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"I feel inclined to commit a murder," declared Martyanoff, laughing his dull laugh. "Upon whom?" asked Abyedok, edging away from him. "It's all the same to me . . . Petunikoff . . . Egorka or even you!" "And why?" inquired Kuvalda. "I want to go to Siberia . . . I have had enough of this vile life . . . one learns how to live there!"
The Doctor, a young man with eye-glasses, looked at him curiously, the Coroner with an attention that boded him no good, Petunikoff with triumph, while the Inspector could hardly restrain himself from throwing himself upon him. The dark figure of Martyanoff appeared at the door of the dosshouse.
"I shall not go any further." "They are coming here!" shouted the Captain. "The police!" someone whispered in great alarm. "In a droshky! Fool!" said Martyanoff, quietly. Kuvalda got up and went to the entrance. "Is this a lodging-house?" asked someone, in a trembling voice. "Yes. Belonging to Aristid Kuvalda ..." said the Captain, roughly. "Oh! Did a reporter, one Titoff, live here?" "Aha!
The foolish face of Meteor, who was lying on the ground, showed that he was drinking in the Deacon's strong words. Martyanoff sat, clasping his large hairy hands round his knees, looking silently and sadly at the bottle of vodki and pulling his moustache as if trying to bite it with his teeth, while Abyedok was teasing Tyapa. "I have seen you watching the place where your money is hidden!"
He entered quietly, and stood behind Petunikoff, so that his chin was on a level with the merchant's head. Behind him stood the Deacon, opening his small, swollen, red eyes. "Let us be doing something, gentlemen," suggested the Doctor. Martyanoff made an awful grimace, and suddenly suddenly sneezed on Petunikoff's head.
The latter gave a yell, sat down hurriedly, and then jumped aside, almost knocking down the Inspector, into whose open arms he fell. "Do you see," said the frightened merchant, pointing to Martyanoff, "do you see what kind of men they are." Kuvalda burst out laughing.
"Just because...." "And I will take a stone and hit you on the head," the young man answered respectfully. Martyanoff would have broken his bones, had not Kuvalda interrupted with: "Leave him alone.... Is this a home to you or even to us? You have no sufficient reason to break his teeth for him. You have no better reason than he for living with us."
"He was the best among you . . . the cleverest, the most respectable. I mourn for him." "R-e-s-t with the Saints . . . Sing, you crooked hunchback!" roared the Deacon, digging his friend in the ribs. "Be quiet!" shouted Abyedok, jumping vengefully to his feet. "I will give him one on the head," proposed Martyanoff, raising his head from the ground. "You are not asleep?"
"And why?" asked the youngster. "Just because. . . ." "And I will take a stone and hit you on the head," the young man answered respectfully. Martyanoff would have broken his bones, had not Kuvalda interrupted with: "Leave him alone. . .Is this a home to you or even to us? You have no sufficient reason to break his teeth for him. You have no better reason than he for living with us."
"I feel inclined to commit a murder," declared Martyanoff, laughing his dull laugh. "Upon whom?" asked Abyedok, edging away from him. "It's all the same to me ... Petunikoff ... Egorka ... or even you!" "And why?" inquired Kuvalda. "I want to go to Siberia ... I have had enough of this vile life ... one learns how to live there!"
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