place-names—Forstenau, Goldstadt, Muntau... These were rich German colonies that abounded in the fertile Tavrian steppes. In the time of the tsars the German colonies had lived a life of plenty. But as soon as the call 'All power to the Soviets' was raised at revolutionary headquarters in St. Petersburg, the wealthy German colonists were often awakened at night by their fear of the people's power.
They welcomed the Austrian army with open arms. When army curates in grey uniforms held thanksgiving services in the colony churches and prayed for the Hapsburg dynasty, the elders of the colony wept with joy.
There could be no doubt that the colonists treated Pecheritsa—an Austrian hireling with an excellent knowledge of German—as one of themselves and gladly assisted him in his raids on the Ukrainian villages.
Vukovich decided that a cunning enemy like Pecheritsa would be sure to have contacts in the colonies where he used to stay. It was no secret that the Austrians had planted agents in the colonies when they left. These agents, too, would make useful contacts for Zenon Pecheritsa to fall back on if the danger of exposure forced him to abandon his comfortable position and go underground.
Soon afterwards Vukovich learnt that a certain Shevchuk, an agricultural student from Podolia, had arrived at the state cattle-breeding farm in the colony of Friedensdorf for a course of practical training. Shevchuk had taken full board with Gustav Kunke, an elderly colonist who in the absence of the pastor was running the Lutheran chapel at the colony.
Vukovich had scarcely read this piece of information before another message was brought to him. From the town on the Azov Sea which had now become a second home to us Vukovich was informed that the suspected spy Zenon Pecheritsa had been seen in the town, but had evaded capture.
Though he had tried to foresee every possible action that Pecheritsa might make, Vukovich could not understand why Pecheritsa had shown himself in broad daylight in a crowded holiday resort. It would have been far simpler and less dangerous for him to have spent his time with the colonist he knew, Gustav Kunke. After long consideration, Vukovich arrived at the conclusion that Pecheritsa, on reaching Zhmerinka, had changed on to a train going to Odessa, and from Odessa made his way to the Azov coast by sea.
This assumption, however, turned out to be wrong. Pecheritsa did not go to Odessa and did not reach Tavria by sea.
First of all he took a train to Kharkov, expecting to find help and support there. But Kharkov was no place for him; at that time the Ukrainian nationalists there were being exposed and tried on a big scale. Pecheritsa, who had to stay the night illegally, now with one nationalist friend, now with another, might do his hosts great harm, and they advised him to hide himself somewhere farther away.
Pecheritsa took a train to Mariupol and from there drove over the dusty coastal roads to our town in a hired cab. Perhaps he was the 'profitable passenger' about whom Volodya had told us so unsuspectingly.
Looking at it from his point of view, Pecheritsa was right in going to Mariupol. He was afraid of pursuit and wanted to cover up his tracks.
At a distance it is always difficult to get to the bottom of things. By agreement with his chief, Vukovich, who knew Pecheritsa by sight, took a trip to the district where Pecheritsa had appeared. That was how I had happened to see Vukovich on the day of his arrival, when dressed in his light summer suit and Panama hat he was walking from the station into town. He had not acknowledged me because he had wanted to keep his presence in the town a secret for the time being.
In our town Vukovich received a great surprise. When he arrived at the local security department, he was shown an urgent message from the stationmaster at Verkhny Tokmak. The message said that the
body of a murdered man had been discovered near the station, in a gully where pottery clay was usually quarried. The papers found on the body bore the name of Shevchuk which Pecheritsa had assumed when he fled from our town. . .
'A body?' Sasha exclaimed in awe. 'But that's impossible! Who could have killed him?'
'Do you think I know who it was?' Nikita replied.
Petka was also deceived by the calm tone in which Nikita spoke.
'Vukovich told you everything, Nikita,' he said disappointedly. 'In such amazing detail. Surely he could have finished his story and told you who killed Pecheritsa?'
'Yes, just fancy, not telling me that..' Nikita murmured, scarcely able to conceal a smile. 'By the way, chaps, are. you sure those reapers will be loaded before dark?'
'You can rely on Golovatsky,' I said. 'They'll be up at the station in time for the night train.'
'Then I'll tell you the rest,' said Nikita.
THE BODY IN THE GULLY
The thing Vukovich had been afraid of had happened. When inquiries were made about Pecheritsa in Friedensdorf, one of the chapel-goers heard about it and immediately informed Kunke that the authorities were interested in his guest.
Cursing his luck but not waiting to be captured, Pecheritsa left the colony at dusk and made for the nearest railway station, Verkhny Tokmak. Kunke had supplied him with letters of recommendation to rich Germans living on the outskirts of Taganrog.
. . . Night. Two oil lamps cast their dim light on the little station of Verkhny Tokmak that lay half-hidden amid melon-fields and vineyards in the middle of the steppe. The sleepy stationmaster dozed by the open window waiting for a call from the next station.
Pecheritsa paced up and down the gravel platform. Presently another passenger approached him and asked for a light. Pecheritsa held out his burning cigarette. Having nothing better to do, the two men strolled up and down the platform talking. Little by little Pecheritsa learnt that his new acquaintance was a supply agent from Novocherkassk. His name was Yosif Okolita. He was on his way home after a long trip round the coastal districts bordering on the Azov Sea, and was glad of someone to talk to.
Soon Pecheritsa learnt that Okolita was a Galician like himself. Okolita's parents had taken him out of Galicia to the Volga region when he was still a boy. Fearing Austrian persecution, the people of many villages in the Western Ukraine had left their native land with the retreating Russian troops in those years. In 1916, there were Galicians to be found in the Caucasus, in Tavria, in the Crimea. Some of them travelled even further—to the Penza and Saratov provinces. Okolita's parents had died during the famine in the Volga region and he, now an orphan, had gone to live with his uncle, also a refugee from Galicia, who had settled in Novocherkassk as a tailor.
Son of a schoolmaster from Galicia, Yosif Okolita had not only got used to living with the Russians, he even praised Soviet rule and was intending next autumn to enter the Rostov Teachers' Training Institute.
That night, as he listened to this confiding young fellow who had almost completely lost his Galician
accent, Pecheritsa agreed with him about everything and at the same time thought to himself that he could make very good use of Yosif Okolita's papers and biography.
Who could tell what treatment he would receive from the friends of Gustav Kunke to whom he was going! And besides, to save his own skin, Kunke might disclose Pecheritsa's whereabouts at the very first interrogation.
A bell rang indicating that the train for which they were waiting had left the last station and was on its way to Verkhny Tokmak. Pecheritsa's cold treacherous mind worked quickly. While trying to gain the friendship of his fellow countryman with memories of his native Galicia, Pecheritsa was thinking: 'The body will be discovered with my papers on it, and if they've started searching for me, their first move will be to call up Kunke to identify the murdered man. Kunke's an old hand at the game. To save himself and give me a chance to get away, he's bound to say it's me.'
A short distance from the station a well could be seen among the trees. Saying that he was very thirsty, Pecheritsa asked his companion to work the pump. Suspecting nothing, Okolita willingly agreed. They walked towards the well. As soon as they reached the shadow of a warehouse, Pecheritsa pulled out a hunting knife and stabbed Okolita in the back. Pecheritsa dragged his victim into a near-by gully, searched his pockets and took his papers, money, and cigarette-case. There was no time to lose. After hastily thrusting the false papers bearing the name Shevchuk into the dead man's pocket, Pecheritsa washed his hands in a puddle by the well, and picking up
