filled the entrance, evidently the remainder of the guard.
The Commissary was out. When would he be back? Only God knew. He had taken "the Little Mother" for a drive in the country, or perhaps he had gone to Petrograd—who knew? There was nobody to see but the Commissary—on this fact they insisted with such vehemence that Malcolm gathered that whoever the gentleman was, he brooked no rivals and allowed no possible supplanter to stand near his throne.
They came back at four o'clock in the afternoon, but the Commissary was still out. It was nine o'clock, after five inquries, that the sentry replied "Yes" to the inevitable question.
"Now you will see him," said Malinkoff, "and the future depends upon the potency of your favourite patron saint."
Malcolm stopped in the doorway.
"General" he said.
"Not that word," said Malinkoff quickly. "Citizen or comrade—comrade for preference."
"I feel that I am leading you into danger—I have been horribly selfish and thoughtless. Will it make any difference to you, your seeing him?"
Malinkoff shook his head.
"You're quite right, it is always dangerous to attract the attention of the Committee for Com-
