BLOODHOUNDS The table d'hote of the Hotel de Moscou at Tver had just begun.

The soup had been removed; the diners were engaged in igniting their first cigarette at the candles placed between each pair of them for that purpose.

By nature the modern Russian is a dignified and somewhat reserved gentleman.

By circumstance he has been schooled into a state of guarded unsociability.

If there is a seat at a public table conveniently removed from those occupied by earlier arrivals the new-comer invariably takes it.