"You only went in for robbing, not murder, I suppose?" asked the Captain. Petunikoff turned pale, and hastily changed the subject. "You are a bad host. You sit while your guest stands." "Let him sit, too," said Kuvalda. "But what am I to sit on?" "On the earth ... it will take any rubbish ..." "You are the proof of that," said Petunikoff quietly, while his eyes shot forth poisonous glances. And he went away, leaving Kuvalda under the pleasant impression that the merchant was afraid of him. If he were not afraid of him he would long ago have evicted him from the dosshouse. But then he would think twice before turning him out, because of the five roubles a month. And the Captain gazed with pleasure at Petunikoff's back as he slowly retreated from the courtyard. Following him with his eyes, he noticed how the merchant passed the factory and disappeared into the wood, and he wished very much that he might fall and break all his bones. He sat imagining many horrible forms of disaster while watching Petunikoff, who was descending the hill into the wood like a spider going into its web. Last night he even imagined that the wood gave way before the merchant and he fell ... but afterwards he found that he had only been dreaming. And to-day, as always, the red building stands out before the eyes of Aristid Kuvalda, so plain, so massive, and clinging so strongly to the earth, that it seems to be sucking away all its life. It appears to be laughing coldly at the Captain with its gaping walls. The sun pours its rays on them as generously as it does on the miserable hovels of the main street. "Devil take the thing!" exclaimed the Captain, thoughtfully measuring the walls of the factory with his eyes. "If only ..." Trembling with excitement at the thought that had just entered his mind, Aristid Kuvalda jumped up and ran to Vaviloff's eating-house, muttering to himself all the time. Vaviloff met him at the bar, and gave him a friendly welcome. "I wish your honour good health!" He was of middle height, and had a bald head, grey hair, and straight moustaches like tooth-brushes. Upright and neat in his clean jacket, he showed by every movement that he was an old soldier. "Egorka, show me the lease and plan of your house," demanded Kuvalda, impatiently. "I have shown it you before." Vaviloff looked up suspiciously and closely scanned the Captain's face. "Show it me!" shouted the Captain, striking the bar with his fist and sitting down on a stool close by. "But why?" asked Vaviloff, knowing that it was better to keep his wits about him when Kuvalda got excited. "You fool! Bring it at once." Vaviloff rubbed his forehead, and turned his eyes to the ceiling in a tired way. "Where are those papers of yours?" There was no answer to this on the ceiling, so the old sergeant looked down at the floor, and began drumming with his fingers on the bar in a worried and thoughtful manner.