Benham had brought letters of
introduction to a variety of people, some had vanished, it seemed.
They were "away," the porters said, and they continued to be
"away,"--it was the formula, he learnt, for arrest; others were
evasive, a few showed themselves extraordinarily anxious to inform
him about things, to explain themselves and things about them
exhaustively. One young student took him to various meetings and
showed him in great detail the scene of the recent murder of the
Grand Duke Sergius. The buildings opposite the old French cannons
were still under repair. "The assassin stood just here. The bomb
fell there, look! right down there towards the gate; that was where
they found his arm. He was torn to fragments. He was scraped up.
He was mixed with the horses. . . ."
Every one who talked spoke of the outbreak of revolution as a matter
of days or at the utmost weeks. And whatever question Benham chose
to ask these talkers were prepared to answer. Except one. "And
after the revolution," he asked, "what then? . . ." Then they waved
their hands, and failed to convey meanings by reassuring gestures.
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