until the sounds of the man’s steps ceased.

“He is Sepailoff’s executioner who hangs and strangles the unfortunate condemned ones.”

Then, to my amazement, he began to pour out the soup on the ground beside the brazier and, going out of the yurta, threw the pie over the fence.

“It is Sepailoff’s feast and, though it may be very tasty, it may also be poison.  In Sepailoff’s house it is dangerous to eat or drink anything.”

Distinctly oppressed by these doings, I returned to my house.  My host was not yet asleep and met me with a frightened look.  My friends were also there.

“God be thanked!” they all exclaimed.  “Has nothing happened to you?”

“What is the matter?” I asked.

“You see,” began the host, “after your departure a soldier came from Sepailoff and took your luggage, saying that you had sent him for it; but we knew what it meant—­that they would first search it and afterwards. . . .”

I at once understood the danger.  Sepailoff could place anything he wanted in my luggage and afterwards accuse me.  My old friend, the agronome, and I started at once for Sepailoff’s, where I left him at the door while I went in and was met by the same soldier who had brought the supper to us.  Sepailoff received me immediately.  In answer to my protest he said that it was a mistake and, asking me to wait for a moment, went out.  I waited five, ten, fifteen minutes but nobody came.  I knocked on the door but no one answered me.  Then I decided to go to Baron Ungern and started for the exit.  The door was locked.  Then I tried the other door and found that also locked.  I had been trapped!  I wanted at once to whistle to my friend but just then noticed a telephone on the wall and called up Baron Ungern.  In a few minutes he appeared together with Sepailoff.

“What is this?” he asked Sepailoff in a severe, threatening voice; and, without waiting for an answer, struck him a blow with his tashur that sent him to the floor.

We went out and the General ordered my luggage produced.  Then he brought me to his own yurta.

“Live here, now,” he said.  “I am very glad of this accident,” he remarked with a smile, “for now I can say all that I want to.”

This drew from me the question: 

“May I describe all that I have heard and seen here?”

He thought a moment before replying:  “Give me your notebook.”