[2] Kuprin had for a long time been intrigued by the notion of a spy carrying out his lone mission in the heart of an enemy nation, according to biographer Nicholas Luker.
Newspaper reporter Shchavinsky, a shrewd man ("clearly a self-portrait by Kuprin," according to Luker), spots some flaws in Rybnikov's over-stylized veneer (the superfluity of Russian proverbs, occasional 'clever' words, fine silk linen of a kind Russian soldiers never wear, obvious inner strain and occasional glimpses of hatred in his look) and thinks himself to be on the verge of exposing a Japanese spy.
As his admiration for this man's audacity, self-control and artistry grows, the journalist promises the Captain never to give him away to the authorities, but Rybnikov remains unfazed.
Motivated by petty vanity, she boasts to a local thief (and, apparently, a secret police agent) who rests in a nearby room, about a strange visitor she's just had, mentioning the latter pronouncing some Japanese words as he was falling asleep.
The story, set in Saint Petersburg, provided Kuprin with an opportunity to comment on the Russo-Japanese War on the Pacific and the way the Russia led it.
Those in command fail to adapt to the terrain, their men are supplied with shells of the wrong caliber and obliged to fight for days without food, while their officers play cards and take mistresses.