for Irene Yaroslav was well known to them, and it was Irene Yaroslav who stood with her back to the door. She wore a long black cloak of sable and by her coiffure it was evident that she was wearing an evening toilette beneath the cloak.
"Where is Israel Kensky?" she asked.
She did not immediately see the man in the masked face, for he sat under a light and his broad-brimmed hat threw his face into shadow.
Nobody answered her, and she asked again:
"Where is Israel Kensky?"
"He is not here," said Serganoff coolly, as she took two paces and stopped dead, clasping her hands before her.
"What does this mean?" she asked. "What are you doing here, Ser"
"Stop!" His voice was almost a shout, and yet there was a shake in it.
Serganoff realized the danger of his own position, if amongst these men were some who had cause to hate him.
"Do not mention my name, Irene."
"What are you doing here?" she asked. "And where is Israel Kensky?"
"He has not come," Serganoff's voice was uneven and his hands shook.
She turned to go, but he was before her and stood with his back to the entrance.
