engineer and the slick way he had with other people’s property. Not a word of thanks for Senka’s unbelievable generosity and self-sacrifice. No, you’d never hear anything like that from him. He acted liked it all belonged to him. Invited the rats to dine at someone else’s table. Come on, dear guests, take as much as you fancy. And as for that someone else having his own idea, about that treasure, and even dreams, well a smarmy gent like Erast Petrovich obviously couldn’t give a rotten damn about that.
Because he felt so resentful, Senka was cool with the engineer. He told him all about delivering the letter and the conversation with the superintendent, but he expressed his insulted dignity by looking off to one side and curling up his bottom lip.
However, Erast Petrovich failed to notice this demonstration of feeling. He listened carefully to the story of how Senka was questioned and recruited. He seemed pleased with everything, and even said ‘well done’. That was too much for Senka, and he started hinting at the treasure, saying what a lot of smart-arses there were in the world who liked to make free with wealth that wasn’t theirs, but belonged to someone else. But that hint wasn’t taken either, he failed to stir the engineer’s conscience. Mr Nameless just patted Senka on the head and said: ‘Don’t be g-greedy.’ And then he said in a cheerful voice: ‘Tonight I conclude all my b-business in Moscow, there is no m-more time left. Tomorrow at midday is the start of the d-drive to Paris. I hope the F-Flying Carpet is in good order?’
Senka felt his heart sink. That was right, tomorrow was the twenty-third! What with all these harum-scarum adventures, he’d completely forgotten about it!
So, whatever happened, it was the end of everything. Three cheers for the cunning Mr Nameless! He’d got what he wanted from his mechanic (and for nothing, if you didn’t count the grub) – his automobile was looking real handsome, it was fine tuned and polished till it shone – but that wasn’t even the half of it. The worst thing was that he’d twisted a poor orphan round his little finger, robbed him blind, nearly got the orphan’s throat cut, and now he was going driving off to Paris like some fairy-tale prince. And it was Senka’s destiny to be left sitting all on his lonesome beside his broken tub. If he was even still alive tomorrow, that was ...
Senka’s lips started trembling, and the corners of his mouth crept down even lower than when he was just acting out insulted pride.
But the heartless Erast Petrovich said: ‘Wipe that l-lipstick off your mouth, it looks d-disgusting.’
As if Senka had put the lipstick on himself, just for a laugh!
He went off to get changed, stamping his feet angrily.
While Senka was gone he heard the telephone ring in the study, and when he went back a minute later – to tell Erast Petrovich a few home truths, straight out, no more pussyfooting around – the engineer wasn’t there.
Masa was off wandering somewhere too. Meanwhile the day was slipping unstoppably towards evening, and the darker it got outside, the gloomier Senka felt. What on earth would happen tonight?
To distract himself from his dark thoughts, Senka went out to the shed to polish the automobile, which was already shining brighter than the domes in the Kremlin. He wasn’t feeling angry now, just depressed.
Well, Erast Petrovich, as they say, may God grant you good luck and the record you’re dreaming of. Your three-wheeler is all set up in the finest possible fashion, don’t you worry on that score. You’ll remember your mechanic Semyon Spidorov with a grateful word more than once on the way. Maybe some day you’ll be smitten by a pang of conscience. Or at least a pang of regret. Though that’s hardly likely – who are we compared to you?
Just then there was a faint squeak from the louvres (they were kind of like cracks) in the engine cooler, and Senka froze. Was he hearing things? No, there it was again! But what could it be?’
He shone his torch into the engine. A little mouse had climbed inside!
Hadn’t he told Erast Petrovich the gaps should be smaller? It would be better if there were thirty-six of them, not twenty-four!
And now look! What if that little varmint gnawed through the fuel hose? What a shambles that would be!
While he took off the hood, drove the mouse away, disconnected the hose and