Not thinking anything, not suspecting anything, I bring some paper, and put it on the table in the little room.
“It’s all ready, sir,” says I.
“Very good.” He sat down at the table. He kept on writing and writing, and muttering to himself all the time: then he jumps up, and, frowning, says, “Look and see if my carriage has come yet.”
It was on a Friday, during carnival time, and so there weren’t any of the customers on hand; they were all at some ball. I went to see about the carriage, and just as I was going out of the door, “Petrushka! Petrushka!” he shouted, as if something suddenly frightened him.
I turn round. I see he’s pale as a sheet, standing here and looking at me.
“Did you call me, sir?” says I.
He makes no reply.
“What do you want?” says I.
He says nothing. “Oh, yes!” says he. “Let’s have another game.”
Then says he, “Haven’t I learned to play pretty well?”
He had just won the game. “Yes,” says I.
“All right,” says he; “go now, and see about my carriage.” He himself walked up and down the room.
Without thinking anything, I went down to the door. I didn’t see any carriage at all. I started to go up again.
Just as I am going up, I hear what sounds like the thud of a billiard-cue. I go into the billiard-room. I notice a peculiar smell.