[Exit valet.]
In the meantime my friend believes Naples a safe place for me.
[Valet returns with his coat, hat, and gloves.]
And so, auf weidersehn.
[Dismisses the valet with a gesture.]
PIKE [going to him and shaking hands heartily]. Good-bye, Doc, and God
bless you!
VASILI. To our next meeting.
[Exit briskly through the upper doors. As they close behind him,
IVANOFF'S manner changes. He goes rapidly to a table, picks up the
cigarettes, which are in a large silver open box, and touches the bottle
of vodka significantly.]
IVANOFF. I thought so--Russian!
PIKE. What!
IVANOFF. That man, your friend, who calls himself Groellerhagen, is not a
German--he is a Russian--not only that, he is a Russian noble. I see it
in a hundred ways that you cannot.
PIKE. Whatever he is, he helped us this afternoon. I'd trust him to the
bone.
IVANOFF. I have felt it inevitable that I should go back to Siberia. A
thousand times have I felt it since I entered these rooms.
[He goes down toward the window.]
PIKE. I know you feel mighty bad, but perhaps--perhaps--
IVANOFF. There is no perhaps for me. There was never any perhaps after I
met Helene.
PIKE [scratching his head]. Helene!
IVANOFF. Helene was my wife, she who sent me to Siberia, she and my
dear, accursed English friend.
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