“It’s irregular. What would become of us if every one should take it into his head to open up graves! A chap might do it to steal something, and when he’s caught he might say that he’s heard the corpse was alive and turning in its grave.”
“You know very well,” retorted Trirodov, “that we didn’t go there with the object of robbery.”
But the Captain reiterated harshly and sternly:
“It’s irregular.”
Trirodov invited the Captain to dinner. The Captain’s bribe was, of course, considerably larger than the Commissary’s. After a sumptuous dinner and drinks, and the bribe, the Captain suddenly became softer than wax. He began to dwell on the difficulties and annoyances of his position. Then Trirodov mentioned the search that had been made lately, and the beating the instructress Maria received at the police station. The Captain flushed with embarrassment and said with some warmth:
“Upon my honour, it didn’t depend upon me. I must follow orders. Our new Vice-Governor—forgive the expression—is a regular butcher. That’s how he’s made his career.”
“Is it possible to make one’s career by such means?” asked Trirodov.
The Captain spoke animatedly—and it was evident that the career of the new Vice-Governor agitated his official heart considerably.
“The facts must be familiar to you,” he said. “He killed his friend when he was drunk, was confined in a lunatic asylum, and how he ever got out is beyond comprehension. With the help of patronage he was given a position in the District Government and showed himself to be such an asp that every one marvelled. He quickly galloped into a councillorship. He subdued the peasants. Of course you must have heard about it?”
“Who hasn’t heard about it?” asked Trirodov quietly.