"You know. He lay in the hospital there. You saw him."
"Yes, yes, yes. Of course I saw him."
"Why didn't you say there that you knew him?" Yevsey demanded sternly.
The old spy reared his bald head, and exclaimed in astonishment with a sarcastic expression:
"W-w-w-hat?"
Yevsey repeated the question, but this time in a milder tone.
"That's not your business, my dear fellow. I want you to know that. But I'm sorry for your stupidity, so I'll tell you, we have no need for fools, we don't know them, we don't comprehend them, we don't recognize them. You are to understand that, now and forever, for all your life. Remember what I say, and tie your tongue with a string."
The little eyes of Solovyov sparkled cold as two silver coins, his voice bespoke evil and cruelty. He shook his short thick fingers at Yevsey. His greedy bluish lips were drawn sullenly. But he was not horrible.
"It's all the same," thought Yevsey. "They are all one gang—they all ought to be—"
He darted to his overcoat, snatched the revolver from the pocket, aimed at Solovyov, and shouted dully: