that is so! If one only looks at the thing from that point of view, all of this is bound to be so, and the scoundrel’s appearance on the scene is fully explained: it’s all part and parcel of the same thing. They’ve kept him in reserve a long while, they had him in readiness for the evil day. This is how it has all turned out! This is what it has come to. But there, never mind. No time has been lost so far.”
At this point Mr. Golyadkin recollected with horror that it was past one in the afternoon. “What if they have succeeded by now? …” He uttered a moan… . “But, no, they are lying, they’ve not had time -we shall see… .”
He dressed after a fashion, seized paper and a pen, and scribbled the following missive -
“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 beginning of the conversation. “He is to some extent justified,” thought Mr. Golyadkin. “After all, what am I to him? Perhaps he has already been bribed by the other side, and that’s why he has just been absent. but, here, I’ll try him …” Mr. Golyadkin realized that the moment for kopecks had arrived.
“Here, my dear fellow …”
“I’m feelingly grateful for your honour’s kindness.”
“I’ll give you more than that.”
“Yes, your honour.”
“I’ll give you some more directly, and when the business is over I’ll give you as much again. Do you understand?”
The clerk did not speak. He stood at attention and stared fixedly at Mr. Golyadkin.
“Come, tell me now: have you heard nothing about me? …”
“I think, so far, I have not … so to say … nothing so far.” Ostafyev, like Mr. Golyadkin, spoke deliberately and preserved a mysterious air, moving his eyebrows a little, looking at the ground, trying to fall into the suitable tone, and, in fact, doing his very utmost to earn what had been promised him, for what he had received already he reckoned as already earned.
“And you know nothing?”
“So far, nothing, sir.”
“Listen … you know … maybe you will know …”
“Later on, of course, maybe I shall know.”
“It’s a poor look out,” thought our hero. “Listen: here’s something more, my dear fellow.”
“I am truly grateful to your honour.”
“Was Vahramyev here yesterday? …”
“Yes, sir.”
“And … somebody else? … Was he? … Try and remember, brother.”
The man ransacked his memory for a moment, and could think of nothing appropriate.
“No, sir, there wasn’t anybody else.”
“H’m!” a silence followed.
“Listen, brother, here’s some more; tell me all, every detail.”
“Yes, sir,” Ostafyev had by now become as soft as silk; which was just what Mr. Golyadkin needed.
“Explain to me now, my good man, what footing is he on?”
“All right, sir, a good one, sir,” answered the man, gazing open-eyed at Mr. Golyadkin.
“How do you mean, all right?”
“Well, it’s just like that, sir.” Here Ostafyev twitched his eyebrows significantly. But he was utterly nonplussed and didn’t know what more to say.
“It’s
