CHAPTER XXIX
THE COLUMBUS THEATRE T 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! ’ ex claimed Hippolyte. ‘ I’ve never seen a bruise like that before.’ ‘ Can’t you see any other number ? ’ asked Bender calmly. ‘ There’s something that looks like the letter P.’ ' I don’t need to ask anything else. I understand. It’s
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