This
is a blind street. There's neither quay nor bridge down here. Turn
back."
"I see that now," said the driver over his shoulder. "I'll turn round
at the end where it is wider."
He did turn, but instead of coming up the street again, dashed through
an open archway which led into the courtyard of a large building
fronting the Neva. The moment the carriage was inside, the gates
clanged shut.
"Now, what in the name of Saint Peter do you mean by this?" demanded
the Prince angrily.
The cabman made no reply, but from a door to the right stepped a tall,
uniformed officer, who said:
"Orders, your Highness, orders. The isvoshtchik is not to blame. May I
beg of your Highness to accompany me inside?"
"Who the devil are you?" demanded the annoyed nobleman.
"I am one who is called upon to perform a disagreeable duty, which
your Highness will make much easier by paying attention to my
requests."
"Am I under arrest?"
"I have not said so, Prince Ivan."
"Then I demand that the gates be opened that I may return home, where
more important business awaits me than talking to a stranger who
refuses to reveal his identity."
"I hope you will pardon me, Prince Lermontoff. I act, as the
isvoshtchik has acted, under compulsion. My identity is not in
question. I ask you for the second time to accompany me."
"Then, for the second time I inquire, am I under arrest? If so, show
me your warrant, and then I will go with you, merely protesting that
whoever issued such a warrant has exceeded his authority.
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