A WINGÉD GEORGIAN AND HIS "FLYING BAG"
IT was the morning of December 22nd. After crossing the viaduct which joins Pristan, or the commercial section of Harbin, with Novigorod, or the New Town on the hill, I turned down in the direction of the big open square where the Chinese theatre used to stand. Practically the only buildings along this thoroughfare were small dirty inns, bars, billiard-rooms and cheap restaurants kept by Georgians and Armenians. If I remember correctly, it was called "The Street of the Georgians." It was nine o'clock and the street was empty save for two figures about one hundred paces ahead of me, one a man with a large leather bag and the other a soldier with a rifle slung over his shoulder.
From the door of a dingy-looking restaurant the head of a Georgian momentarily peeped out and quickly withdrew. But a second later the door swung wide and a tall, thin Caucasian walked rapidly down the street until he had caught up with the pair. I saw nothing suspicious, until suddenly the Georgian looked around, stopped for a moment and then, with a swift movement, made a lunge toward the man with the bag. A knife flashed, the Georgian snatched the bag and, in full view of the slow-witted soldier, made off like a stag in the direction of the market. He had already turned into the market-place, before the soldier regained his senses and started in pur-
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