"Half the work is done!" he cried, jumping from the tumble-down sofa. "But the passport? There's where the shoe pinches," continued the engraver, remembering the second half of Natasha's commission. "The passport—yes—that's where the shoe pinches!" he muttered to himself in perplexity, resting his head on his hands and his elbows on his knees. Thinking over all kinds of possible and impossible plans, he suddenly remembered a fellow countryman of his, a shoemaker named Yuzitch, who had once confessed in a moment of intoxication that "he would rather hook a watch than patch a shoe." Bodlevski remembered that three months before he had met Yuzitch in the street, and they had gone together to a wine shop, where, over a bottle generously ordered by Yuzitch, Bodlevski had lamented over the hardships of mankind in general, and his own in particular. He had not taken advantage of Yuzitch's offer to introduce him to "the gang," only because he had already determined to take up one of the higher branches of the "profession," namely, to metamorphose white paper into, banknotes. When they were parting, Yuzitch had warmly wrung his hand, saying:  
"Whenever you want anything, dear friend, or if you just want to
see me, come to the Cave; come to Razyeziy Street and ask for the
Cave, and at the Cave anyone will show you where to find Yuzitch.
If the barkeeper makes difficulties just whisper to him that
'Secret' sent you, and he'll show you at once."
 
As this memory suddenly flashed into his mind, Bodlevski caught up his hat and coat and hurried downstairs into the street. Making his way through the narrow, dirty streets to the Five Points, he stopped perplexed. Happily he noticed a sleepy watchman leaning leisurely against a wall, and going up to him he said:
 
"Tell me, where is the Cave?"
 
"The what?" asked the watchman impatiently.
 
"The Cave."
 
"The Cave? There is no such place!" he replied, looking suspiciously at Bodlevski.
 
Bodlevski put his hand in his pocket and pulled out some small change: "If you tell me—"
 
The watchman brightened up. "Why didn't you say so before?" he asked, grinning. "You see that house, the second from the corner? The wooden one? That's the Cave."
 
Bodlevski crossed the street in the direction indicated, and looked for the sign over the door. To his astonishment he did not find it and only later he knew that the name was strictly "unofficial," only used by members of "the gang."
 
Opening the door cautiously, Bodlevski made his way into the low, dirty barroom. Behind the bar stood a tall, handsome man with an open countenance and a bald head. Politely bowing to Bodlevski, with his eyes rather than his head, he invited him to enter the inner room. But Bodlevski explained that he wanted, not the inner room, but his friend Yuzitch.
 
"Yuzitch?" said the barkeeper thoughtfully. "We don't know anyone of that name."
 
"Why, he's here all the time," cried Bodlevski, in astonishment.
 
"Don't know him," retorted the barkeeper imperturbably.
 
"'Secret' sent me!" Bodlevski suddenly exclaimed, without lowering his voice.
 
The barkeeper looked at him sharply and suspiciously, and then asked, with a smile:
 
"Who did you say?"
 
"'Secret,'" repeated Bodlevski.
 
After a while the barkeeper said, "And did your—friend make an appointment?"
 
"Yes, an appointment!" Bodlevski replied, beginning to lose patience.
 
"Well, take a seat in the inner room," again said the barkeeper slyly. "Perhaps your friend will come in, or perhaps he is there already."
 
Bodlevski made his way into a roomy saloon, with five windows with faded red curtains. The ceiling was black from the smoke of hanging lamps; little square tables were dotted about the floor; their covers were coarse and not above reproach on the score of cleanliness. The air was pungent with the odor of cheap tobacco and cheaper cigars. On the walls were faded oleographs of generals and archbishops, flyblown and stained.
 
Bodlevski, little as he was used to refined surroundings, found his gorge rising. At some of the little tables furtive, impudent, tattered, sleek men were drinking.
 
Presently Yuzitch made his appearance from a low door at the other end of the room. The meeting of the two friends was cordial, especially on Bodlevski's side. Presently they were seated at a table, with a flask of wine between them, and Bodlevski began to explain what he wanted to his friend.
 
As soon as he heard what was wanted, Yuzitch took on an air of importance, knit his brows, hemmed, and hawed.
 
"I can manage it," he said finally. "Yes, we can manage it. I must see one of my friends about it. But it's difficult. It will cost money."
 
Bodlevski immediately assented. Yuzitch at once rose and went over to a red-nosed individual in undress uniform, who was poring over the Police News.
 
"Friend Borisovitch," said Yuzitch, holding out his hand to him, "something doing!"
 
"Fair or foul?" asked the man with the red nose.
 
............