Hearing the sound of lightly-falling footsteps behind him, Boris Ivanovitch ceased his investigations of Sir Paul's kit-bag and cautiously turned his head.
As he did so, he experienced a painful sensation. He felt a little cold ring of steel pressed against his right temple, and from past experience, both objective and subjective, he knew that a Colt cartridge was held, so to speak, in leash within five inches of his head.
For several infinitely long seconds Boris did not entirely revel in the pause that followed.
It was, indeed, with some relief that he heard Paul's distinctly pleasant, though slightly mocking, voice break the accentuated silence and say:
"Don't be alarmed, Ivanovitch. I mean you no harm. I am simply psychologically interested in your movements. The fact that I am att
