‘Can’t possibly. I’m on duty. I’ve got to go to Volocha for an inquest—man drowned.’
But I knew Evpsychyi’s weak points; so I said with assumed indifference:
‘It’s a pity ... a great pity ... and I’ve got a couple of bottles of the best from Count Vortzel’s cellar....’
‘Can’t manage it.... Duty.’
‘The butler sold them to me, because he’s an acquaintance of mine. He’d brought them up in the cellar, like his own children.... You ought to come in.... I’ll tell them to give the horse a feed.’
‘You’re a nice one, you are,’ the sergeant said in reproof. ‘Don’t you know that duty comes first of all?... What’s in the bottles, though? Plum wine?’
‘Plum wine!’ I waved my hand. ‘It’s the real old stuff, that’s what it is, my dear sir!’
‘I must confess I’ve just had a bite and a drop.’ The sergeant scratched his cheek regretfully, wrinkling his face incredibly.
I continued with the same calm.
‘I don’t know whether it’s true; but the butler swore it was two hundred years old. It smells just like an old cognac, and it’s as yellow as amber.’