By his voice and smile Klimkov understood that the spy was making sport of him. He felt offended.
"Maybe I am sorry."
"Yes?"
"But if I have to serve honestly and faithfully—"
"Of course. I'm not disputing with you, you queer fellow."
Then Maklakov lighted a cigarette, and asked Yevsey:
"Why are you sitting here?"
"Oh, for no reason. I have nothing to do."
Maklakov slapped him on his knee, and suddenly said:
"You're a poor unfortunate, brother, little man."