"Stop!" shouted the constable, breathing heavily. "Did you see—a man—with a beard—didn't he run by here?"
She pointed to the garden and answered calmly:
"He went that way!"
"Yegorov, run! Whistle! Is it long ago?"
"Yes—I should say—about a minute!"
But the whistle drowned her voice. The constable, without waiting for an answer, precipitated himself in a gallop along the hillocky ground, waving his hands in the direction of the garden. After him, with bent head, and whistling, the policemen darted off.
The mother nodded her head after them, and, satisfied with herself, went home. When she walked out of the field into the street a cab crossed her way. Raising her head she saw in the vehicle a young man with light mustache and a pale, worn face. He, too, regarded her. He sat slantwise. It must have been due to his position that his right shoulder was higher than his left.
At home Nikolay met her joyously.
"Alive? How did it go?"
"It seems everything's been successful!"