"I've come on business," said Peredonov confusedly.
"Have you come with a confession? Have you killed a man? Have you committed arson? Have you robbed the post?" asked Avinovitsky angrily as he admitted Peredonov into the drawing-room. "Or have you been the victim of a crime yourself, which is more possible in our town. Ours is a filthy town and its police is even worse. I'm astonished that you don't find dead bodies every morning lying about the place. Well, sit down. What is your business? Are you the criminal or the victim?"
"No," said Peredonov, "I haven't done anything of the kind. Now there's the Head-Master who'd undoubtedly like to settle my hash for me, but I haven't any such thing in mind."
"So you haven't come with a confession?" asked Avinovitsky.
"No, I can't say that I have," mumbled Peredonov timidly.
"Well, if that's the case," said the District Attorney with savage emphasis, "then let me offer you something."
He picked up a small handbell from the table and rang it. No one came. Avinovitsky took the handbell in both hands, raised a furious racket, then threw the bell on the floor, stamped his feet and shouted in a savage voice:
"Malanya! Malanya! Devils! Beasts! Demons!"
Unhurried footsteps were heard and a schoolboy came in, Avinovitsky's son, a stubby, black-haired boy of about thirteen years of age with an air of confidence and self-assurance. He greeted Peredonov, picked up the bell, put in on the table and said quietly:
"Malanya is in the vegetable garden."