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red
hair . . . one wall eye, a fang protruding from his mouth ... He appeared to
be left-handed, as he fetched the house manager a shattering clout on his
other ear. The sky rumbled again in reply and rain started to drench the
wooden roof.
'Look here, corn . . .' whispered Varenukha, staggering. It at once
occurred to him that the word ' comrades ' hardly fitted these bandits who
went around assaulting people in public conveniences, so he groaned instead
'. . . citizens . . . ', realised that they didn't even deserve to be called
that and got a third fearful punch. This time he could not see who had hit
him, as blood was spurting from his nose and down his shirt.
'What have you got in your briefcase, louse? ' shouted the cat-figure.
' Telegrams? Weren't you warned by telephone not to take them anywhere? I'm
asking you--weren't you warned?'
'Yes ... I was . . . warned,' panted Varenukha.
'And you still went? Gimme the briefcase, you skunk! ' said the other
creature in the same nasal voice that had come through the telephone, and
wrenched the briefcase out of Varenukha's trembling hands.
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