"Well?" he snapped, looking up at me as I was placed before him. "Your
name is Gordon Gregg, English, from Stockholm. No passport, and decline
to leave even though warned--eh?"
"I have a passport," I said firmly, producing it.
He looked at it, and pointing with his finger, said: "It has no date,
and is therefore worthless."
"The fault is not mine, but that of a Russian official. If you wish it
to be dated, you may send it to your Consulate-General in London."
"I shall not," he cried, glaring at me angrily. "And for your insult to
the law, I shall commit you to prison for one month. Perhaps you will
then learn Russian manners."
"Oh! so you will commit an Englishman to prison for a month, without
trial--eh? That's very interesting! Perhaps if you attempt such a thing
as that they may have something to say about it in Petersburg."
"You defy me!"
"Not in the least. I have presented my passport and demand common
courtesy."
"Your passport is worthless, I tell you!" he cried. "There, that's how
much it is worth to me!" And snatching it up he tore it in half and
tossed the pieces of blue paper in my face.
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