The Master and Margarita

CHAPTER 17. An Unquiet Day       On Friday morning, that is, the day after the  accursed seance, all theavailable  staff  of  the  Variety  -- the  bookkeeper  Vassily  StepanovichLastochkin,  two accountants,  three  typists,  both box-office  girls,  themessengers,  ushers, cleaning women  -- in short, all those available,  werenot  at  their  places  doing  their  jobs,  but  were  all sitting  on  thewindow-sills  looking out on Sadovaya and watching what  was going on by thewall of the Variety. By  this  wall a queue  of many thousands clung in  tworows, its tail reaching to Kudrinskaya Square. At the head of the line stoodsome two dozen scalpers well known to theatrical Moscow.     The  line behaved with much  agitation,  attracting  the notice  of thecitizens  streaming  past,   and   was  occupied  with  the   discussion  ofinflammatory  tales about  yesterday's unprecedented seance of  black magic.These same tales caused the greatest consternation in the bookkeeper VassilvStepanovich, who had not been present at the previous evening's performance.The  ushers  told  of God  knows  what,  among other things that  after  theconclusion of the famous seance, some female citizens went running around inthe street  looking quite indecent, and so on in  the same vein.  The modestand quiet Vassily Stepanovich merely blinked his eyes, listening to the talltales of these wonders, and  decidedly did not  know what to undertake,  andyet  something had to be  undertaken,  and precisely by  him, because he nowturned out to be the senior member of the whole Variety team.     By ten o'clock the line of  people desiring tickets had swelled so muchthat  rumour  of  it  reached  the  police,  and  with astonishing swiftnessdetachments  were sent, both on foot  and mounted, to bring  this line  intosome sort of order. However, in itself  even  an orderly snake  a  half-milelong  presented  a  great temptation, and  caused  utter  amaze-ment  in thecitizens on Sadovaya.     That  was  outside, but  inside the  Variety things were  also none toogreat. Early in the morning the telephones began to ring and went on ringingwithout  interruption in  Likhodeev's  office,  in  Rimsky's office, at  thebookkeeper's, in the box office, and in Varenukha's office.     Vassily Stepanovich at first made some answer, the box-office girl alsoanswered, the ushers  mumbled something  into  the telephones, but then theystopped altogether, because to  questions of where  Likhodeev, Varenukha andRimsky were, there was decidedly no answer. At first they  tried  to get offby saying  'Likhodeev's at home',  but the reply to  this  was that they hadcalled him at home, and at home they said Likhodeev was at the Variety.     An agitated lady called, started asking for Rimsky, was advised to callhis wife, to which the receiver, sobbing, answered that she was his wife andthat  Rimskv was  nowhere to be found. Some sort of nonsense was  beginning.The cleaning  woman  had already told  everybody that  when she  came to thefindirector's office to  clean, she saw  the door wide open,  the lights on,the window to the garden broken, the armchair lying on the floor, and no onein the office.     Shortly  after ten o'clock,  Madame Rimsky burst  into the Variety. Shewas  sobbing and wringing her  hands. Vassily Stepanovich was  utterly at  aloss  and  did not know how to counsel  her.  Then at half past ten came thepolice. Their first and perfecdy reasonable question was:     "What's going on here, dozens? What's this all about?'     The team stepped  back, bringing forward the pale  and agitated VassilyStepanovich. He  had  to  call things by  their  names  and confess that theadministration  of   the  Variety  in  the  persons  of  the  director,  thefindirector and  the administrator had  vanished and no one knew where, thatthe master of  ceremonies had been taken  to  a  psychiatric  hospital afteryesterday's seance,  and that, to put it briefly, this  seance yesterday hadfrankly been a scandalous seance.     The sobbing Madame Rimsky, having been calmed down as much as possible,was sent  home, and the greatest interest was shown in  the cleaning woman'sstory about  the shape in which the findirector's office had been found. Thestaff  were asked to go to their places and get  busy, and in  a short whilethe  investigation  appeared  in  the  Variety  building,  accompanied  by asharp-eared, muscular, ash-coloured dog with extremely intelligent eyes. Thewhisper spread at once among the Variety staff that the  dog was  none otherthan the famous Ace of  Diamonds.  And so it  was. His behaviour amazed themall.  The  moment  Ace  of Diamonds ran into  the findirector's  office,  hegrowled, baring his monstrous  yellow fangs, then crouched on his belly and,with some sort of look of anguish and at the same  dme of rage in his  eyes,crawled  towards the broken window. Overcoming his fear, he suddenly  jumpedup on the window-sill and, throwing back his  sharp muzzle,  howled savagelyand angrily. He refused  to leave the window, growled and twitched, and kepttrying to jump out.     The dog was taken from the office and turned loose in the lobby, whencehe walked  out  through  the  main  entrance  to the  street  and led  thosefollowing  him  to the  cab  stand.  There  he lost  the  trail he  had beenpursuing. After that Ace of Diamonds was taken away.     The  investigation settled  in  Varenukha's  office,  where they  begansummoning  in  turn  all   the  Variety  staff  members  who  had  witnessedyesterday's events during the seance. It must be said that the investigationhad  at every step to  overcome  unforeseen difficulties.  The  thread  keptsnapping off in their hands.     There had been  posters, right? Right. But  during  the night they  hadbeen  pasted over  with new  ones, and now, strike me  dead,  there wasn't asingle  one  to be found! And the magician himself, where had he come  from?Ah, who knows! But there was a contract drawn up with him?     T suppose so,' the agitated Vassily Stepanovich replied.     'And if one was drawn up, it had to go through bookkeeping?'     'Most assuredly,' responded the agitated Vassily Stepanovich.     'Then where is it?'     'Not  here,'  the  bookkeeper  replied,  turning  ever  more  pale  andspreading his arms.     And indeed  no trace  of the contract  was found in  the files  of  thebookkeeping  office,  nor  at  the  findirector's,  nor  at  Likhodeev's  orVarenukha's.     And what was this magician's name? Vassily Stepanovich did not know, hehad  not  been  at  the  seance  yesterday. The ushers  did  not  know,  thebox-office girl wrinkled her  brow, wrinkled  it, thought  and thought,  andfinally said:     'Wo . . . Woland, seems like ...'     Or maybe not Woland? Maybe not Woland. Maybe Faland.     It turned  out that in the foreigners'  bureau they had heard preciselynothing  either  about  any Woland,  or for  that  matter  any  Faland,  themagician.     The  messenger  Karpov said  that  this  same  magician was  supposedlystaying  in Ukhodeev's apartment. The  apartment was, of  course, visited atonce -- no magician was found there. Likhodeev himself was not there either.The housekeeper  Grunya was  not there,  and where she had gone nobody knew.The chairman of the management, Nikanor Ivanovich, was not  there, Bedsornevwas not there!     Something   utterly   preposterous  was  coming  out:   the  whole  topadministration had  vanished, a strange, scandalous  seance  had taken placethe day before, but who had produced it and at whose prompting, no one knew.     And meanwhile it was drawing towards noon, when  the box office  was toopen.  But,  of  course, there could  be  no talk of  that! A huge piece  ofcardboard was straight  away posted on  the  doors of  the  Variety reading:'Today's Show Cancelled'. The line became agitated,  beginning at its  head,but after some agitation,  it nevertheless  began to break up,  and about anhour later no  trace of  it remained on Sadovava. The investigation departedto continue its work elsewhere,  the staff was sent  home, leaving only  thewatchmen, and the doors of the Variety were locked.     The bookkeeper Vassily  Stepanovich had urgently to perform  two tasks.First,  to  go  to the  Commission on  Spectacles  and Entertainment  of theLighter Type with  a report  on yesterday's events and, second, to visit theFinspectacle  sector  so as  to  turn over  yesterday's  receipts  -- 21,711roubles.     The precise  and  efficient Vassily  Stepanovich wrapped  the  money innewspaper,  criss-crossed it  with string,  put  it  in his briefcase,  and,knowing his instructions very  well, set out, of course, not  for a bus or atram, but for the cab stand.     The  moment  the  drivers of  the three  cabs saw a passenger  hurryingtowards  the  stand with a tighdy  stuffed briefcase,  all  three left emptyright under his nose, looking back at him angrily for some reason.     Struck  by  this circumstance, the bookkeeper stood  like a post for  along time, trying to grasp what it might mean.     About three minutes later, an empty cab drove up, but the driver's facetwisted the moment he saw the passenger.     'Are you free?' Vassily Stepanovich asked with a cough of surprise.     'Show your money,'  the  driver replied angrily, without looking at thepassenger.     With  increasing  amazement,  the  bookkeeper,  pressing  the  preciousbriefcase under his arm, pulled a ten-rouble bill from his wallet and showedit to the driver.     'I won't go!' the man said curtly.     'I beg your pardon ...'  the bookkeeper tried  to begin, but the driverinterrupted him.     'Got any threes?'     The completely bewildered bookkeeper took  two three-rouble bills  fromhis wallet and showed them to the driver.     'Get in,' he shouted, and slapped down the flag of the meter so that healmost broke it. 'Let's go!'     'No change, is that it?' the bookkeeper asked timidly.     'A  pocket full of  change!' the driver bawled,  and the  eyes  in  themirror  went  bloodshot.  'It's my  third  case today.  And the  same  thinghappened with the others, too. Some son of a bitch gives me a tenner, I givehim change -- four-fifty. He gets out, the scum! About five minutes later, Ilook: instead of a  tenner,  it's a label from a seltzer bottle!'  Here  thedriver uttered several unprintable words. 'Another one, beyond Zubovskaya. Atenner.  I  give  him three roubles change. He  leaves. I  go to  my wallet,there's a  bee  there -- zap in the finger!  Ah, you! . .  .'  and again thedriver pasted on some unprintable  words. 'And no tenner.  Yesterday, in theVariety here'  (unprintable words), 'some vermin of a  conjurer did a seancewith ten-rouble bills' (unprintable words) ...     The bookkeeper went numb, shrank into himself, and pretended it was thefirst time  he had heard even the word 'Variety', while thinking to himself:'Oh-oh! . . .'     Having  got  where  he  had to  go,  having  paid  satisfactorily,  thebookkeeper  entered  the  building  and went  down  the corridor towards themanager's  office,  and realized  on  his way that he had come  at the wrongtime.  Some  sort  of  tumult  reigned  in  the  offices  of  the SpectaclesCommission. A  messenger  girl  ran past  the bookkeeper,  her  kerchief allpushed back on her head and her eyes popping.     'Nothing,  nothing,  nothing, my dears!' she shouted, addressing no oneknew whom. The jacket and trousers are there,  but inside the jacket there'snothing!'     She  disappeared through some  door, and straight  away from behind  itcame the  noise of smashing dishes.  The manager of the  commission's  firstsector, whom the  bookkeeper knew, ran out  of  the secretary's room, but hewas in such a state that he did not recognize the bookkeeper and disappearedwithout a trace.     Shaken by  all this, the bookkeeper reached the secretary's room, whichwas the anteroom  to the office of the  chairman of the commission, and herehe was definitively dumbfounded.     From behind the closed  door  of  the office  came  a  terrible  voice,undoubtedly belonging to Prokhor Petrovich, the chairman  of the commission.'Must  be  scolding  somebody!'  the  consternated bookkeeper  thought  and,looking around, saw something else:  in a  leather armchair, her head thrownback, sobbing unrestrainedly, a wet handkerchief in her hand, legs stretchedout into the middle of the  room, lay Prokhor Petrovich's personal secretary-- the beautiful Anna Richardovna.     Anna Richardovna's  chin was all  smeared with lipstick,  and down  herpeachy cheeks black streams of sodden mascara flowed from her eyelashes.     Seeing  someone come in, Anna  Richardovna  jumped  up,  rushed  to thebookkeeper,  clutched  the  lapels of  his  jacket,  began  shaking  him andshouting:     'Thank God! At least one brave man  has been found! Everybody ran away,everybody betrayed us! Let's go,  let's go to him, I don't know what to do!'And, still sobbing, she dragged the bookkeeper into the office.     Once in the office, the bookkeeper first of all dropped his  briefcase,and  all the thoughts in his head turned upside-down. And,  it must be said,not without reason.     At a huge writing desk with.  a massive inkstand an empty  suit sat andwith a dry pen, not dipped in ink, traced on a  piece of paper. The suit waswearing  a necktie,  a  fountain  pen stuck from  its pocket,  but above thecollar there was neither neck nor head, just as there were no hands stickingout of the sleeves. The suit was immersed in work and completely ignored theturmoil  that reigned  around it. Hearing someone come in,  the  suit leanedback  and  from  above the  collar  came the  voice,  quite familiar  to thebookkeeper, of Prokhor Petrovich:     'What is this? Isn't it written on the door that I'm not receiving?'     The beautiful secretary shrieked and, wringing her hands, cried out:     'YOU see? You see?! He's not there! He's not! Bring him back, bring himback!'     Here  someone  peeked in the door of the office, gasped, and flew  out.The bookkeeper  felt his legs  trembling and sat on the edge of a chair, butdid not forget to pick up his briefcase. Anna Richardovna hopped  around thebookkeeper, worrying his jacket, and exclaiming:     'I always, always stopped him when  he swore by  the devil! So now  thedevil's got him!' Here the beauty  ran to the  writing desk and in a tender,musical voice, slightly nasal from weeping, called out:     'Prosha! Where are you!'     'Who here is  "Prosha" to  you?' the  suit inquired haughtily,  sinkingstill deeper into the armchair.     'He doesn't recognize me! Me he doesn't!  Do  you understand? ...'  thesecretary burst into sobs.     'I ask you not to sob in the office!' the hot-tempered striped suit nowsaid angrily, and with its sleeve it drew to itself a fresh stack of papers,with the obvious aim of appending its decision to them.     'No, I can't look at it, I can't!' cried Anna Richardovna, and she  ranout  to  the secretary's  room,  and  behind  her,  like  a  shot, flew  thebookkeeper.     'Imagine, I'm sitting here,' Anna Richardovna  recounted,  shaking withagitation, again clutching at the  bookkeeper's sleeve, 'and a cat walks in.Black, big  as a behemoth. Of course, I shout "scat" to it. Out it goes, andin  comes  a fat fellow instead, also with a sort of cat-like mug, and says:"What are you  doing, citizeness, shouting 'scat' at visitors?" And - whoosh- straight to Prokhor Petrovich. Of course, I run after him,  shouting: "Areyou  out of  your mind?"  And  this  brazen-face goes  straight  to  ProkhorPetrovich and  sits  down opposite him in  the armchair. Well, that one  ...he's the kindest-hearted man, but edgy. He blew up, I don't deny it. An edgyman, works like an ox - he blew up. "Why do you barge  in here unannounced?"he says. And that brazen-face, imagine,  sprawls  in the armchair and  says,smiling:     "I've come," he says, "to discuss  a little business with you." ProkhorPetrovich blew up again: "I'm busy." And the other one, just think, answers:"You're  not busy  with anything . .."  Eh? Well,  here,  of course, ProkhorPetrovich's patience ran out, and he shouted: "What is all this? Get him outof here, devil take me!" And that one, imagine, smiles and says: "Devil takeyou? That, in  fact, can be done!" And -- bang! Before I had time to scream,I look: the one with the cat's mug is gone, and th .. . there .. . sits .. .the suit .  ..  Waaa!...'  Stretching her  mouth, which  had  lost all shapeentirely, Anna Richardovna howled.     After choking  with sobs, she caught her breath, but then began pouringout something completely incoherent:     'And it writes, writes, writes! You could lose your mind! Talks on  thetelephone! A suit! They all ran away like rabbits!'     The bookkeeper only  stood and shook.  But here  fate came to his  aid.Into  the secretary's room,  with  calm, business-like  strides, marched thepolice, to  the  number  of  two men. Seeing  them, the beauty sobbed  stillharder, jabbing towards the door of the office with her hand.     'Let's not  cry  now,  citizeness,'  the  first  said calmly,  and  thebookkeeper,  feeling  himself  quite  superfluous  there,  ran  out  of  thesecretary's room and a minute  later was already in the fresh air. There wassome  sort of draught in his head,  a soughing as in a  chimney, and throughthis  soughing  he  heard  scraps  of the  stories  the  ushers  told  aboutyesterday's cat, who had taken part in the seance. 'Oh-ho-ho! Might that notbe our same little puss?'     Having  got nowhere  with  the  commission,  the  conscientious VassilyStepanovich decided to visit its affiliate, located in Vagankovsky Lane, andto calm himself a little he walked the distance to die affiliate on foot.     The affiliate for city spectacles  was housed in a peeling old  mansionset back from the street, and was  famous  for  the porphyry  columns in itsvestibule. But it was not the  columns that struck visitors to the affiliatethat day, but what was going on at the foot of them.     Several visitors  stood in stupefaction  and stared  at a  weeping girlsitting behind a small table on  which lay special literature  about variousspectacles, which the  girl sold. At that moment, the girl was not  offeringany of this  literature  to anyone, and only  waved  her hand at sympatheticinquiries, while at the  same time, from above, from below,  from the sides,and from all sections of the affiliate poured the ringing of at least twentyoverwrought telephones.     After weeping for a while, the girl suddenly gave a start and cried outhysterically:     'Here it  comes again!' and unexpectedly began singing in  a  tremuloussoprano:     'Glorious sea, sacred Baikal. . .'^[1]     A  messenger appeared  on  the  stairs, shook his fist at someone,  andbegan singing along with the girl in a dull, weak-voiced baritone:     'Glorious boat, a barrel of cisco .. .'^[2]     The messenger's voice was joined by  distant voices, the choir began toswell, and  finally the song resounded in  all corners of the affiliate.  Inthe neighbouring room no. 6, which housed the account comptroller's section,one powerful, slightly husky octave stood out particularly.     'Hey, Barguzin^[3] ...  make the  waves  rise  and  fall!...'bawled the messenger on the stairs.     Tears flowed down the girl's face,  she tried to clench her  teeth, buther mouth opened of itself, as she sang an octave higher than the messenger:     'This young lad's ready to frisk-o!'     What  struck  the  silent  visitors  to  the  affiliate  was  that  thechoristers, scattered in various places, sang quite harmoniously, as  if thewhole choir stood there with its eyes fixed on some invisible director.     Passers-by  in  Vagankovsky  Lane  stopped  by  the  fence of the yard,wondering at the gaiety that reigned in the affiliate.     As soon as the first verse came to an end, the singing suddenly ceased,again  as  if  to  a  director's  baton.  The  messenger  quiedy  swore  anddisappeared.     Here the front door  opened, and in it  appeared a citizen in  a summerjacket, from under which  protruded the skirts of a white coat, and with hima policeman.     'Take measures, doctor, I implore you!' the girl cried hysterically.     The secretary of  the  affiliate ran out to the  stairs and,  obviouslyburning with shame and embarrassment, began falteringly:     'You see, doctor, we  have a case of some sort of mass hypnosis, and soit's  necessary that. . .' He did not finish the sentence, began to choke onhis words, and suddenly sang out in a tenor:     'Shilka and Nerchinsk . . .'^[4]     'Fool!' the girl had time to shout, but, without explaining who she wasabusing,  produced instead a forced roulade and herself  began singing aboutShilka and Nerchinsk.     'Get  hold  of  yourself!  Stop  singing!'  the  doctor  addressed  diesecretary.     There was every indication  that the secretary would himself have givenanything  to stop singing, but stop singing he  could not, and together withthe choir he brought to the hearing of passers-by in  the lane the news that'in the wilderness he was not touched  by voracious  beast, nor brought downby bullet of shooters.'     The moment the verse ended, the girl was the first to receive a dose ofvalerian  from  the doctor,  who  then  ran after the  secretary to give theothers theirs.     'Excuse me,  dear citizeness,' Vassily Stepanovich  addressed the girl,'did a black cat pay you a visit?'     'What  cat?'  the girl cried in anger. 'An ass, it's an ass  we've  gotsitting in  the affiliate!'  And  adding  to that: 'Let  him hear, I'll telleverything' -- she indeed told what had happened.     It turned out that the manager of  the  city affiliate, 'who has made aperfect mess of lightened entertainment' (the girl's words), suffered from amania for organizing all sorts of little clubs.     'Blew smoke in the authorities' eyes!' screamed the girl.     In the course of a year this manager had  succeeded in organizing a dubof Lermontov studies,' of chess and checkers, of ping-pong, and of horsebackriding. For the summer, he was threatening  to organize clubs of fresh-watercanoeing and alpinism. And  so today, during lunch-break, this manager comesin ...     '.. . with some son of a bitch on  his arm,' the girl went on, 'hailingfrom  nobody  knows  where,   in  wretched  checkered  trousers,  a  crackedpince-nez, and . . . with a completely impossible mug! . . .'     And  straight away,  the  girl  said,  he recommended him to  all thoseeating  in  the  affiliate's  dining  room  as  a  prominent  specialist  inorganizing choral-singing clubs.     The faces of the future alpinists darkened, but the manager immediatelycalled on everyone to cheer up, while the specialist joked a little, laugheda little, and  swore an oath  that singing  takes  no time at all, but that,incidentally, there was a whole load of benefits to be derived from it.     Well,  of course, as the girl said, the first to pop up were Fanov  andKosarchuk, well-known affiliate toadies, who announced that they would  signup. Here  the rest of the  staff  realized that there was no  way around thesinging, and they, too,  had to  sign up for the club.  They decided to singduring the lunch break, since the rest of the time was taken up by Lermontovand checkers. The manager, to set an example, declared that he  was a tenor,and   everything  after   that  went  as  in  a  bad  dream.  The  checkeredspecialist-choirmaster bawled out:     'Do,  mi,  sol,  do!'  -  dragged the  most  bashful  from  behind  thebookcases,  where  they  had tried  to  save themselves from  singing,  toldKosarchuk he had perfect pitch, began whining, squealing, begging them to bekind  to an  old  singing-master, tapped  the  tuning fork  on  his knuckle,beseeched them to strike up 'Glorious Sea'.     Strike  up they did. And  gloriously. The checkered one really knew hisbusiness. They finished the first  verse. Here the director excused himself,said:  'Back  in  a  minute  .. .', and disappeared. They  thought he  wouldactually come back  in  a minute. But  ten  minutes  went by and  he was notthere. The staff was overjoyed -- he had run away!     Then suddenly, somehow of themselves, they began the second verse. Theywere  all led by Kosarchuk, who may not have had perfect pitch, but did havea rather pleasant high tenor. They sang  it through. No director! They movedto  their places, but  had not managed to sit down when, against their will,they began to sing.  To stop was impossible. After three minutes of silence,they would  strike up  again. Silence -- strike  up! Then they realized thatthey were in trouble. The manager locked himself in his office from shame!     Here the girl's story was interrupted -- the valerian had not done muchgood.     A quarter  of an hour  later,  three trucks  drove up to the  fence  inVagankovsky, and the entire staff of the affiliate, the manager at its head,was loaded on to them.     As  soon as the first truck, after lurching  in  the gateway, drove outinto the lane, the staff members, who were standing on  the platform holdingeach other's  shoulders, opened their  mouths, and the whole lane  resoundedwith the popular song. The second truck picked it up, then the third. And sothey drove  on. Passers-by hurrying about their own business would cast onlya fleeting glance at the trucks, not surprised in the least, thinking it wasa group excursion to the country. And they were indeed going to the country,though not on an excursion, but to Professor Stravinsky's clinic.     Half an hour later, the  bookkeeper, who had lost his head  completely,reached  the  financial sector, hoping finally to get rid of the  box-officemoney. Having  learned from experience by  now,  he first peeked  cautiouslyinto  the  oblong  hall  where,   behind  frosted-glass  windows  with  goldlettering, the staff was sitting. Here the bookkeeper discovered no signs ofalarm or scandal. It was quiet, as it ought to be in a decent institution.     Vassily Stepanovich  stuck his  head  through  the  window  with  'CashDeposits' written over it, greeted some unfamiliar clerk, and politely askedfor a deposit slip.     'What do you need it for?' the clerk in the window asked.     The bookkeeper was amazed.     'I want to turn over some cash. I'm from the Variety.'     'One moment,' the clerk replied and instantly closed the opening in thewindow with a grille.     'Strange!...'  thought  the  bookkeeper.  His  amazement  was perfectlynatural. It was the  first rime in his  life that  he had  met with  such  acircumstance. Everybody knows  how hard it is to get  money; obstacles to itcan always be found. But there had been  no case in the bookkeeper's  thirtyyears of experience when anyone, either an official or a private person, hadhad a hard rime accepting money.     But at last  the  little grille  moved  aside, and the bookkeeper againleaned to the window.     'Do you have a lot?' the clerk asked.     'Twenty-one thousand seven hundred and eleven roubles.'     'Oho!' the  clerk answered ironically for  some  reason  and handed thebookkeeper a green slip.     Knowing the form well, the bookkeeper instantly filled it out and beganto untie the string  on the  bundle. When he unpacked  his  load, everythingswam before his eyes, he murmured something painfully.     Foreign money flitted before  his eyes: there were  stacks of  Canadiandollars, British pounds, Dutch guldens, Latvian lats, Estonian kroons . . .     'There he is,  one of  those tricksters from the  Variety!' a  menacingvoice resounded over the dumbstruck  bookkeeper. And  straight away  VassilyStepanovich was arrested.