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Updated: May 14, 2025
When Natasha and Bodlevski entered their apartment, they found the police in possession, and a few minutes later both were under arrest. Abundant evidence of fraud and forgery was found in their dwelling, and the vast Siberian solitudes avenged the death of their last victim. I was studying at the University, and being coached in anatomy by my old friend Sölling.
I bid one mark more, and Sölling raised me a thaler. There were no more bids, the hammer fell, and the arm belonged to Sölling. "Here, take this," he said, handing me a mark piece; "it's part of your commission as grave robber. You shall have the rest later, unless you prefer that I should turn it over to the drinking fund."
I'll take it home with me." "No," I exclaimed, "I can't permit it. It was wrong of me to bring it away from the churchyard. I'm going right back to put the arm in its place." "Well, will you listen to that?" cried Sölling, amid the hearty laughter of the others. "Simsen's so lyric, he certainly must be drunk. I must have that arm at any cost."
Lord, what a lot of bones they've dug out there! There's arms and legs and heads, many more than the Doctor could possibly need." "Much good that does us," answered Solling. "They shut the gates at seven o'clock and it's after eleven already." "Oh, yes, they shut them," grinned Hans again. "But there's another way to get in.
I hid my booty under my overcoat, nodded to the sleepy old janitor as he opened the door to me, and a few moments later I entered my own room with an expression which I had attempted to make quite calm and careless. "What the devil is the matter with you, Simsen?" cried Sölling as he saw me. "Have you seen a ghost? Or is the punch wearing off already?
Our merry mood had vanished and we took our way, quiet and depressed, through the old avenues toward our home. For the first time in its existence possibly, our venerable "barracks," as we called the dormitory, saw its occupants returning home from an evening's bout just as the night watchman intoned his eleven o'clock verse. "Just eleven," exclaimed Sölling.
"The Doctor can have all the arms and legs he wants," grinned Hans, who came out of the doorway just in time to hear Solling's last word. "What do you mean, Hans?" asked Solling in astonishment. "It'll be easy enough to get them," said Hans. "They've torn down the planking around the Holy Trinity churchyard, and dug up the earth to build a new wall. I saw it myself, as I came past the church.
We burst out into loud laughter at this remarkable answer, but Solling continued: "Can you imagine it? Both arms are gone, cut off at the shoulder joint; and the strangest part of it is that the same thing has been done to my shabby old skeleton which stands in my bedroom. There wasn't an arm on either of them." "That's too bad," I remarked.
And this hand, loved and missed by so many it lay there now on an anatomical table, encircled by clouds of tobacco smoke, stared at by curious glances, and made the object of coarse jokes. O God! how terrible it was! "I must have that arm," exclaimed Solling, when the first burst of admiration had passed. "When I bleach it and touch it up with varnish, it wild be a superb specimen.
One, two, even five minutes passed before we heard him run upstairs and knock at the door with his characteristic short blows. When he entered the room he looked so angry and at the same time so upset that I cried out: "What's the matter, Sölling? You look as if you had been robbed." "That's exactly what has happened," replied Sölling angrily.
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