“And pray, sir, what have the Slavs done for the world?  What do we owe them?  What Slavonic name can anyone mention in the history of progress?”

“Two occur to me,” replied Piers, in the same quiet tone, “well worthy of a place in the history of intellectual progress.  There was a Pole named Kopernik, known to you, no doubt, as Copernicus, who came before Galileo; and there was a Czech named Huss—­John Huss —­who came before Luther.”

The bilious man was smiling.  The fourth person present in the room, who sat with his book at some distance, had turned his eyes upon Otway with a look of peculiar interest.

“You’ve made a special study, I suppose, of this sort of thing,” said the fat-faced politician, with a grin which tried to be civil, conveying in truth, the radical English contempt for mere intellectual attainment.  “You’re a supporter of Russia, I suppose?”

“I have no such pretension.  Russia interests me, that’s all.”

“Come now, would you say that in any single point Russia, modern Russia, as we understand the term, had shown the way in practical advance?”

All were attentive—­the silent man with the book seeming particularly so.

“I should say in one rather important point,” Piers replied.  “Russia was the first country to abolish capital punishment for ordinary crime.”

The assailant showed himself perplexed, incredulous.  But this state of mind, lasting only for a moment, gave way to genial bluster.

“Oh, come now!  That’s a matter of opinion.  To let murderers go unhung——­”

“As you please.  I could mention another interesting fact.  Long before England dreamt of the simplest justice for women, it was not an uncommon thing for a Russian peasant who had appropriated money earned by his wife, to be punished with a flogging by the village commune.”

“A flogging!  Why, there you are!” cried the other, with hoarse laughter—­“What did I say?  If it isn’t the knout, it’s something equivalent.  As if we hadn’t proved long ago the demoralising effect of corporal chastisement!  We should be ashamed, sir, to flog men nowadays in the army or navy.  It degrades:  we have outgrown it—­ No, no, sir, it won’t do!  I see you have made a special study and you’ve mentioned very interesting facts; but you must see that they are wide of the mark—­painfully wide of the mark—­I must be thinking of turning in; have to be up at six, worse luck, to catch a train.  Good-night, Mr. Simmonds!  Good-night to you, sir—­ good-night!”

He bustled away, humming to himself; and, after musing a little, the bilious man also left the room.  Piers thought himself alone, but a sound caused him to turn his head; the person whom he had forgotten, the silent reader, had risen and was moving his way.  A tall, slender, graceful man, well dressed, aged about thirty.  He approached Otway, came in front of him, looked at him with a smile, and spoke.