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"Oh, damn... these are the items of intelligence. An accident on

a staircase, spontaneous combustion of a shopkeeper from alcohol,

a fire in Peski... a fire in the Petersburg quarter... another

fire in the Petersburg quarter... and another fire in the

Petersburg quarter.... Ah, here it is!" He found at last what he

was seeking and began to read it. The lines danced before his

eyes, but he read it all and began eagerly seeking later

additions in the following numbers. His hands shook with nervous

impatience as he turned the sheets. Suddenly someone sat down

beside him at his table. He looked up, it was the head clerk

Zametov, looking just the same, with the rings on his fingers and

the watch-chain, with the curly, black hair, parted and pomaded,

with the smart waistcoat, rather shabby coat and doubtful linen.

He was in a good humour, at least he was smiling very gaily and

good-humouredly. His dark face was rather flushed from the

champagne he had drunk.