“Sergei Antonitch!  Mr. Kovroff!  Have mercy on us!  Where can we get so much from?  I tell you as in the presence of the Creator!  There are ten of us, as you see.  And there are three of you.  And I, Yuzitch, and Gretcka deserve double shares!” added Pacomius Borisovitch persuasively.

“Gretcka deserves nothing at all for catching me by the throat,” decided Sergei Antonitch Kovroff.

“Mr. Kovroff!” began Pacomius again.  “You and I are gentlemen——­”

“What!  What did you say?” Kovroff contemptuously interrupted him.  “You put yourself on my level?  Ha! ha! ha!  No, brother; I am still in the Czar’s service and wear my honor with my uniform!  I, brother, have never stained myself with theft or crime, Heaven be praised.  But what are you?”

“Hm!  And the Golden Band?  Who is its captain?” muttered Gretcka angrily, half to himself.

“Who is its captain?  I am—­I, Lieutenant Sergei Antonitch Kovroff, of the Chernovarski Dragoons!  Do you hear?  I am captain of the Golden Band,” he said proudly and haughtily, scrutinizing the company with his confident gaze.  “And you haven’t yet got as far as the Golden Band, because you are cowards!  Chuproff,” he cried to one of his men, “go and take the mask off Finch, or the poor boy will suffocate, and untie his arms—­and give him a good crack on the head to teach him to keep watch better.”

The “mask” that Kovroff employed on such occasions was nothing but a piece of oilcloth cut the size of a person’s face, and smeared on one side with a thick paste.  Kovroff’s “boys” employed this “instrument” with wonderful dexterity; one of them generally stole up behind the unconscious victim and skillfully slapped the mask in his face; the victim at once became dumb and blind, and panted from lack of breath; at the same time, if necessary, his hands were tied behind him and he was leisurely robbed, or held, as the case might be.

The Golden Band was formed in the middle of the thirties, when the first Nicholas had been about ten years on the throne.  Its first founders were three Polish nobles.  It was never distinguished by the number of its members, but everyone of them could honestly call himself an accomplished knave, never stopping at anything that stood in the way of a “job.”  The present head of the band was Lieutenant Kovroff, who was a thorough-paced rascal, in the full sense of the word.  Daring, brave, self-confident, he also possessed a handsome presence, good manners, and the worldly finish known as education.  Before the members of the Golden Band, and especially before Kovroff, the small rascals stood in fear and trembling.  He had his secret agents everywhere, following every move of the crooks quietly but pertinaciously.  At the moment when some big job was being pulled off, Kovroff suddenly appeared unexpectedly, with some of his “boys,” and demanded a contribution, threatening instantly to inform the police if he did