ceremonial politeness, and I left with him a final word:
"We do not jest, Captain. My visit to you is but the first act. I play the part of the angel Azrael. Good-bye."
Our visit to the second leader of the Black Hundred, the merchant Chistiakoff, was similar to the first. He received me and my advice very calmly and grunted, as we were leaving:
"We shall see."
"We shall certainly see," Vlasienko at once replied; "but this interview will be the last one between us."
The third visit proved more thrilling. We found the chairman of the Workers' Committee in his lodgings drinking with three companions. Bottles of vodka and sausage scraps littered the oilcloth-covered table. At our entrance they rose, breathing heavily, a condition that was probably due more to the alcohol than to their emotions.
"Mr. Ivanoff, you are an agent of the political police and you are seeking to start a civil war in the East, in which you hope to involve the army, to destroy the effects of all our work. I know all the facts and can give proof of them to the workers' tribunal. I give you three days in which to leave Manchuria, for ever, failing which you will be arrested and …"
I was not quite sure what to say, when Vlasienko, in his clear tenor voice, finished the sentence for me with the word:
"… hung!"
Ivanoff's eyes flashed, as he made a quick movement in the direction of the bed. But Vlasienko was quicker and snatched a big Nagan revolver from under the pillow. Then he calmly opened it, ejected the cartridges into the palm of his hand, slipped them into his pocket and quietly replaced the weapon with the apology:
