Suvaroff began to feel irritated. "What are you talking about? Have you lost your senses? If he is waiting for you, why do you not go out and send him away? Go out and pay him what you owe him."
The Italian rose and began to shudder. "I owe him nothing. He is waiting for me—to kill me!"
"Nonsense!" cried Suvaroff. "What is his reason?"
"He is waiting to kill me because I laughed at him."
"That is ridiculous!" said Suvaroff.
"Nevertheless, it is true," replied the Italian. "He kills every one who laughs at him. Three days ago I laughed at him. But I ran away. He followed me. He does not know where I lodge, but he has wit enough to understand that if he waits long enough he will find me out. In Heaven's name, my friend, can you not help me? See, I am a simple soul. I cannot think quickly. I have prayed to the Virgin, but it is no use. Tell me, what can I do to escape?"
"Why do you not see a policeman?"
The Italian let his hands fall hopelessly. "A policeman? What good would that do? Even you do not believe me!"
A chill seized Suvaroff. He began to shake, and in the next instant a fever burned his cheeks. His head was full of little darting pains. He turned away from the Italian, impatiently. "You must be a pretty sort of man to let a little hunchback frighten you! Good night."
And with that Suvaroff went out, slamming the door.