The boy did not answer a word, but stood with his head bent down, looking like a perfect simpleton.
“Very well!” said Kirila Petrovitch: “lock him up somewhere, and see that he does not escape, or I’ll skin the whole household.”
Stepan conducted the boy to the pigeon loft, locked him in there, and ordered the old poultry woman, Agatha, to keep a watch upon him.
“There is no doubt about it: she has kept up intercourse with that accursed Doubrovsky. But if she has really invoked his aid——” thought Kirila Petrovitch, pacing up and down the room, and angrily whistling his favourite air,——“I am hot upon his track, at all events, and he shall not escape me. We shall take advantage of this opportunity.... Hark! a bell; thank God, that is the sheriff. Bring here the boy that is locked up.”
In the meantime, a small telega drove into the courtyard, and our old acquaintance, the sheriff, entered the room, all covered with dust.
“Glorious news!” said Kirila Petrovitch: “I have caught Doubrovsky.”
“Thank God, Your Excellency!” said the sheriff, his face beaming with delight. “Where is he?”
“That is to say, not Doubrovsky himself, but one of his band. He will be here presently. He will help us to apprehend his chief. Here he is.”
The sheriff, who expected to see some fierce-looking brigand, was astonished to perceive a lad of thirteen years of age, of somewhat delicate appearance. He turned to Kirila Petrovitch with an incredulous look, and awaited an explanation. Kirila Petrovitch then began to relate the events of the morning, without, however, mentioning the name of Maria Kirilovna.
The sheriff listened to him attentively, glancing from time to time at the young rogue, who, assuming a look of imbecility, seemed to be paying no attention to all that was going on around him.