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'Not so fast. Listen. But I beg you, gentlemen, to remain silent until I've finished what I have to say. I suppose you all know what happened when the Hetman's suite was presented to Kaiser Wilhelm?'

'We haven't the slightest idea', said Karas with interest.

'Well, I know.'

'Huh! He knows everything', sneered Myshlaevsky.

'Gentlemen! Let him speak.'

'After the Kaiser had graciously spoken to the Hetman and his suite he said: "I shall now leave you, gentlemen; discussion of the future will be conducted with ..." The drapes parted and into the hall came Tsar Nicholas II. "Go back to the Ukraine, gentlemen," he said, "and raise your regiments. When the moment comes I shall place myself in person at the head of the army and lead it on to the heart of Russia-to Moscow." With these words he broke down and wept.'

Shervinsky beamed round at the whole company, tossed down a glass of wine in one gulp and grimaced. Ten eyes stared at him and silence reigned until he had sat down and eaten a slice of ham.

'See here . . . that's all a myth', said Alexei Turbin, frowning painfully. 'I've heard that story before.'

'They were all murdered,' said Myshlaevsky, 'the Tsar, the Tsarina and the heir.'

Shervinsky glanced sideways towards the stove, took a deep breath and declared:

'You're making a mistake if you believe that. The news of His Imperial Majesty's death . . .'

'Is slightly exaggerated', said Myshlaevsky in a drunken attempt at wit.

Elena shivered indignantly and boomed out of the haze at him.

'You should be ashamed at yourself, Viktor - you, an officer.'

Myshlaevsky sank back into the mist.

'. . . was purposely invented by the Bolsheviks', Shervinsky went on. 'The Emperor succeeded in escaping with the aid of his faithful tutor . . . er, sorry, of the Tsarevich's tutor, Monsieur Gilliard and several officers, who conveyed him to er, to Asia. From there they reached Singapore and thence by sea to Europe. Now the Emperor is the guest of Kaiser Wilhelm.'

'But wasn't the Kaiser thrown out too?' Karas enquired.

'They are both in Denmark, with Her Majesty the Empress-Dowager Maria Fyodorovna, who is a Danish princess by birth. If you don't believe me, I may tell you that I was personally told this news by the Hetman himself.'

Nikolka groaned inwardly, his soul racked with doubt and confusion. He wanted to believe it.

'Then if it's true,' he suddenly burst out, jumping to his feet and wiping the sweat from his brow, 'I propose a toast: to the health of His Imperial Majesty!' His glass flashed, the cut-crystal arrows on its side piercing the German white wine. Spurs clinked against chair-legs. Swaying, Myshlaevsky stood up and clutched the table. Elena stood up. Her crescent braid of golden hair had unwound itself and her hair hung down beside her temples.

'I don't care - even if he is dead', she cried, hoarse with misery. 'What does it matter now? I'll drink to him.'

'He can never, never be forgiven for his abdication at Dno Station. Never. But we have learned by bitter experience now, and we know that only the monarchy can save Russia. Therefore if the Tsar is dead - long live the Tsar!' shouted Alexei and raised his glass.

'Hurrah! Hur-rah! Hur-ra-ah!' The threefold cry roared across the dining-room.

Downstairs Vasilisa leaped up in a cold sweat. Suddenly weakened, he gave a piercing shriek and woke up his wife Wanda.

'My God, oh my God . . ' Wanda mumbled, clutching his nightshirt.

'What the hell's going on? At three o'clock in the morning!' the weeping Vasilisa shrieked at the black ceiling. 'This time I really am going to lodge a complaint!'

Wanda groaned. Suddenly they both went rigid. Quite clearly, seeping down through the ceiling, came a thick, greasy wave of sound, dominated by a powerful baritone resonant as a bell:

'. . . God Save His Majesty, Tsar of all Russia . . .'

Vasilisa's heart stopped and even his feet broke out into a cold sweat. Feeling as if his tongue had turned to felt, he burbled:

'No ... it