What the chairman of the stock-exchange committee made, even his wife did not know.
The idea that he belonged to a secret society gave Kislarsky no rest.
The rumours in the town were the last straw.
After a sleepless night, the chairman of the stock-exchange committee made up his mind that the only thing that could shorten ms term of imprisonment was to make a clean breast of it.
"Listen, Henrietta," he said to his wife, "it's time to transfer the textiles to your brother-in-law."
"Why, will the secret police really come for you?" asked Henrietta Kislarsky.
"They might.
Since there isn't any freedom of trade in the country, I'll have to go to jail some time or other,"
"Shall I prepare your underwear?
What misery for me to have to keep taking you things.
But why don't you become a Soviet employee?
After all, my brother-in-law is a trade-union member and he doesn't do too badly."
Henrietta did not know that fate had promoted her husband to the rank of chairman of the stock-exchange committee.
She was therefore calm.
"I may not come back tonight," said Kislarsky, "in which case bring me some things tomorrow to the jail.
But please don't bring any cream puffs.
What kind of fun is it eating cold tarts?"
"Perhaps you ought to take the primus?"
"Do you think I would be allowed a primus in my cell?
Give me my basket."
Kislarsky had a special prison basket.
Made to order, it was fully adapted for all purposes.
When opened out, it acted as a bed, and when half open it could be used as a table. Moreover, it could be substituted for a cupboard; it had shelves, hooks and drawers.
His wife put some cold supper and fresh underwear into the all-purpose basket.
"You don't need to see me off," said her experienced husband. "If Rubens comes for the money, tell him there isn't any.
Goodbye!
Rubens can wait."
And Kislarsky walked sedately out into the street, carrying the prison basket by the handle.
"Where are you going, citizen Kislarsky? " Polesov hailed him.
He was standing by a telegraph pole and shouting encouragement to a post-office worker who was clambering up towards the insulators, gripping the pole with iron claws.
"I'm going to confess," answered Kislarsky.
"What about?"
"The Sword and Ploughshare."
Victor Mikhailovich was speechless.
Kislarsky sauntered towards the province public prosecutor's office, sticking out his little egg-shaped belly, which was encircled by a wide belt with an outside pocket.
Victor Mikhailovich napped his wings and flew off to see Dyadyev.
"Kislarsky's a stooge," cried Polesov. "He's just gone to squeal on us.
He's even still in sight."
"What?
And with his basket?" said the horrified governor of Stargorod.
"Yes."
Dyadyev kissed his wife, shouted to her that if Rubens came he was not to get any money, and raced out into the street.
Victor Mikhailovich turned a circle, clucked like a hen that had just laid an egg, and rushed to find Nikesha and Vladya.
In the meantime, Kislarsky sauntered slowly along in the direction of the prosecutor's office.
On the way he met Rubens and had a long talk with him.
"And what about the money?" asked Rubens.
"My wife will give it to you."
"And why are you carrying that basket?" Rubens inquired suspiciously.
"I'm going to the steam baths."
"Well, have a good steam!"