"I have some business with you," said Petunikoff.
"Delighted. Please come this way to my private room."
They went in and sat down, the guest on the couch and his host on
the chair opposite to him. In one corner a lamp was burning
before a gigantic icon, and on the wall at the other side there
were several oil lamps. They were well kept and shone as if they
were new. The room, which contained a number of boxes and a
variety of furniture, smelt of tobacco, sour cabbage, and olive
oil. Petunikoff looked around him and made a face. Vaviloff
looked at the icon, and then they looked simultaneously at one
another, and both seemed to be favourably impressed. Petunikoff
liked Vaviloff's frankly thievish eyes, and Vaviloff was pleased
with the open, cold, determined face of Petunikoff, with its
large cheeks and white teeth.
"Of course you already know me, and I presume you guess what I am
going to say to you," began Petunikoff.
"About the lawsuit? . . . I presume?" remarked the ex-sergeant,
respectfully.
"Exactly! I am glad to see that you are not beating about the
bush, but going straight to the point like a business man," said
Petunikoff, encouragingly.
Pages:
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103