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cock's
feather. The barman crossed himself. At that moment the beret gave a miaou
and changed into a black kitten. It jumped on to Andrei Fokich's head and
dug its claws into his bald patch. Letting out a shriek of despair, the
wretched man hurled himself downstairs as the kitten jumped off his head and
flashed back to No. 50.
Bursting out into the courtyard, the barman trotted out of the gate and
left the diabolical No.50 for ever.
It was not, however, the end of his adventures. Once in the street he
stared wildly round as if looking for something. A minute later he was in a
chemist's shop on the far side of the road. No sooner had he said :
'Tell me, please . . .' when the woman behind the counter shrieked:
'Look! Your head! It's cut to pieces!'
Within five minutes Andrei's head was bandaged and he had discovered
that the two best specialists in diseases of the liver were Professor
Bernadsky and Professor Kuzmin. Enquiring which was the nearest, he was
overjoyed to learn that Kuzmin lived literally round the corner in a little
white house and two minutes later he was there.
It was an old-fashioned but very comfortable little house.
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