Among the numerous signatures on the paper was the signature of a
certain Fedyukov. Who the devil this Fedyukov was, Navagin had not
a notion. He went over in his memory all his acquaintances, relations
and subordinates in the service, recalled his remote past but could
recollect no name like Fedyukov. What was so strange was that this
_incognito_, Fedyukov, had signed his name regularly every Christmas
and Easter for the last thirteen years. Neither Navagin, his wife,
nor his house porter knew who he was, where he came from or what
he was like.

"It's extraordinary!" Navagin thought in perplexity, as he paced
about the study. "It's strange and incomprehensible! It's like
sorcery!"

"Call the porter here!" he shouted.

"It's devilish queer! But I will find out who he is!"

"I say, Grigory," he said, addressing the porter as he entered,
"that Fedyukov has signed his name again! Did you see him?"

"No, your Excellency."

"Upon my word, but he has signed his name! So he must have been in
the hall. Has he been?"

"No, he hasn't, your Excellency."

"How could he have signed his name without being there?"