“We have all got to go to the police station to-morrow,” said the porter. “There is going to be an inquest. But what do I know about it? Did I see what happened? All I know is that he called me this morning, and gave me a letter and said: ‘Drop this in the letter-box.’ And his eyes were all red with crying. His wife and children were away; they had gone for a walk. So while I was taking his letter to the mail he shot himself in the forehead with a revolver. When I came back his cook was already shrieking at the top of her lungs.”
“He committed a great sin!” said the herring-man in a hoarse voice, wagging his head. “A great sin.”
“He went crazy from knowing too much,” said the porter, picking up a trick. “He used to sit up at night writing papers—play, peasant! But he was a kind gentleman, and so pale and tall and black-eyed! He was a good tenant.”
“They say there was a woman at the bottom of it,” said the coachman, slapping a ten of trumps on a king of hearts. “They say he was in love with another man’s wife, and had got to dislike his own. That happens sometimes.”
“I crown myself king!” exclaimed the porter.
The bell in the courtyard rang again. The victorious monarch spat angrily and left the coach house. Shadows like those of dancing couples were flitting to and fro across the windows of the wing. Frightened voices and hurrying footsteps were heard.
“The doctor must have come back,” said the coachman. “Our Mikailo is running.”
A strange, wild scream suddenly rent the air.
Aliosha looked nervously first at his grandfather, and then at the windows, and said:
“He patted me on the head yesterday, and asked me where I was from. Grandfather, who was that howling just now?”