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--
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latch-key being  softly turned  in  the lock.  Clutching his  briefcase with
damp, cold hands Rimsky felt that if that scraping noise in the keyhole were
to last much longer his nerves would snap and he would scream.
    At last  the door gave  way and Varenukha slipped noiselessly  into the
office. Rimsky  collapsed into an armchair. Gasping for air,  he smiled what
was meant to be an ingratiating smile and whispered :
    'God, what a fright you gave me. . . .'
    Terrifying as  this sudden appearance  was, it had its hopeful side--it
cleared up at least one little mystery in this whole baffling affair.
    'Tell me, tell me,  quickly!  . . .' croaked Rimsky, clutching at his