its gaping walls. The sun pours
its rays on them as generously as it does on the miserable hovels of
the main street.

"Devil take the thing!" exclaimed the Captain, thoughtfully measuring
the walls of the factory with his eyes. "If only ..."

Trembling with excitement at the thought that had just entered his
mind, Aristid Kuvalda jumped up and ran to Vaviloff's eating-house,
muttering to himself all the time.

Vaviloff met him at the bar, and gave him a friendly welcome.

"I wish your honour good health!" He was of middle height, and had a
bald head, grey hair, and straight moustaches like tooth-brushes.
Upright and neat in his clean jacket, he showed by every movement that
he was an old soldier.

"Egorka, show me the lease and plan of your house," demanded Kuvalda,
impatiently.

"I have shown it you before." Vaviloff looked up suspiciously and
closely scanned the Captain's face.

"Show it me!" shouted the Captain, striking the bar with his fist and
sitting down on a stool close by.

"But why?" asked Vaviloff, knowing that it was better to keep his wits
about him when Kuvalda got excited.

"You fool! Bring it at once."

Vaviloff rubbed his forehead, and turned his eyes to the ceiling in a
tired way.

"Where are those papers of yours?"

There was no answer to this on the ceiling, so the old sergeant looked
down at the floor, and began drumming with his fingers on the bar in a
worried and thoughtful manner.

"It's no good your making wry faces!" shouted the Captain, for he had
no great affection for him, thinking that a former soldier should
rather have become a thief than an eating-house keeper.

"Oh! Yes! Aristid Fomich, I remember now. They were left at the High
Court of Justice at the time when I came into possession."

"Get along, Egorka! It is to your own interest to show me the plan,
the title-deeds, and everything you have immediately. You will
probably clear at least a hundred roubles over this, do you understand?"

Vaviloff did not understand at all; but the Captain spoke in such a
serious and convincing tone that the sergeant's eyes burned with
curiosity, and, telling him that he would see if the papers were in his
desk, he went through the door behind the bar. Two minutes later he
returned with the papers in his hand, and an expression of extreme
astonishment on his face.

"Here they are; the deeds about the damned houses!"

"Ah! You ... vagabond! And you pretend to have be