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Updated: May 6, 2025
"Why shouldn't I have turned to these young ladies with a polite question and an interesting tale?" asked Ostrov. Piotr, without replying, turned to the sisters: "You little girls are ready to enter into conversation with every vagrant." An expression of bitterness crept into Ostrov's face. Possibly this was only a game, but it was certainly well played. It made Piotr feel uncomfortable.
But Ostrov's friends were counting on taking advantage of one of the summer feasts, when the monks, escorting distinguished pilgrims, would have drunk freely. The thieves had still a month in which to make preparations for the theft; they meant to make use of this time by becoming friendly with the monks, and in this way familiarize themselves with all the conditions.
Ostrov fell back into his chair. His red face became tinged with a sudden grey pallor. His eyes, now bloodshot, half closed like those of a prostrate doll with the eye mechanism in its stomach. There was witheredness, almost lifelessness, in Ostrov's voice: "Poltinin." "Your friend?" asked Trirodov. "Well, go on." "He is now being sought for," went on Ostrov in the same lifeless way.
In any case, Trirodov saw clearly that it was impossible for him to maintain silence. He thought that the dark aspects of monastic life did not justify the evil deed planned by Ostrov's companions. Besides, the consequences of this deed might well prove very dangerous. Trirodov decided that there was nothing left for him to do but to pay a visit to the monastery.
You couldn't have done much in such a short time, but you surely have found out something. Speak!" Ostrov sniggered rather stupidly, fidgeted as if he were sitting on springs, and said: "Very well, I'll tell you something interesting and won't charge you a penny for it." Trirodov, without taking off his heavy, fixed gaze from Ostrov's face, repeated: "Speak!"
The quiet boy looked with his eyes full of intense questioning straight into Ostrov's eyes. "Do you know who killed the Chief of Police?" asked Ostrov. Trirodov was silent. Ostrov's whole body twitched as he kept up his absurd sniggering. "He killed him and went away," went on Ostrov. "He made his escape by taking advantage of the confusion and the darkness, as the newspapers would say.
"A thief?" asked Trirodov abruptly. Ostrov smiled almost consciously, and said: "Not exactly a thief, still one's got to be careful with him. An able man in his way." Ostrov's eyes assumed a frankly insolent expression. Trirodov asked: "What sort of relation has he to this article in your budget?" "We send him out to the rich men of the place." "To blackmail them?" asked Trirodov.
There was no warmth or welcome in his voice: "I did not expect to see you." "I've come, all the same," said Ostrov. "Whether you like it or not, you've got to receive your dear guest." There was contemptuous defiance in his voice. His eyes looked more insolent than ever. Trirodov frowned lightly and looked straight into Ostrov's eyes, which were compelled to turn aside. "Come in," said Trirodov.
It isn't at all a trifle for me," said Trirodov. "Don't pretend that you're poor! Some one might think you were a forsaken orphan! What do you expect us to believe?" Trirodov rose from his seat, looked with stern intentness into Ostrov's eyes, and said resolutely: "In a word, I can't give you the money to-day. Try to come here to-morrow about this time." Ostrov rose involuntarily from his chair.
Malignant thoughts about Trirodov again took possession of their minds. Ostrov continued: "I had no suspicion that Trirodov lived here. He is a very old and intimate acquaintance of mine. I might say we are friends." "So-o," said Zherbenev severely, glancing at Ostrov with disapproval. Something in Ostrov's voice and manner aroused their antagonism. His glance was certainly impudent.
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