"What guarantee have I. . . ?"
"You will pay me half the money now and the other half when the business is done. There remains the matter of the passport, a secondary matter for me. Still, we shall have to make one out. In what name is it to be?"
"Any name you like."
The doctor took a sheet of paper and wrote down the description, looking at Siméon between the phrases and muttering:
"Gray hair. . . . Clean–shaven. . . . Yellow spectacles. . . ."
Then he stopped and asked:
"But how do I know that I shall be paid the money? That's essential, you know. I want bank–notes, real ones."
"You shall have them."
"Where are they?"
"In a hiding–place that can't be got at."
"Tell me where."
"I have no objection. Even if I give you a clue to the general position, you'll never find it."
"Well
