In the midst of the square some men with mustaches stopped him; one of them seized him by the collar and cried, "That overcoat is mine!" Akaky tried to shout, but another set a fist against his very mouth, and in a moment they had stripped the coat from his shoulders and left him in the snow. He woke as from a sleep and ran to the district inspector, but the inspector only asked sundry improper questions, and why he had been coming home so late, so that Akaky went away uncertain whether anything would ever be done. The next day, pale and undone, he resolved to seek a certain Person of Consequence, who had but lately become a person of consequence, and who valued nothing so much as his own dignity. When poor Akaky stammered out his business, the Person of Consequence, to display his firmness before a friend who happened to be visiting, demanded in a terrible voice how he dared to come with so trifling a complaint. Akaky was so frightened that his legs failed him, and the porters had to lead him out half senseless. A cruel wind was blowing; he caught a fever upon the way, took to his bed, and in a few days he died. And Petersburg remained without Akaky, as though he had never been there at all. But soon a rumour spread that by night, near the Kalinkin Bridge, a dead man had begun to appear, who tore the overcoats from every shoulder without regard to rank. One evening the Person of Consequence himself, driving home, felt a hand seize him fast by the collar, and turning he beheld the dead Akaky, who said in a dreadful voice, "It is your overcoat I want!" and tore it from him. The Person of Consequence very nearly died of fright; and from that night the ghost was seen no more, as though the general's overcoat had fitted him to perfection.