"Yes, sir. Mr. Chizhov was here."
"Drunk?"
"A little. He wanted to come in."
"Make tea, Yevsey," said the spy after the servant had left the room. "Get yourself a glass and drink some tea. What salary did you get in the police department?"
"Nine rubles a month."
"You have no money now?"
"No."
"You've got to have some, and you must order a suit for yourself. One suit won't do. You must notice everybody, but nobody must notice you."
He again mumbled calculations of the cards. Yevsey, while noiselessly serving the tea, tried to straighten out the strange impressions of the day. But he was not successful. He felt sick. He was chilled through and through, and his hands shook. He wanted to stretch himself out in a corner, close his eyes, and lie motionless for a long time. Words and phrases repeated themselves disconnectedly in his head.
"What are you guilty of, then?" Filip Filippovich asked in a thin voice.