"Last night, about one o'clock, I was going home along your street," began Peredonov, "and I heard someone moving by your gate. I thought at first it was thieves. 'What shall I do?' I thought, when suddenly I heard them running straight towards me. I pressed close against the wall and they didn't see me, but I recognised them. One had a brush and the other had a pail. They're well-known rascals, the sons of Avdeyev, the blacksmith. They ran, and I heard one say to the other: 'We haven't wasted the night,' he said, 'we've earned fifty-five kopecks.' I wanted to catch one of them but I was afraid they would smear my face, and besides I had a new overcoat on."
No sooner had Peredonov gone than Vershina went to the Commissioner of Police with a complaint. The Commissioner, Minchukov, sent a constable for Avdeyev and his sons.
The boys came boldly, thinking they were suspected on account of previous pranks. Avdeyev, a tall dejected old man, was, on the other hand, fully convinced that his sons were guilty of some fresh mischief. The Commissioner told Avdeyev of what his sons were accused, and Avdeyev replied:
"I can't control them. Do what you like with them. I've already hurt my hands beating them."
"It's not our doing," announced the elder boy Nil, who had curly red hair.
"No matter who does a thing we're blamed for it," said Ilya the younger, whose hair was also curly but white. "We've once done something and now we have to answer for everything."
Minchukov smiled amiably, shook his head and said:
"You'd better make a clean breast of it."
"There's nothing to confess," said Nil.