CHAPTER XIII

CHERRY BIM MAKES A STATEMENT

Malcolm was awakened in the night by a scream. He sprang from the bench, his face bathed in perspiration.

"What was that?" he asked hoa.r.s.ely.

Malinkoff was sitting on the edge of the bench rubbing his eyes.

"I heard something," he yawned.

Only Cheery Bim had not moved. He was lying on his back with his knees up and his hands behind his head, wide awake.

"What was it, Cherry?" asked Malcolm.

Slowly the little man rose and stretched himself.

"I wonder what the time is," he said evasively.

Malcolm looked at his watch.

"Half-past three," he replied.

"He's asleep anyway," said Cherry, nodding towards the rec.u.mbent figure of the priest. "He might have been useful--but I forgot the old man's a Jew."

"Do you mean----?" said Malinkoff and glanced at the gate.

Cherry nodded again.

"I never thought they'd carry it out according to programme," he said, "but they did. I heard 'em come in."

There was the thud of a door closing.

"That's the door of his cell. They have taken him out, I guess. The last fellow they killed in there they hung on a hook--just put a rope round his neck and pushed him in a bag. He was a long time dying," he said reflectively, and Malcolm saw that the little man's lower lip was trembling in spite of his calm, matter-of-fact tone.

Malinkoff had walked across to the priest, and had shaken him awake.

"Father," he said, "a man has just died in the next cell. Would you not read the Office of the Dead?"

The priest rose with an ill grace.

"Why should I be awakened from my sleep?" he complained. "Who is this man?"

"I do not know his name," said Malinkoff, "but he is a Jew----"

"A Jew!"

The priest spat on the ground contemptuously.

"What, I speak an office for a Jew?" he demanded, wrath in his face.

"For a man, for a human fellow creature," said Malinkoff sternly, but the priest had gone back to his hard couch, nor would he leave it, and Malinkoff, with a shrug of his shoulders, went back to his bed.

"That is Russia--eternal Russia," he said, and he spoke without bitterness. "Neither Czar nor Soviet will alter it."

They did not go to sleep again. Something was speaking to them from the next cell, something that whimpered and raised its hands in appeal, and they welcomed the daylight, but not the diversion which daylight brought. Again the door banged open, and this time a file of soldiers stood in the entrance.

"Boris Michaelovitch," said the dark figure in the entrance, "it is the hour!"

The priest rose slowly. His face was grey, the hands clasped together before him shook; nevertheless, he walked firmly to the door.

Before the soldiers had closed around him he turned and raised his hand in blessing, and Malinkoff fell upon his knees.

Again the door slammed and the bolts shot home, and they waited in silence.

There was no sound for ten minutes, then came a crash of musketry, so unexpected and so loud that it almost deafened them. A second volley followed, and after an interval a third, and then silence. Cherry Bim wiped his forehead.

"Three this morning," he said unsteadily. "Anyway, it's better than hanging."

There was a long pause, and then:

"Say," he said, "I'm sorry I said I was glad that guy was going."

Malcolm understood.

The day brought Irene at the same hour as on the previous afternoon. She looked around for the priest, and apparently understood, for she made no reference to the missing man.

"If you can get away from here," she said, "go to Preopojenski. That is a village a few versts from here. I tell you this, but----"

She did not complete her sentence, but Malcolm could guess from the hopeless despair in her voice.

"Excuse me, miss," interrupted Cherry Bim. "Ain't there any way of getting a gun for a man? Any old kind of gun," he said urgently; "Colt, Smith-Wesson, Browning, Mauser--I can handle 'em all--but Colt preferred."

She shook her head sadly.

"It is impossible," she said. "I am searched every time I come in through the lodge."

"In a pie," urged Cherry. "I've read in stories how you can get these things in a pie. Couldn't you make----"

"It's quite impossible," she said. "Even bread is cut into four pieces.

That is done in the lodge."

Cherry Bim cast envious eyes on the tall guard at the doorway. He had a long revolver.

"I'll bet," said Cherry bitterly, "he don't know any more about a gun than a school-marm. Why, he couldn't hit a house unless he was inside of it."