Читать книгу The Red Reign. The True Story of an Adventurous Year in Russia онлайн

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“Now that it is arranged, sir,” he said, “I will return to the hotel, sir, and wait for you.”

“No, no, Ivan,” I said, “you must come with me, for if General Alikhanoff speaks nothing but Russian and Tartar, I shall be in a hopeless predicament with him.”

“You want me to go into the room with Alikhanoff, sir—‘Bloody Alikhanoff!’ No, sir!”

“Yes, you must. I need you,” I replied.

He glowered at me in a fright palpably real and started doggedly toward the door. I stepped in front of him so as to prevent his escape.

“No, sir!” he argued. “Not to Alikhanoff. I took Baron de Hirsch to the top of Kazbek, sir, and I have hunted with the Duc d’Orléans for a month in the high mountains, sir, and I was with the correspondent of the London Times in the bad days,—but I never had to do anything like this, sir. I shall go back to Tiflis to-night.”

There was determination in his voice and for the first time I became seriously alarmed, for as I had no way of knowing whether the general spoke French, I could not risk going alone into his presence. But Ivan pushed steadily to the door. At the threshold I felt that I must act instantly or lose him, for he was forcing his way past me in spite of all I could do. So, drawing my revolver, I said very quietly: