When he came alongside one of the groups of ragged porters sprawling in the shade beneath the shelter of the coal baskets, he suddenly encountered a broad-shouldered little fellow with a stupid pimply face and a neck scarred with scratches, evidently fresh from a sound and quite recent drubbing. He got up and joined Chelkash, saying to him in a subdued voice: "Goods belonging to the fleet have been missed in two places. They are searching for them still. Do you hear, Greg!" "Well!" asked Chelkash quietly, calmly measuring his comrade from head to foot. "What do you mean by well? They're searching I say, that's all." "Are they asking me to help them in their search then?" And Chelkash, with a shrewd smile, glanced in the direction of the lofty packhouse of the Volunteer Fleet. "Go to the devil!" His comrade turned back. "Wait a bit! What are you so stuck-up about? Look how they've spoiled the whole show! I don't see Mike here!" "Haven't seen him for a long time," said the other, going back to his companions. Chelkash went on further, greeted by everyone like a man well-known. And he, always merry with a biting repartee, to-day was evidently not in a good humour, and gave abrupt and snappy answers. At one point a custom-house officer, a dusty, dark-green man with the upright carriage of a soldier, emerged from behind a pile of goods. He barred Chelkash's way, standing in front of him with a challenging pose and seizing with his left hand the handle of his dirk, tried to collar Chelkash with his right. "Halt! whither are you going?" Chelkash took a step backwards, raised his eyes to the level of the custom-house officer, and smiled drily. The ruddy, good-humouredly-cunning face of the official tried to assume a threatening look, puffing out its cheeks till they were round and bloated, contracting its brows and goggling its eyes--and was supremely ridiculous in consequence. "You have been told that you are not to dare to enter the haven, or I'd break your ribs for you. And here you are again!" cried the guardian of the customs threateningly. "Good day, Semenich! we have not seen each other for a long time," calmly replied Chelkash, stretching out his hand. "I wish it had been a whole century. Be off! Be off!" But Semenich pressed the extended hand all the same. "What a thing to say!" continued Chelkash, still retaining in his talon-like fingers the hand of Semenich, and shaking it in a friendly familiar sort of way--"have you seen Mike by any chance?" "Mike, Mike? whom do you mean? I don't know any Mike. Go away, my friend! That packhouse officer is looking, he...." "The red-haired chap, I mean, with whom I worked last time on board the 'Kostroma,'" persisted Chelkash. "With whom you pilfered, you ought to say. They've carried your Mike off to the hospital if you must know; he injured his leg with a bit of iron. Go, my friend, while you are asked to go civilly; go, and I'll soon saddle you with him again!"