"'Secret,'" repeated Bodlevski.

After a while the barkeeper said, "And did your--friend make an
appointment?"

"Yes, an appointment!" Bodlevski replied, beginning to lose patience.

"Well, take a seat in the inner room," again said the barkeeper slyly.
"Perhaps your friend will come in, or perhaps he is there already."

Bodlevski made his way into a roomy saloon, with five windows with
faded red curtains. The ceiling was black from the smoke of hanging
lamps; little square tables were dotted about the floor; their covers
were coarse and not above reproach on the score of cleanliness. The
air was pungent with the odor of cheap tobacco and cheaper cigars. On
the walls were faded oleographs of generals and archbishops, flyblown
and stained.

Bodlevski, little as he was used to refined surroundings, found his
gorge rising. At some of the little tables furtive, impudent,
tattered, sleek men were drinking.

Presently Yuzitch made his appearance from a low door at the other end
of the room. The meeting of the two friends was cordial, especially on
Bodlevski's side. Presently they were seated at a table, with a flask
of wine between them, and Bodlevski began to explain what he wanted to
his friend.

As soon as he heard what was wanted, Yuzitch took on an air of
importance, knit his brows, hemmed, and hawed.

"I can manage it," he said finally. "Yes, we can manage it. I must see
one of my friends about it. But it's difficult. It will cost money."

Bodlevski immediately assented. Yuzitch at once rose and went over to
a red-nosed individual in undress uniform, who was poring over the
_Police News_.

"Friend Borisovitch," said Yuzitch, holding out his hand to him,
"something doing!"

"Fair or foul?" asked the man with the red nose. "Hang your cheek!"
laughed Yuzitch; "if I say it, of course it's fair." After a whispered
conference, Yuzitch returned to Bodlevski and told him that it was all
right; that the passport for Natasha would be ready by the next
evening. Bodlevski paid him something in advance and went home
triumphantly.

At eleven o'clock the next evening Bodlevski once more entered the
large room at the Cave, now all lit up and full of an animated crowd
of men and women, all with the same furtive, predatory faces.
Bodlevski felt nervous. He had no fears while turning white paper into
banknotes in the seclusion of his own workshop, but he was full of
apprehensions concerning his present guest, because sev