The Spy

"My name is Solovyov," he said to him. "Have you heard the news, friends? This evening there will be a banquet of the revolutionists at Chistov's hall. Three of our fellows will go there as butlers, among others you, Piotr."

"I again?" shouted Piotr, and his face became covered with red blotches. His anger made him look older. "The third time in two months that I have had to play lackey! Excuse me! I don't want to."

"Don't address me on the subject," said Solovyov affably.

"What does it mean? Why do they choose just me to be a servant?"

"You look like one," said Sasha, with a smile.

"There will be three," Solovyov repeated sighing. "What do you say to having some beer? All right?"

Piotr opened the door, and shouted in an irritated voice:

"Half a dozen beer," and he went to the window clenching his fists and cracking his knuckles.

"There, you see, Maklakov?" said Sasha. "Among us no one wants to work seriously, with enthusiasm. But the revolutionists are pushing right on – banquets, meetings, a shower of literature, open propaganda in the factories!"

Maklakov maintained silence, and did not look at Sasha. Round Solovyov then took up the word, smiling amiably.

"I caught a girl to-day at the railroad station with books. I had already noticed her in a villa in the summer. 'Well,' thought I, 'amuse yourself, my dear.' To-day, as I was walking in the station with no people to track, I was looking about, and there I see her marching along carrying a handbag. I went up to her, and respectfully proposed that she have a couple of words with me. I noticed she started and paled, and hid the bag behind her back. 'Ah,' thinks I, 'my dear little stupid, you've gotten yourself into it.' Well, I immediately took her to the police station, they opened her luggage, and there was the last issue of 'Emancipation' and a whole lot more of their noxious trash. I took the girl to the Department of Safety. What else was I to do? If you can't get Krushin pike, you must eat blinkers. In the carriage she kept her little face turned away from me. I could see her cheeks burned and there were tears in her eyes. But she kept mum. I asked her, 'Are you comfortable, madam?' Not a word in reply."

Solovyov chuckled softly. Trembling rays of wrinkles covered his face.

"Who is she?" asked Maklakov.

"Dr. Melikhov's daughter."

"Ah," drawled Sasha, "I know him."

"A respectable man. He has the orders of Vladimir and Anna," remarked Solovyov.

"I know him," repeated Sasha. "A charlatan, like all the rest. He tried to cure me."

"God alone can cure you now," said Solovyov in his affable tone. "You are ruining your health quickly."

"Go to the devil!" roared Sasha.

Maklakov asked without turning his gaze from the window:

"Did the girl cry?"

"No. But she didn't exactly rejoice. You know it's always unpleasant to me to take girls, because in the first place I have a daughter myself."

"What are you waiting for, Maklakov?" demanded Sasha testily.

"Until he gets through eating his dinner. I have time."

"Say, you, chew faster!" Sasha bawled at Klimkov.

"Yes, yes, hurry," Piotr observed drily.

As he ate his dinner, Klimkov listened to the talk attentively, and observed the people while he himself remained unnoticed. He noted with satisfaction that all of them except Sasha did not seem bad, not worse or more horrible than others. He was seized with a desire to ingratiate himself with them, make himself useful to them. He put down the knife and fork, and quickly wiped his lips with the soiled napkin.

"I am done."

The door was flung open, and a loose-limbed fellow, his dress in disorder, his body bent and stooping, darted into the room, and hissed:

"Ssh! Ssh!"

He thrust his head into the corridor, listened, then carefully closed the door. "Doesn't it lock? Where is the key?" He looked around, and drew a deep breath. "Thank God!" he exclaimed.

"Eh, you dunce," sneered Sasha. "Well, what is it? Do they want to lick you again?"

The man ran up to him. Panting and wiping the sweat from his face, he began, to mutter in a low voice:

"They did, of course. They wanted to kill me with a hammer. Two followed me from the prison. I was there on business. As I walked out, they were standing at the gate, two of them, and one of them had a hammer in his pocket."

"Maybe it was a revolver," suggested Solovyov stretching his neck.

"A hammer."

"Did you see it?" inquired Sasha sarcastically.

"Ah, don't I know? They agreed to do me up with a hammer, without making any noise. One – "

He adjusted his necktie, buttoned his coat, searched for something in his pockets, and smoothed his curly head, which was covered with sweat. His hands incessantly flashed about his body; they seemed ready to break off any moment. His bony grey face was dank with perspiration, his dark eyes rolled from side to side, now screwed up, now opened wide. Suddenly they became fixed. With unfeigned horror depicted in them they rested upon Yevsey's face, as the man backed to the door.

"Who's that? Who's that?" he demanded hoarsely.

Maklakov went up to him, and took his hand.

"Calm yourself, Yelizar. He's one of our own, a new one."

"Do you know him?"

"Jackass!" came Sasha's exasperated voice. "You ought to see a physician."

"Have you ever been pushed under a trolley car? Not yet? Then wait before you call names."

"Just look, Maklakov," began Sasha, but the man continued in extreme excitement:

"Have you ever been beaten at night by unknown people? Do you understand? Unknown people! There are hundreds of thousands such people unknown to me in the city, hundreds of thousands. They are everywhere, and I am a single one. I am always among them, do you understand?"

Now Solovyov began to speak in his soft, reassuring voice, which was drowned, however, by the new burst of words coming from the shattered man, who carried in himself a whirlwind of fear. Klimkov immediately grew dizzy, overwhelmed by the alarming whisper of his talk, blinded by the motion of his broken body, and the darting of his cowardly hands. He expected that now something huge and black would tear its way through the door, would fill the room, and crush everybody.

"It's time for us to go," said Maklakov, touching his shoulder.

When they were sitting in the cab Yevsey sullenly remarked: