It was perfectly right that she should think of me, but what could I do in my ignorance of Mr. Razumov’s quarters.

“And to think he may be living near by, within a stone’s-throw, perhaps!” she exclaimed.

I doubted it; but I would have gone off cheerfully to fetch him from the other end of Geneva.  I suppose she was certain of my readiness, since her first thought was to come to me.  But the service she meant to ask of me really was to accompany her to the Chateau Borel.

I had an unpleasant mental vision of the dark road, of the sombre grounds, and the desolately suspicious aspect of that home of necromancy and intrigue and feminist adoration.  I objected that Madame de S—­ most likely would know nothing of what we wanted to find out.  Neither did I think it likely that the young man would be found there.  I remembered my glimpse of his face, and somehow gained the conviction that a man who looked worse than if he had seen the dead would want to shut himself up somewhere where he could be alone.  I felt a strange certitude that Mr. Razumov was going home when I saw him.

“It is really of Peter Ivanovitch that I was thinking,” said Miss Haldin quietly.

Ah!  He, of course, would know.  I looked at my watch.  It was twenty minutes past nine only....  Still.

“I would try his hotel, then,” I advised.  “He has rooms at the Cosmopolitan, somewhere on the top floor.”

I did not offer to go by myself, simply from mistrust of the reception I should meet with.  But I suggested the faithful Anna, with a note asking for the information.

Anna was still waiting by the door at the other end of the room, and we two discussed the matter in whispers.  Miss Haldin thought she must go herself.  Anna was timid and slow.  Time would be lost in bringing back the answer, and from that point of view it was getting late, for it was by no means certain that Mr. Razumov lived near by.

“If I go myself,” Miss Haldin argued, “I can go straight to him from the hotel.  And in any case I should have to go out, because I must explain to Mr. Razumov personally—­prepare him in a way.  You have no idea of mother’s state of mind.”

Her colour came and went.  She even thought that both for her mother’s sake and for her own it was better that they should not be together for a little time.  Anna, whom her mother liked, would be at hand.

“She could take her sewing into the room,” Miss Haldin continued, leading the way to the door.  Then, addressing in German the maid who opened it before us, “You may tell my mother that this gentleman called and is gone with me to find Mr. Razumov.  She must not be uneasy if I am away for some length of time.”

We passed out quickly into the street, and she took deep breaths of the cool night air.  “I did not even ask you,” she murmured.

“I should think not,” I said, with a laugh.  The manner of my reception by the great feminist could not be considered now.  That he would be annoyed to see me, and probably treat me to some solemn insolence, I had no doubt, but I supposed that he would not absolutely dare to throw me out.  And that was all I cared for.  “Won’t you take my arm?” I asked.