coming across him could immediately deliver him or at least give information about his whereabouts. And so, his mind made up, he told the cabby to drive to the newspaper office, and all the way down to it kept whacking him in the back with his first, saying, “Faster, you villain! faster, you rogue!—“Ugh, mister!” the cabman would say, shaking his head and flicking his reins at the horse whose coat was as long as a lapdog’s. At last the cab drew up to a stop, and Kovalyov, panting, ran into a small reception room where a gray-haired clerk in an old tailcoat and glasses sat at a table and, pen in his teeth, counted newly brought in coppers.

“Who accepts advertisements here?” cried Kovalyov. “Ah, good morning!”

“How do you do,” said the gray-haired clerk, raising his eyes for a moment and lowering them again to look at the neat stacks of money.

“I should like to insert—”

“Excuse me. Will you wait a moment,” said the clerk as he wrote down a figure on a piece of paper with one hand and moved two beads on the abacus with the fingers of his left hand. A liveried footman, whose appearance suggested his sojourn in an aristocratic house, and who stood by the table with a note in his hand, deemed it appropriate to demonstrate his savoir-faire: “Would you believe it, sir, this little mutt is not worth eighty kopecks, that is, I wouldn’t even give eight kopecks for it; but the countess loves it, honestly she does—and so whoever finds it will get one hundred rubles! To put it politely, just as you and I are talking, people’s tastes differ: if you’re a hunter, keep a pointer or a poodle; don’t grudge five hundred, give a thousand, but then let it be a good dog.”

The worthy clerk listened to this with a grave expression while at the same time trying to count the number of letters in the note brought to him. All around stood a great many old women, salespeople and house porters with notes. One of them offered for sale a coachman of sober conduct; another, a little-used carriage brought from Paris in 1814; still others, a nineteen-year-old serf girl experienced in laundering work and suitable for other kinds of work; a sound droshky with one spring missing; a young and fiery dappled-gray horse seventeen years old; turnip and radish seed newly received from London; a summer residence with all the appurtenances—to wit, two stalls for horses and a place for planting a grove of birches or firs; there was also an appeal to those wishing to buy old boot soles, inviting them to appear for final bidding every day between eight and three o’clock. The room in which this entire company was crowded was small, and the air in it was extremely thick; but Collegiate Assessor Kovalyov was not in a position to notice the smell, because he kept his handkerchief pressed to his face and because his nose itself was goodness knows where.

“My dear sir, may I ask you…It is very urgent,” he said at last with impatience.

“Presently, presently! Two rubles forty-three kopecks! Just a moment! One ruble sixty-four kopecks,” recited the gray-haired gentleman, tossing the notes into the faces of the old women and the house porters. “What can I do for you?” he said at last, turning to Kovalyov.

“I wish…,” said Kovalyov. “There has been a swindle or a fraud… I still can’t find out. I just wish to advertise that whoever hands this scoundrel over to me will receive an adequate reward.”

“Allow me to inquire, what is your name?”

“What do you want my name for? I can’t give it to you. I have many acquaintances: Mrs. Chekhtaryova, the wife of a state councillor; Pelageya Grigoryevna Podtochina, the wife of a field officer… What if they suddenly were to find out? Heaven forbid! You can simply write down: a collegiate assessor or, still better, a person holding the rank of major.”

“And was the runaway your household serf?”