But one fine day a convict called Neustroev, who made women’s shoes and tanned skins, happened to take special notice of him. An idea seemed to strike him. He called Kultyapka to him, felt his coat and rolled him on his back in a friendly way. Kultyapka, suspecting nothing, squealed with delight. But next morning he disappeared. I looked for him for a long time; he had utterly vanished. And only a fortnight later all was explained. Neustroev had taken a particular fancy to Kultyapka’s coat. He skinned him, tanned the skin and lined with it the warm velvet boots which had been bespoken by the auditor’s wife. He showed me the boots when they were finished. The dog-skin lining looked wonderfully well. Poor Kultyapka!