Dutlof looked in the direction indicated; and though he saw nothing, he blinked his eyes and shook his head.
"The police inspector has come," said Yefímka. "The coachman told me. They are going to take him right down. Kind of a fearful night, uncle.[29] I wouldn't go in there to-night, not even if orders had come from the upper house. Not if Yégor Mikhaluitch beat me to death would I go in there."
"What a terrible misfortune!" said Dutlof, evidently from a sense of propriety; for in reality he was not thinking of what he was saying, and was anxious to go his way. But the overseer's voice chained him to the spot.
"Hey, guard, come here!" cried Yégor Mikháilovitch, from the steps.
Yefímka responded to the call.
"What muzhík was standing there with you?"
"Dutlof."
"You too, Sem'yón, come here."
As Dutlof drew near, he saw, by the light of the lantern carried by the coachman, not only the overseer, but a strange man in a uniform cap with a cockade, and wearing a cloak: this was the police inspector.
"Here is an old man will go with us," said the overseer, pointing to him.