An instant later, his shock head appeared at the window through
which the Cossack had escaped.
"Come along!" he shouted to the Count, in his own language. "I have locked
the street door and they cannot get out. Jump through the window."
"Go, my friend," answered the Count, calmly. "I will not run away."
"You had much better come," insisted Dumnoff, apparently indifferent to
the noise of the crowd as it tried to force open the closed door, and
shaking off two or three men who had made their way out into the street
with him. He held the key in one hand, and his assailants had small chance
of getting it away.
"You will not come?" he repeated. But the Count shook his head, within the
room.
"Then I will not run away either," said Dumnoff, the good side of his dull
nature showing itself at last. With the utmost indifference to
consequences he returned to the door, unlocked it, and strode through the
midst of the people, who made way readily enough before him, after their
late painful experience of his manner of making way for himself.
"I have changed my mind," he said, in German, quietly placing himself
between his late keepers, who were alternately rubbing themselves and
brushing the dust off each other's clothes after their tumble.
In the astonished silence which succeeded Dumnoff's return, the Count's
voice was heard again.
"I am both anxious and ready to explain everything, if you will do me the
civility to listen," he said. "The doll is the property of Herr
Fischelowitz, the well-known tobacconist--"
"We shall see presently what you have to say for yourself," interrupted
the policeman.
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