Page 55 - down-and-out-in-paris-and-london

the slayers of his parents.
When we were certain that the coast was clear we dived
quickly into the doorway. In the laundry was a Frenchwom-
an ironing clothes, who told us that ‘the Russian gentlemen’
lived up a staircase across the courtyard. We went up sev-
eral flights of dark stairs and emerged on to a landing. A
strong, surly-looking young man, with hair growing low on
his head, was standing at the top of the stairs. As I came up
he looked at me suspiciously, barred the way with his arm
and said something in Russian.
‘MOT D’ORDRE!’ he said sharply when I did not an-
swer.
I stopped, startled. I had not expected passwords.
‘MOT D’ORDRE!’ repeated the Russian.
Boris’s friend, who was walking behind, now came for-
ward and said something in Russian, either the password or
an explanation. At this, the surly young man seemed sat-
isfied, and led us into a small, shabby room with frosted
windows. It was like a very poverty-stricken office, with
propaganda posters in Russian lettering and a huge, crude
picture of Lenin tacked on the walls. At the table sat an
unshaven Russian in shirt sleeves, addressing newspaper
wrappers from a pile in front of him. As I came in he spoke
to me in French, with a bad accent.
‘This is very careless!’ he exclaimed fussily. ‘Why have
you come here without a parcel of washing?’
‘Washing?’
‘Everybody who comes here brings washing. It looks as
though they were going to the laundry downstairs. Bring a

Down and Out in Paris and London