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 LOCKSMITH, PARROT, FORTUNE-TELLER 63

my workshop, and I was just walking along a corridor when suddenly two men came towards me. I looked at them. There was something familiar about one of them. He looked like Vorobianinov. “ Can you tell me what Government office used to be in this build­ ing ? ” he asked me. I told him there had been a girls’ high school at first and then the House Department. “ What do you want to know for ? ” I asked, but he thanked me and walked on without answering. And then I realized that it actually was Vorobianinov, but he had shaved off his moustache. Now where could he have come from ? The man with him was a finelooking fellow, obviously an ex-ofiicer. And then I thought to myself- ’ At that moment the locksmith noticed something unpleasant, and without finishing what he was saying he seized his pail and hid behind a dustbin. The night porter from house Number 5 had come up to the well and was looking round the yard, but as he could not see Viktor Mikhaylovich his face fell. ‘ I suppose he’s out again,’ he said, looking at the fortune-teller. The night porter turned on his heel and went out of the yard. As soon as he had gone Viktor Mikhaylovich came out from behind the dustbin, and the fortune­ teller invited him to come into her flat for a minute. She offered the locksmith a plate of stewed fruit, and, walking up and down, she asked him questions about Hippolyte. ‘ But I tell you it was Vorobianinov ! ’ shouted the locksmith. ‘ I know him perfectly well. It was Hippolyte Vorobianinov, only without his moustache ! ’ ‘ For heaven’s sake, don’t shout so ! Why do you think he’s come back ? ’ The locksmith smiled ironically. ‘ Why do I think he’s come back ? Well, he’s not come back to sign agreements with the Bolsheviks.’
 * How should I know ? ’ she snapped.