ts five-thousand-mile-run,
and I stepped off it to the platform, carrying my valise in my hand.

The platform was literally swarming with spies, as it was easy for a
man of my experience to detect. I walked calmly through them to the
cab-stand, and hailed a droshky.

The driver, before starting off, exchanged a signal almost openly
with a stout man in plain clothes, who dogged me from the railway
carriage.

Presently I sighted the steamer, alongside the principal wharf, with
the smoke pouring out of its funnel, all ready to start.

The cabman whipped his horse and drove straight past the steamer.

"Where are you going?" I shouted.

"To the Custom House first; it is the regulation," was the answer.

Taking out my long neglected case, I placed a cigarette between my
lips, and asked the driver for some matches.

He passed me a wooden box. I struck several, but each went out in the
high wind before igniting the tobacco.

I was making another attempt as the droshky drew up outside the steps
of the Custom House. I dismounted negligently, while one of the
officials came and clutched my luggage. Then I walked slowly up the
steps, pausing in the porch to strike a fresh match.

A porter snatched the box from my hand. "Smoking is forbidden," he
said roughly. "Wait till you are out again."

I shrugged my shoulders, pinched the burning end of the cigarette,
which I retained in my mouth, and sauntered with an air of supreme
indifference after the man who was carrying my bag.

He led me into a room in which a severe-looking official was seated
at a desk.

"Your papers," he demanded.

I produced the papers with which I had been furnished by Rostoy.

The customs official scrutinized them, evidently in the hope of
discovering some flaw.

"On what business are you going to Tokio?" he demanded.

I smiled.

"Since when have the police of the Third Section been obliged to
render an account of themselves to the officers of the customs?" I
asked defiantly.

"How do I know that you are not a Japanese spy?"

I laughed heartily.

"You must be mad. How do I know that you are not a Nihilist?" I
retorted.

The customs officer turned pale. I saw that my chance shot had gone
home. The Russian imperial services are honeycombed by revolutionary
intrigues.

"Well, I shall detain your luggage for examination," he declared.

This time I pretended the greatest agitation. Of course, the more I
resisted the more he insisted. I