There is an awkward silence. Some one knocks on the door. A thin, feminine voice speaks on the other side of the door:
“Housekeeper, dear, take the money and be kind enough to give me the stamps. Pete’s gone.”
The inspector gets up and adjusts his sabre.
“Well, it’s time I was going to work. Best regards, Anna Markovna. Best wishes, Isaiah Savvich.”
“Perhaps you’ll have one more little glass for a stirrup cup?” the nearly blind Isaiah Savvich thrusts himself over the table.
“Tha-ank you. I can’t. Full to the gills. Honoured, I’m sure! ...”
“Thanks for your company. Drop in some time.”
“Always glad to be your guest, sir. Au revoir!”
But in the doorway he stops for a minute and says significantly:
“But still, my advice to you is—you’d better pass this girl on to some place or other in good time. Of course, it’s your affair, but as a good friend of yours I give you warning.”