"
"Hm! An acquaintance?" asked Kerbesh, opening wide his magnificent
azure eyes. "And who may he be?"
"Bar ... Barbarisov."
"Ah, Barbarisov? So, so, so, I recollect, I recollect!"
"So then, won't you please accept these ten roubles?"
Kerbesh shook his head, but did not take the bit of paper.
"Well, but this Barbarisov of yours--that is, ours--is a swine. It
isn't ten roubles he owes me at all, but a quarter of a century.
What a scoundrel! Twenty-five roubles and some small change
besides. Well, the small change, of course, I won't count up to
him. God be with him! This, you see, is a billiard debt. I must
say that he's a blackguard, plays crookedly ... And so, young man,
dig up fifteen more."
"Well, but you are a knave, Mr. Inspector!" said Lichonin, getting
out the money.
"Oh, mercy!" by now altogether good-naturedly retorted Kerbesh. "A
wife, children ... You know yourself what our salary is ...
Receive the little passport, young man. Sign your receipt. Best
wishes."
A queer thing! The consciousness that the passport was, finally,
in his pocket, for some reason suddenly calmed and again braced up
and elevated Lichonin's nerves.
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