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Updated: June 24, 2025
In the depths of this yard stood a low, iron-roofed, smoke-begrimed building. The house itself was of course unoccupied, but this shed, formerly a blacksmith's forge, was now turned into a "dosshouse," kept by a retired captain named Aristid Fomich Kuvalda. In the interior of the dosshouse was a long, wide and grimy board, measuring some 28 by 70 feet.
"I say that he was a good man . . . a quiet and good man," whispered a low voice. "Yes, and he had money, too . . . and he never refused it to a friend. . . ." Again silence ensued. "He is dying!" said Tyapa, hoarsely, from behind the Captain's head. Aristid Fomich got up, and went with firm steps into the dosshouse. "Don't go!" Tyapa stopped him. "Don't go! You are drunk! It is not right."
Aristid Fomich, I remember now. They were left at the High Court of Justice at the time when I came into possession." "Get along, Egorka! It is to your own interest to show me the plan, the title-deeds, and everything you have immediately. You will probably clear at least a hundred roubles over this, do you understand?"
"One, two, three," counted Aristid Fomich; "our full number is thirty, the teacher is not here ... but probably many other outcasts will come. Let us calculate, say, twenty persons, and to every person two-and-a-half cucumbers, a pound of bread, and a pound of meat ... That won't be bad! One bottle of vodki each, and there is plenty of sour cabbage, and three watermelons.
"Gentlemen!" shouted the Inspector, "did you hear him? I want you to bear witness to this. Aha, I shall make short work of you, my friend, remember!" "Don't count your chickens before they are hatched ... my friend," said Aristid Fomich.
There is more than one short in the front alone, and as to the depth I shall see immediately." "The depth ... seventy-three feet." "What? Have you guessed, you shaved ugly face?" "Of course, Aristid Fomich! If you have eyes you can see a thing or two," shouted Vaviloff, joyfully.
In the depths of this yard stood a low, iron-roofed, smoke-begrimed building. The house itself was of course unoccupied, but this shed, formerly a blacksmith's forge, was now turned into a "dosshouse," kept by a retired Captain named Aristid Fomich Kuvalda. In the interior of the dosshouse was a long, wide and grimy board, measuring some 28 by 70 feet.
"One, two, three," counted Aristid Fomich; "our full number is thirty, the teacher is not here . . . but probably many other outcasts will come. Let us calculate, say, twenty persons, and to every person two-and-a-half cucumbers, a pound of bread, and a pound of meat . . . That won't be bad! One bottle of vodki each, and there is plenty of sour cabbage, and three watermelons.
He sighed deeply, and began with apparent calmness: "It is truly said that a man's sin will find him out . . . I lied to you, Aristid Fomich, . . . I tried to be cleverer than I am . . . I only received one hundred roubles." "Go on!" said Kuvalda. "And not four hundred as I told you . . . That means. . . ." "It does not mean anything. It is all the same to me whether you lied or not.
"Don't count your chickens before they are hatched . . . my friend," said Aristid Fomich. 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.
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