text: CHAPTER II 
  
  Serge went to Moscow. He entered the Teknik. He became a student. He learned geography from Stoj, the professor, astrography from Fudj, the assistant, together with giliodesy, orgastrophy and other native Russian studies. 
  
  All day he worked. His industry was unflagging. His instructors were enthusiastic. "If he goes on like this," they said, "he will some day know something." 
  
  "It is marvellous," said one. "If he continues thus, he will be a professor." 
  
  "He is too young," said Stoj, shaking his head. "He has too much hair." 
  
  "He sees too well," said Fudj. "Let him wait till his eyes are weaker." 
  
  But all day as Serge worked he thought. And his thoughts were of Olga Ileyitch, the girl that he had seen with Kwartz, inspector of police. He wondered why she had killed Popoff, the inspector. He wondered if she was dead. There seemed no justice in it. 
  
  One day he questioned his professor. 
  
  "Is the law just?" he said. "Is it right to kill?" 
  
  But Stoj shook his head, and would not answer. 
  
  "Let us go on with our orgastrophy," he said. And he trembled so that the chalk shook in his hand. 
  
  So Serge questioned no further, but he thought more deeply still. All the way from the Teknik to the house where he lodged he was thinking. As he climbed the stair to his attic room he was still thinking. 
  
  The house in which Serge lived was the house of Madame Vasselitch. It was a tall dark house in a sombre street. There were no trees upon the street and no children played there. And opposite to the house of Madame Vasselitch was a building of stone, with windows barred, that was always silent. In it were no lights, and no one went in or out. 