They all believed this. The disturbing rumour that the Jews had stolen a Christian boy spread about town. Ostrov took a most zealous share in disseminating the rumour. The markets were filled with noisy discussions. The tradesmen and dealers, instigated by Ostrov, bellowed loudly their denunciations. Why did Ostrov do this? He knew, of course, that it was a lie. But latterly, acting on the instructions of the local branch of the Black Hundred, he had been engaged in provocatory work. The new episode came in handily.
The police began an investigation. They looked for the boy, but without success. In any case, they found a Jew who had been seen by some one near Egorka’s house. He was arrested.
It was evening again. Egorka’s mother was at home when Egorka returned. There was a radiant sadness about him as he walked up to his mother, kissed her and said:
“Hello, mamma!”
Egorka’s mother assailed him with questions:
“Oh, you little wretch! Where have you been? What have you been doing? What unclean demons have carried you away?”
Egorka remembered his promise. He stood before his mother in obstinate silence. His mother questioned him angrily:
“Where have you been? tell me! Did the Jews try to crucify you?”
“What Jews?” exclaimed Egorka. “No one has tried to crucify me.”
“You just wait, you young brat,” shouted his mother in a rage, “I’ll make you talk.”