"I didn't see those fellows very well, you remember, so I couldn't say."
"That's so, but I'll bet that's who they were."
"What do you think they're after, Tom?"
"One of two things. They either want to get our Russian friend into their clutches again, or they're after me—to try to stop me from going to Siberia."
"Do you think they'd go to such length as that?"
"I'm almost sure they would. Those Russian police are wrong, of course, but they think Mr, Petrofsky is an Anarchist or something like that, and they think they're justified in doing anything to get him back to the Siberian mines. And once the Russian government sets out to do a thing it generally does it—I'll give 'em credit for that."
"But how do you suppose they know you're going to Russia?"
"Say, those fellows have ways of getting information you and I would never dream of. Why, didn't you read the other day how some fellow who was supposed to be one of the worst Anarchists ever, high up in making bombs, plotting, and all that sort of thing—turned out to be a police spy? They get their information that way. I shouldn't be surprised but what some of
