“Any name you like.”
The doctor took a sheet of paper and wrote down the description, looking at Siméon between the phrases and muttering:
“Gray hair. . . . Clean-shaven. . . . Yellow spectacles. . . .”
Then he stopped and asked:
“But how do I know that I shall be paid the money? That’s essential, you know. I want bank-notes, real ones.”
“You shall have them.”
“Where are they?”
“In a hiding-place that can’t be got at.”
“Tell me where.”
“I have no objection. Even if I give you a clue to the general position, you’ll never find it.”