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Inspector!" said Lichonin, getting out the money. "Oh, mercy!" by now altogether good-naturedly retorted Kerbesh. "A wife, children ... You know yourself what our salary is ... Receive the little passport, young man. Sign your receipt. Best wishes." A queer thing!
The proprietress suddenly arises, shuffles in her slippers to the door, and says, winking to the inspector with a sleepy, expressionless eye of faded blue: "Mr. Kerbesh, I would ask you to have a look at our alterations. We want to enlarge the place a bit." "A-ah! With pleasure..." After ten minutes both return, without looking at each other.
An acquaintance?" asked Kerbesh, opening wide his magnificent azure eyes. "And who may he be?" "Bar ... Barbarisov." "Ah, Barbarisov? So, so, so, I recollect, I recollect!" "So then, won't you please accept these ten roubles?" Kerbesh shook his head, but did not take the bit of paper. "Well, but this Barbarisov of yours that is, ours is a swine.
The girls, as yet, call her impersonally, flatteringly and familiarly, "little housekeeper." She is spare, spry, just a trifle squinting, with a rosy complexion, and hair dressed in a little curly pompadour; she adores actors preferably stout comedians. Toward Emma Edwardovna she is ingratiating. The fifth person, finally, is the local district inspector, Kerbesh.
"Well, in the capacity of a kept mistress or a wife, let's say," indifferently retorted Kerbesh and twirled in his hands a silver cigar case with monograms and little figures. "I can do absolutely nothing for you ... at least right now. If you desire to marry her, present a suitable permit from your university authorities.
She gets into one place after another, from the fifth into the tenth... Finally the trail is picked up with you, and most important of all think of it! in my district! What can I do?" "Mr. Kerbesh, but she is of age," says the proprietress. "They are of age," confirms Isaiah Savvich. "They gave an acknowledgment, that it was of their own will..."
Timothy Alexandrine ... And so, my dear miss, the first thing ... You say, that she was taken down from the noose by your doctor i.e., the official city doctor ... His name? ..." "Klimenko." "It seems I've met him somewheres ... All right ... Who is the district inspector in your precinct station?" "Kerbesh." "Aha, I know ... Such a strong, virile fellow, with a red beard in a fan ... Yes?"
Kerbesh slowly draws in half a wine-glass of liqueur, works the oily, strong, pungent liquid slightly with his tongue over the roof of his mouth, swallows it, chases it down, without hurrying, with coffee, and then passes the ring finger of his left hand over his moustaches, to the right and left.
Again Kerbesh came, again whispered for a long time with the proprietress in her little bit of a cabinet, and again crunched in his pocket a new hundred-rouble bill. The protocol was made in five minutes; and Jennka, just as half-naked as she had hung herself, was carted away in a hired wagon into an anatomical theatre, wrapped up in and covered with two straw mats.
In the station house he was received by the district inspector, Kerbesh. He had spent the night on duty, had not slept his fill, and was angry. His luxurious, fan-shaped red beard was crumpled. The right half of the ruddy face was still crimsonly glowing from lying long on the uncomfortable oilcloth pillow.
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