whom he conceived to be immeasurably
his superiors in rank; more or less truculent towards every one else;
and, as a rule, suspicious of every one, high or low, with whom he came
in contact, save his master, and, I really believe, myself.

At an early stage in our acquaintanceship he had abandoned the air of
sulky deference which he had shown when we first met on the car
returning to Dunaburg after the accident, and had treated me more or
less _en camarade_, though in a kind of paternal manner; and yet I doubt
if he was my senior in years. He was a man of considerable education,
too, though he was usually careful to conceal the fact. To this day I do
not know the exact position he held in his master's service. It may
perhaps be described as that of confidential henchman,--a mediaeval
definition, but in Russia one is continually taken back to the Middle
Ages. One thing, at least, was indubitable,--his utter devotion to his
master.

"So, the little man kept his word, and sent for you. That is well. And
you have come promptly; that also is well. It is what you would do," he
said, eying me quite affectionately. "We did not expect to meet
again,--and in England, _hein_?"

"That we didn't!" I rejoined. "Say, Mishka, how did you get clear; and
how did you know where to find me?"

"One thing at a time. First, I have brought you a letter. Read it."

With exasperating deliberation he fetched out a bulky pocket-book, and
extracted therefrom a packet, which proved to be a thick cream envelope,
carefully protected from soilure by an outer wrapping of paper.

Within was a letter written in French, and in a curiously fine, precise
caligraphy. It was dated August 10th, from the Castle of Zostrov, and
it conveyed merely an invitation to visit the writer, and the assurance
that the bearer would give me all necessary information.

"I can offer you very little in the way of entertainment, unless you
happen to be a sportsman, which I think is probable. There is game in
abundance, from bear downwards," was the last sentence.

It was a most discreet communication, signed merely with the initial
"L."

"Read it," I said, handing it to Mishka. He glanced through it, nodded,
and handed it back. He knew its contents before, doubtless; but still I
gathered that he could read French as well as German.

"Well, are you coming?" he asked.

"Why, certainly; but what about the information his Highness mentions?"

He put up his hand with a s