In a few words he explained the
situation.
"What do you think it means?" asked the prince.
"Heaven only knows!"
"And you will go?"
"Of course," replied Steinmetz. "I love a mystery, especially in
Petersburg. It sounds so like a romance written in the Kennington Road
by a lady who has never been nearer to Russia than Margate."
"I had better go with you," said Paul.
"Gott! No!" exclaimed Steinmetz; "I must go alone. I will take Parks to
drive the sleigh, if I may, though. Parks is a steady man, who loves a
rough-and-tumble. A typical British coachman--the brave Parks!"
"Back in time for dinner?" asked Paul.
"I hope so. I have had such mysterious appointments thrust upon me
before. It is probably a friend who wants a hundred-ruble note until
next Monday."
The cathedral clock struck six as Karl Steinmetz turned out of the
Nevski Prospekt into the large square before the sacred edifice. He soon
found the Kazan Passage--a very nest of toyshops--and, following the
directions given, he mounted a narrow staircase. He knocked at the door
on the left hand at the top of the stairs.
"Come in!" said a voice which caused him to start.
He pushed open the door. The room was a small one, brilliantly lighted
by a paraffin lamp. At the table sat an old man with broad benevolent
face, high forehead, thin hair, and that smile which savors of the milk
of human kindness, and in England suggests Nonconformity.
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