“Well?”
“Well, the chandelier … the chandelier, Erik? …”
“What about the chandelier?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Oh,” he sniggered, “I don’t mind telling you about the chandelier! … It wasn’t I! … The chandelier was very old and worn.”
When Erik laughed, he was more terrible than ever. He jumped into the boat, chuckling so horribly that I could not help trembling.
“Very old and worn, my dear daroga! Very old and worn, the chandelier! … It fell of itself! … It came down with a smash! … And now, daroga, take my advice and go and dry yourself, or you’ll catch a cold in the head! … And never get into my boat again. … And, whatever you do, don’t try to enter my house: I’m not always there … daroga! And I should be sorry to have to dedicate my Requiem Mass to you!”
So saying, swinging to and fro, like a monkey, and still chuckling, he pushed off and soon disappeared in