The sound of
her voice, a rough sort of tenderness in her angry tone, made Steinmetz
smile in his grim way, as a man may smile when in pain.
"Paul, what did you do this for? Why are you here? Oh, why are you in
this wretched place?"
"Because you sent for me," he answered quietly. "Come, let us go out. I
have finished here. That man will die. There is nothing more to be done
for him. You must not stay in here."
She gave a short laugh as she followed him. He had to stoop low to pass
through the door-way. Then he turned and held out his hand, for fear she
should trip over the high threshold. She nodded her thanks, but refused
the proffered assistance.
Steinmetz lingered behind to give some last instructions, leaving Paul
and Catrina to walk on down the narrow street alone. The moon was just
rising--a great yellow moon such as only Russia knows--the land of the
silver night.
"How long have you been doing this?" asked Catrina suddenly. She did not
look toward him, but straight in front of her.
"For some years now," he replied simply.
He lingered. He was waiting for Steinmetz, who always rose to such
emergencies, who understood secrets and how to secure them when they
seemed already lost. He did not quite understand what was to be done
with Catrina--how she was to be silenced. She had found him out with
such startling rapidity that he felt disposed to admit her right to
dictate her own terms.
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