CHAPTER XXIX
THE COLUMBUS THEATRE
IT was so hot in Ivanopulo's room that Hippolyte's chairs were beginning to crack like logs in a fire.
The great schemer was resting, and the pale blue waistcoat was serving as a pillow under his head. Hippolyte was standing by the window looking out into the street.
'I say,' said Bender suddenly,' what did they call you when you were a boy?'
'What do you want to know for?' asked Hippolyte.
'Oh, just so. I don't know what to call you. I'm tired of calling you Hippolyte, and Hippolyte Matveyevich is far too long. What did they call you? Did they call you Hippo?'
'No! They called me Pussy,' said Hippolyte, smiling.
'Most appropriate!' said Bender. 'Well, Pussy, just have a look at my back. I've got a pain in my ribs.'
Bender pulled his shirt over his head and Hippolyte saw a strong, brawny back. It was a very well-shaped back, but rather dirty.
'It's slightly red,' said Hippolyte, and then he realized that there were purple and rainbow-coloured patches in the middle of the back, bruises of strange shape and outline.
'Why, there's a figure eight on your back!' exclaimed Hippolyte. 'I've never seen a bruise like that before.'
'Can't you see any other number?' asked Bender
'There's something that looks like the letter P.'
'I don't need to ask anything else. I understand. It's
191
