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Germany..."
"They rooted him out. He fled. I thought he was in England. His wife and children are said to be here."
"That's so."
Karl fell asleep. He dreamed of respectability. He and his father and mother were living in the Houses of
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Parliament. But for some reason they were still sewing coats for Mr. Armfelt.
Kovrin was shaking him. "Wake up, boy. You've got to take me to Pesotsky now."
"How much? " Karl said blearily.
Kovrin smiled bitterly. "You're learning a good lesson, aren't you?" He put another half-guinea on the
table. Karl picked it up. "You people..." Kovrin began, but then he shrugged and turned to the old man.
"Can we get a cab?"
"Not much chance. You'd best walk, anyway, ft will be a degree safer."
Karl pulled his blanket round him and stood up. He was reluctant to leave the warmth of the room but at
the same time he was anxious to show his parents the wealth he had earned for them. His legs were stiff
as he walked from the room and went to stand by the front door while Kovrin exchanged a few last
words with the old man.
Kovrin opened the door. The rain had stopped and the night was very still. It must be very late, thought
Karl.
The door closed behind them. Karl shivered. He was not sure, where they were, but he had a general
idea of the direction of the river. Once there he could find a bridge and he would know where he was.
He hoped Kovrin would not be too angry when he discovered that Karl could not lead him directly to
Pesotsky. They began to walk through the cold, deserted streets, some of which were dimly lit by
gas-lamps. A few cats screeched, a few dogs barked and a few voices raised in anger came from the
mean houses by which they passed. Once or twice a cab clattered into sight and they tried to hail it, but it
was engaged or refused to stop for them.
Karl was surprised at how easily he found London Bridge. Once across the sullen blackness of the
Thames he got his bearings and began to walk more confidently, Kovrin walking silently beside him.
In another half-an-hour they had reached Aldgate, brightened by the flaring lamps of the coffee-stall
which stood open all night, catering to the drunkards reluctant to go home, to the homeless, to the shift
workers and even to some gentlemen who had finished sampling the low-life of Stepney and Whitechapel
and were waiting until they could find a cab. There were a few women there, too - haggard, sickly. In the
glare of the stall, their garishly painted faces reminded Karl of the icons he had seen in the rooms of the
Russians who lived on the same floor as his family. Even their soiled silks and their faded velvets had
some of the quality of the clothes the people wore in the icons. Two of the women jeered at Karl and
Kovrin as they passed through the pool of light and entered the gash of blackness which was the opening
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to the warren of alleys where Karl lived.
Karl was anxious to get home now. He knew he had been away much longer than he had expected. He
did not wish to give his parents concern.
He passed the dark and silent pub, Kovrin stepping cautiously behind him. He came to the door of the
house. His parents might be sleeping now or they might still be working. They shared a room above the
workroom.
Kovrin whispered: "Is this Pesotsky's. You can go now."
"This is where I live. Pesotsky said he would meet me here," Karl told him at last. He felt relieved now
that this confession was off his chest. "He owes me five shillings, you see. He said he would come here
and pay it. Perhaps he is waiting for us inside."
Kovrin cursed and shoved Karl into the unlit doorway. Karl winced in pain as the Russian's hand
squeezed his shoulder high up, near the neck. "It will be all right," he said. "Pesotsky will come. It will be
all right."
Kovrin's grip relaxed and he gave a huge sigh, putting his hand to his nose and rubbing it, hissing a tune
through his teeth as he considered what Karl had told him. Karl pressed the latch of the door and they
entered a narrow passage. The passage was absolutely dark.
"Have you a match?" Karl asked Kovrin.
Kovrin struck a match. Karl found the stump of candle and held it out for Kovrin to light. The Russian
just managed to light the wick before the match burned his fingers. Karl saw that Kovrin had a gun in his
other hand. It was a peculiar gun with an oblong metal box coming down in front of the trigger. Karl had
never seen a picture of a gun like it. He wondered if Kovrin had made it himself.
"Now where?" Kovrin said. He displayed the gun in the light of the guttering candle. "If I think you've led
me into a trap..."
"Pesotsky will come," said Karl. "It is not a trap. He said he would meet me here." Karl pointed up the
uncarpeted stairway. "He may be there. Shall we see?"
Kovrin considered this and then shook his head. "You go. See if he is there and if he is bring him down
to me. I'll wait."
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