This time, however, there was a rattle and clatter
of metal to be heard as well as his quick tread and the loud creaking of
his coarse, stiff shoes. He emerged into the street with the body of the
samovar under one arm. The movable brass chimney of the machine was
sticking out of one of his pockets, and in his left hand he had its little
tray, with the rings and other pieces belonging to the whole. Amongst
those latter objects, which he grasped tightly in his fingers, there
figured also the fragment of a small spoon of which the bowl had been
broken from the handle.
"It is silver," he said, referring to the latter utensil, as he held up
the whole handful before Vjera's eyes. "But if we can find a jeweller's
shop open, we will sell it. We can get more for it in that way. And now
your wolf's skin, Vjera. And be sure to bring me a needle and some strong
thread when you come down. I can mend the hole by the gaslight in the
street, for Homolka would not understand it if he saw me going to your
room, you know."
She helped him to put all the smaller things into his pockets, so that he
had only the samovar itself, and its metal tray to carry in his hands, and
then they went briskly on towards Vjera's lodging.
"Do you think we shall get three marks for the little spoon?" she asked,
constantly preoccupied by her calculations.
"Oh yes," Schmidt answered cheerfully. "We may get five. It is good
silver, and they buy silver by weight."
A few moments later she stood still before a narrow shop which was lighted
within, though there was no lamp in the windows.
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