“No doubt that scoundrel brought it,” he thought, “put it there, and then forgot it; no doubt that is how it happened: no doubt that is just how it happened . . . .”
The letter was from Vahramyev, a young fellow-clerk who had once been his friend. “I had a presentiment of this,” thought our hero, “and I had a presentiment of all that there will be in the letter . . . .”
The letter was as follows —
“Dear Sir Yakov Petrovitch!
“Your servant is drunk, and there is no getting any sense out of him. For that reason I prefer to reply by letter. I hasten to inform you that the commission you’ve entrusted to me — that is, to deliver a letter to a certain person you know, I agree to carry out carefully and exactly. That person, who is very well known to you and who has taken the place of a frien
