The Invaders and other Stories

XIV.

Making his way out into the fresh air, Dutlof turned off from the road to the lindens, unloosed his belt so the more conveniently to get at his purse, and then began to put away the money. He moved his lips, sucking them in and pushing them out again, though he made no sound. After he had stowed away the money, and buckled his girdle again, he crossed himself, and went roiling along the path as though he were drunk; so absorbed was he by the thoughts rushing through his brain. Suddenly he saw before him the form of a muzhík, coming to meet him. He screamed. It was Yefím, who with a club was acting as guard on the outside of the wing.

"Ah, uncle Sem'yón," said Yefímka joyfully as he came nearer. [It was rather gloomy for him to be all alone.] "Well, have you got the recruits off?"

Yefímka, although he would not for any thing go into the wing, started off, tramping with his feet as though they were beams.

Yefímka straightened his forelock; it seemed as if he had lost all his fear. Going up two or three steps, he kept turning round, with a glad countenance, and throwing the light on the police inspector's way. Behind the inspector followed the overseer. When they were out of sight, Dutlof, resting one foot on the step, sighed and stopped. In the course of two minutes, the sound of the steps ceased; evidently they were approaching the body.

Yefímka responded to the call.

They went into the wing, at the entry of which the ill-smelling guards were waiting with a lantern. Dutlof followed them. The guards had a guilty look, which was to be attributed only to the odor arising from them, because they had been doing nothing wrong. All were silent.

The police inspector struck a light, and began to smoke his pipe. He lived two versts away; and he had just been engaged in receiving from the captain of police a sharp dressing for drunkenness, and was, consequently, still suffering from an attack of ill humor. The overseer asked Dutlof why he was there. Dutlof told him in a straightforward way about the finding of the money, and what the bárinya had done. Dutlof said that he was going to ask the overseer's permission. The overseer, to Dutlof's horror, asked for the envelope, and looked at it. The police inspector also took the envelope, and asked, in a few dry words, about the particulars.

The old man winced, but there was nothing to be done.

The body turned around once more, waved its hands slightly, and the leg made a circle on the sanded floor.

The "fine young man" walked up to the beam, and turning Ilyitch's body round stood by him, looking with the same pleased expression, now at Ilyitch, now at the officer, just as a showman exhibiting an albino, or some monstrosity, looks now at the public, now at the object of his exhibition, and is ready to fulfil all the desires of his spectators.

Dutlof went up. The police inspector and the overseer could be seen in the light of the lantern, but the beam partly hid them from sight. Near them stood some one with back toward them. It was Polikéï. Dutlof went beyond the beam, and, crossing himself, halted.

Dutlof looked in the direction indicated; and though he saw nothing, he blinked his eyes and shook his head.

As Dutlof drew near, he saw, by the light of the lantern carried by the coachman, not only the overseer, but a strange man in a uniform cap with a cockade, and wearing a cloak: this was the police inspector.

"You too, Sem'yón, come here."

"You know best," said the overseer, and both followed the police inspector.

"Yes. What are you doing?"

"Yefímka, you're a fine young man," said the overseer.

"Where?" asked the police inspector.

"What muzhík was standing there with you?"

"What a terrible misfortune!" said Dutlof, evidently from a sense of propriety; for in reality he was not thinking of what he was saying, and was anxious to go his way. But the overseer's voice chained him to the spot.

"Uncle! you're wanted," cried Yefímka, in the skylight.

"Turn him round, boys," commanded the coroner. No one stirred.

"Turn him round again."

"They stationed me here to guard Ilyitch, who hung himself."

"The police inspector has come," said Yefímka. "The coachman told me. They are going to take him right down. Kind of a fearful night, uncle. I wouldn't go in there to-night, not even if orders had come from the upper house. Not if Yégor Mikhaluitch beat me to death would I go in there."

"That's luck for the rascal!" he said.

"Now, good-by to my money," thought Dutlof, and began already to excuse himself. But the police inspector gave him the money.

"How get him a substitute? Is there money enough? And, besides, it's too late."

"Hey, guard, come here!" cried Yégor Mikháilovitch, from the steps.

"Here," whispered the overseer. "Yefímka," he added, "you're a fine young man, go ahead with the lantern."

"Here is an old man will go with us," said the overseer, pointing to him.

"Here in the loft: they say he's hanging there," replied Yefímka, pointing with his stick through the darkness, to the roof of the wing.

"Dutlof."

"Do you order him cut down, Vasíli Borisovitch?" demanded the overseer. "Bring an axe, friends!"

"Comes in good time," said the overseer. "He's just taken his nephew to camp. Now he can buy him off."

"Come now, take him down."

"But where is Ilyitch?"

"Are you going to get Ilyushka a substitute?" inquired the overseer.

"And you, Yefímka, you're only a young man; just run on ahead to the loft where he's hanging, and clear away the stairs so that his honor can get up."

"Ah!" said the police inspector, and started on.

Twice the order had to be given to Dutlof and the guards to lift him up. But the "fine young man" handled Ilyitch as he would the carcass of a sheep. Finally they cut the rope, took down the body, and threw a cloth over it. The police inspector said that the doctor would come on the next day, and sent the people away.