"He wouldn't give me any more.
Anyway, I didn't insist; otherwise he won't be able to get home."
And indeed, at that very moment Kislarsky was fleeing in a bus for Sebastopol, and from there went home to Stargorod by third class.
The concessionaires spent the whole day in the hotel sitting naked on the floor and every few moments running under the shower in the bathroom.
But the water there was like warm weak tea.
They could not escape from the heat.
It felt as though Yalta was just about to melt and flow into the sea.
Towards eight that evening the partners struggled into their red-hot shoes, cursing all the chairs in the world, and went to the theatre.
The Marriage was being shown.
Exhausted by the heat, Stepan almost fell over while standing on his hands.
Agafya ran along the wire, holding the parasol marked "I want Podkolesin" in her dripping hands.
All she really wanted at that moment was a drink of ice water.
The audience was thirsty, too.
For this reason and perhaps also because the sight of Stepan gorging a pan of hot fried eggs was revolting, the performance did not go over.
The concessionaires were satisfied as soon as they saw that their chair, together with three new rococo armchairs, was safe.
Hiding in one of the boxes, they patiently waited for the end of the performance; it dragged on interminably.
Then, finally, the audience left and the actors hurried away to try to cool off.
The theatre was empty except for the shareholders in the concession.
Every living thing had hurried out into the street where fresh rain was, at last, falling fast.
"Follow me, Pussy," ordered Ostap. "Just in case, we're provincials who couldn't find the exit."
They made their way on to the stage and, striking matches, though they still collided with the hydraulic press, searched the whole stage.
The smooth operator ran up a staircase into the props room.
"Up here! "he called.
Waving his arms, Vorobyaninov raced upstairs.
"Do you see?" said Ostap, lighting a match.
Through the darkness showed the corner of a Hambs chair and part of the parasol with the word "want".
"There it is!
There is our past, present and future.
Light a match, Pussy, and I'll open it up."
Ostap dug into his pockets for the tools.
"Right," he said, reaching towards the chair. "Another match, marshal."
The match flared up, and then a strange thing happened. The chair gave a jump and suddenly, before the very eyes of the amazed concessionaires, disappeared through the floor.
"Mama!" cried Vorobyaninov, and went flying over to the wall, although he had not the least desire to do so.
The window-panes came out with a crash and the parasol with the words
"I want Podkolesin" flew out of the window, towards the sea.
Ostap lay on the floor, pinned down by sheets of cardboard.
It was fourteen minutes past midnight.
This was the first shock of the great Crimean earthquake of 1927.
A severe earthquake, wreaking untold disaster throughout the peninsula, had plucked the treasure from the hands of the concessionaires.
"Comrade Bender, what's happening?" cried Ippolit Matveyevich in terror.
Ostap was beside himself.
The earthquake had blocked his path.
It was the only time it had happened in his entire, extensive practice.
"What is it?" screech Vorobyaninov.
Screaming, ringing, and trampling feet could be heard from the street.
"We've got to get outside immediately before the wall caves in on us.
Quick!
Give me your hand, softie."
They raced to the door.
To their surprise, the Hambs chair was lying on its back, undamaged, at the exit from the stage to the street.