"Yes. Drive on farther," Maklakov ordered quickly noticing that the cab in front had stopped. "Quick!"
A minute later he jumped from the cab, and thrust some money into the driver's hand.
"Wait," he said to Yevsey, and disappeared in the damp darkness. Yevsey heard his voice. "Excuse me, is this Yakovlev's house?"
Someone answered in a hollow voice:
"This is Pertzev's."
"And which is Yakovlev's?"
"I don't know."
"Pardon me."
Yevsey leaned against the fence, counting Maklakov's tardy steps.
"It's a simple thing—just to follow people," he thought.