Страница 12 из 18
Chapter IX
"Dear Sir Yakov Petrovitch! "Either you or I, but both together is out of the question! And so I must inform you that your strange, absurd, and at the same time impossible desire to appear to be my twin and to give yourself out as such serves no other purpose than to bring about your complete disgrace and discomfiture. And so I beg you, for the sake of your own advantage, to step aside and make way for really honourable men of loyal aims. In the opposite case I am ready to determine upon extreme measures. I lay down my pen and await . . . However, I remain ready to oblige or to meet you with pistols. "Y. Golyadkin."
Our hero rubbed his hands energetically when he had finished the letter. Then, pulling on his greatcoat and putting on his hat, he unlocked his flat with a spare key and set off for the department. He reached the office but could not make up his mind to go in - it was by now too late. It was half-past two by Mr. Golyadkin's watch. All at once a circumstance of apparently little importance settled some doubts in Mr. Golyadkin's mind: a flushed and breathless figure suddenly made its appearance from behind the screen of the department building and with a stealthy movement like a rat he darted up the steps and into the entry. It was a copying clerk called Ostafyev, a man Mr. Golyadkin knew very well, who was rather useful and ready to do anything for a trifle. Knowing Ostafyev's weak spot and surmising that after his brief, unavoidable absence he would probably be greedier than ever for tips, our hero made up his mind not to be sparing of them, and immediately darted up the steps, and then into the entry after him, called to him and, with a mysterious are, drew him aside into a convenient corner, behind a huge iron stove. And having led him there, our hero began questioning him. "Well, my dear fellow, how are things going in there . . . you understand me? . . ." "Yes, your honour, I wish you good health, your honour." "All right, my good man, all right; but I'll reward you, my good fellow. Well, you see, how are things?" "What is your honour asking?" At this point Ostafyev held his hand as though by accident before his open mouth. "You see, my dear fellow, this is how it is . . . but don't you imagine . . . Come, is Andrey Filippovitch here?. . ." "Yes, he is here." "And are the clerks here?" "Yes, sir, they are here as usual." "And his Excellency too?" "And his Excellency too." Here the man held his hand before his mouth again, and looked rather curiously and strangely at Mr. Golyadkin, so at least our hero fancied. "And there's nothing special there, my good man?" "No, sir, certainly not, sir." "So there's nothing concerning me, my friend. Is there nothing going on there - that is, nothing more than . . . eh? nothing more, you understand, my friend?" "No, sir, I've heard nothing so far, sir." Again the man put his hand before his mouth and again looked rather strangely at Mr. Golyadkin. The fact was, Mr. Golyadkin was trying to read Ostafyev's countenance, trying to discover whether there was not something hidden in it. And, in fact, he did look as though he were hiding something: Ostafyev seemed to grow colder and more churlish, and did not enter into Mr. Golyadkin's interests with the same sympathy as at the begi