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So startled was Geoffrey that he felt the moisture spurt from every pore like a rash. But fully conscious of his danger, he suppressed the cry that rose to his lips, nor did he move as he felt a thick cloak over his head. He slipped his revolver into his hand, and fumbled it against the cold cheek of his antagonist.
But the antagonist took it coolly. A pair of lips were close to Geoffrey's ear and the smallest, faintest voice spelt out the letters, T-c-h-i-g-o-r-s-k-y. Geoffrey put the weapon back in his pocket. At the same time he felt about till his fingers touched the hand of his companion. No doubt about it. The other was Tchigorsky beyond question.