"They killed Dorimedont Lukin," the spy announced drily; then exclaimed joyfully, "The sixteenth coincidence!"
"You will choke yourself," said Rayisa in an even voice.
There was a powerful rap on the door. Piotr raised his head.
"Is it you, Sasha?"
"Well, open the door," an angry voice answered.
When Yevsey opened the door, a tall man loomed before him, swaying on long legs. The ends of his black mustache reached to the bottom of his chin. The hairs of it must have been stiff and hard as a horse's, for each one stuck out by itself. When he removed his hat, he displayed a bald skull. He flung the hat on the bed, and rubbed his face vigorously with both hands.
"Why are you throwing your wet hat on my bed?" observed Piotr.
"The devil take your bed!" said the guest through his nose.
"Yevsey, hang up the overcoat."
The visitor seated himself, stretching out his long legs and lighting a cigarette.