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thoughtfully and asked Nikanor Ivanovich politely : * Is this your little
parcel? '
'No! ' replied Nikanor Ivanovich in a terrified voice. ' It's been
planted on me!'
'Could be,' agreed the first man, adding as quietly as before :
'Still, you'd better give up the rest.'
'There isn't any more! I swear to God I've never even seen any! '
screamed the chairman in desperation. He rushed to a chest, pulled out a
drawer and out of that his briefcase, shouting distractedly as he did so :
'It's all in here . . . the contract . . . that interpreter must have
planted them on me . . . Koroviev, the man in the pince-nez!'
He opened the briefcase, looked inside, thrust his hand in, turned blue
in the face and dropped his briefcase into the borsch. There was nothing in
it--no letter from Stepan, no contract, no passport, no money and no
complimentary tickets. Nothing, in short, except a folding ruler.
* Comrades!' screamed the chairman frantically. ' Arrest them! The
forces of evil are in this house!'
Something odd happened to Pelagea Antonovna at this point. Wringing her
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