"
"Yes, I think that can be arranged," said Kazanovitch. "I will go
to him, will make him think I have misunderstood him, that I have
not lost faith in him, provided he can explain all. He will come.
Trust me."
"Very well, then. To-night at eight I shall be there," promised
Kennedy, as the novelist and he shook hands.
"What do you think of the Revalenko story?" I asked of Craig, as we
started uptown again.
"Anything is possible in this case," he answered sententiously.
"Well," I exclaimed, "this all is truly Russian. For intrigue they
are certainly the leaders of the world to-day. There is only one
person that I have any real confidence in, and that is old Saratovsky
himself. Somebody is playing traitor, Craig. Who is it?"
"That is what science will tell us to-night," was his brief reply.
There was no getting anything out of Craig until he was absolutely
sure that his proofs had piled up irresistibly.
Promptly at eight we met at the old house on Fifth Avenue. Kharkoff's
wounds had proved less severe than had at first been suspected, and,
having recovered from the shock, he insisted on being transferred
from the hospital in a private ambulance so that he could be near
his friends. Saratovsky, in spite of his high fever, ordered that
the door to his room be left open and his bed moved so that he
could hear and see what passed in the room down the hall.
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