"Are there any complaints against this man, Sophia?" he repeated.
"None that I know. He is an aristocrat and a friend of the Romanoffs."
"Huh!" The grunt sounded like a note of disappointment. "What do you want?"
"The stranger wishes permission to remain in Moscow until he can find a train to the north," said Malinkoff.
Boolba made no reply. He sat there, his elbows on the table, his fingers twining and untwining the thick red hair of his beard.
"Where does he sleep to-night?" he asked after awhile.
"He sleeps in my stable, near the Vassalli Prospekt," said Malinkoff.
Boolba turned to the woman, who was lighting a new cigarette from the end of the old one, and said something in a low, growling tone.
"Do as you wish, my little pigeon," she said audibly.
Again his hand went to his beard and his big mouth opened in meditation. Then he said curtly:
"Sit down."
There was no place to sit, and the two men fell back amongst the soldiers.
Again the two at the table consulted, and then Sophia Kensky called a name. The man in a
