“There is none here that I know of, sir,” Koboseff replied deferentially, “but, of course, a fellow must not be too sure, sir.”
Baska stood in a corner of the shop, bending over a barrel. While the officers talked to Urie she threw a glance at the visitors over her shoulder and resumed her work.
The uniformed civil engineer made a close examination of the walls. The one facing the street was covered with planking, and Koboseff explained that he had had it done as a safeguard against dampness, but that there was none.
“But then cheese crumbs are apt to get into the cracks,” urged General Mrovinsky, taking hold of one of the shelves along that wall. “They would decay there, don’t you know, and that would be almost as bad as dampness, wouldn’t it?” He then inspected the two living rooms. In the second of these he found a pile of hay.
“It’s from our cheese barrels,” Koboseff explained; and pointing at another pile he added: “And that’s coke, sir.”
General Mrovinsky picked up a coal, examined it, threw it back and wiped his fingers with some of the hay.
“Everything is all right,” he said to the police officers, with a look of intelligence. He led the way back to the store and then back again to the middle room. Here he took a firm hold of the planking that lined the wall under the street window. He tried to wrench it off, but it would not yield, and he let it go.
“Everything is all right,” he said to the captain, seating himself on a sofa. A trunk and some pieces of furniture were moved from their places and then put back. The general knew a merchant by the name of Koboseff, so he asked the cheese dealer if he was a relative of his. Urie said no, and after some conversation about the cheese business in general the officials went away.
“There is no mine in that place. You can make yourself perfectly easy about it,” Mrovinsky said to the captain, as they made their way to the adjoining basement.