Waving his arms, Nikolka tried to calm the others down and rushed to shut the door and close the portiere.
'I thought Fyodor Nikolaevich had a king', Lariosik murmured faintly.
'How could you think that. . .' Myshlaevsky tried not to shout, which gave his voice a hoarse rasp that made it sound even more terrifying: '. . . when you bought it yourself and handed it to me?
Eh?
That's a hell of a way to play' - Myshlaevsky looked round at them all - 'isn't it?
He said he came here for peace and quiet, didn't he?
Well, trumping your partner's trick is a funny way to look for a peaceful life, I must say!
This is a game of skill, dammit!
You have to use your head, you know, this isn't like writing poetry!'
'Wait.
Perhaps Karas . . .'
'Perhaps what?
Perhaps nothing.
I'm sorry if that's the way they play in Zhitomir, but to me it's sheer murder!
Don't get me wrong . . . Pushkin and Lomonosov wrote poetry, they wouldn't have pulled a trick like that . . .'
'Oh, shut up Viktor.
Why lose your temper with him?
It happens to everybody.'
'I knew it,' mumbled Lariosik, 'I knew I'd be unlucky . . .'
'Ssh. Stop . . .'
There was instant, total silence.
Far away, through many closed doors, a bell trembled in the kitchen.
Pause.
Then came the click of footsteps, doors were opened, and Anyuta came into the room.
Elena passed quickly through the lobby.
Myshlaevsky drummed on the green baize cloth and said:
'A bit early, isn't it?'
'Yes, it is', said Nikolka, who regarded himself as the expert on house-searches.
'Shall I open the door?' Anyuta asked uneasily.
'No, Anna Timofeyevna,' replied Myshlaevsky, 'wait a moment.' He rose groaning from his chair. 'Let me go to the door, don't you bother
'We'll both go', said Karas.
'Right', said Myshlaevsky, suddenly looking exactly as if he were standing in front of a platoon of troops.
'I assume everything is all right in the bedroom . . .
Doctor Turbin has typhus.
Elena, you're his sister . . .
Karas - you pretend to be a doctor . . . no, a medical student.
Go into the bedroom, make it look convincing.
Fiddle about with a hypodermic or something . . .
There are quite a lot of us ... we should be all right . . .'
The bell rang again impatiently, Anyuta gave a start; they all looked anxious.
'No hurry', said Myshlaevsky as he took a small toy-like black revolver from his hip-pocket.
'That's too risky', said Shervinsky, frowning. 'I'm surprised at you.
You of all people ought to be more careful.
D'you mean to say you walked through the streets carrying it?'
'Don't worry,' Myshlaevsky replied calmly and politely, 'we'll take care of it.
Take it, Nikolka, and if necessary throw it out of a window or out of the back door.
If it's Petlyura's men at the door, I'll cough. Then throw it out - only throw it so that we can find it again afterwards.
I'm fond of this little thing, it went with me all the way to Warsaw . . .
Everyone ready?'
'Ready', said Nikolka grimly and proudly as he took the revolver.