s overcoat."

"Is that so unusual?" asked Estridge, smiling,"--to sell a house in
town?"

"Yes, it's a miracle in these days. Tell me, Jack, how did you get on
in Russia?"

"Too many Reds. We couldn't do much. They've got it in for everybody
except themselves."

"The socialists?"

"Not the social revolutionists. I'm talking about the Reds."

"Didn't they make the revolution?"

"They did not."

"Well, who are the Reds, and what is it they want?"

"They want to set the world on fire. Then they want to murder and
rob everybody with any education. Then they plan to start things
from the stone age again. They want loot and blood. That's really
all they want. Their object is to annihilate civilisation by
exterminating the civilised. They desire to start all over from
first principles--without possessing any--and turn the murderous
survivors of the human massacre into one vast, international pack of
wolves. And they're beginning to do it in Russia."

"A pleasant programme," remarked Shotwell. "No wonder you beat it,
Jack. I recently met a woman who had just arrived from Russia. They
murdered her best friend--one of the little Grand Duchesses. She
simply can't talk about it."

"That was a beastly business," nodded Estridge. "I happen to know a
little about it."

"Were _you_ in that district?"

"Well, no,--not when that thing happened. But some little time
before the Bolsheviki murdered the Imperial family I had occasion to
escort an American girl to the convent where they were held under
detention.... An exceedingly pretty girl," he added absently. "She
was once companion to one of the murdered Imperial children."

Shotwell glanced up quickly: "Her name, by any chance, doesn't happen
to be Palla Dumont?"

"Why, yes. Do you know her?"

"I sold her that house I was telling you about. Do you know her well,
Jack?"

Estridge smiled. "Yes and no. Perhaps I know her better than she
suspects."

Shotwell laughed, recollecting his friend's inclination for analysing
character and his belief in his ability to do so.

"Same old scientific vivisectionist!" he said. "So you've been
dissecting Palla Dumont, have you?"

"Certainly. She's a type."

"A charming one," added Shotwell.

"Oh, very."

"But you don't know her well--outside of having mentally vivisected
her?"

Estridge laughed: "Palla Dumont and I have been through some rather
hair-raising scrapes together. And I'll admit right now that she
possesses