CHAPTER XIII
Laevsky received two notes; he opened one and read: “Don’t go away, my darling.”
“Who could have written that?” he thought. “Not Samoylenko, of course. And not the deacon, for he doesn’t know I want to go away. Von Koren, perhaps?”
The zoologist bent over the table and drew a pyramid. Laevsky fancied that his eyes were smiling.
“Most likely Samoylenko . . . has been gossiping,” thought Laevsky.
In the other note, in the same disguised angular handwriting with long tails to the letters, was written: “Somebody won’t go away on Saturday.”
“A stupid gibe,” thought Laevsky. “Friday, Friday. . . .”
Something rose in his throat. He touched his collar and coughed, but instead of a cough a laugh broke from his throat.
“Ha-ha-ha!” he laughed. “Ha-ha-ha! What am I laughing at? Ha
