He went out on to the landing at the foot of the winding staircase that led up to the deck, and shouted—
“Mikhàïlo![[51]] come here! Come here a minute!... He’ll tell you himself....”
Mikhàïlo appeared at once. He had evidently been gambling with some friends, for he was holding several greasy cards in his hand. He was a sturdy young fellow, with a peculiarly naïve, almost childlike face. He sprang as lightly as a bird down the iron steps, with his strong, bare legs sticking out from a pair of pink cotton trousers much too short for him, and stood before his master, with his belt unfastened, evidently in a hurry to go back to his game. His whole figure and the expression of his face showed that the game was in full swing and had reached an exciting point.
“What’s up?” he asked, hastily.
“Come over here a minute.”
“Tell me what you want. I can hear you from here.”
“Come along into the cabin, you wooden figure head! You’ll have time to finish your game afterwards. Come and tell the gentlemen how you killed the old man.”
“What the plague!... What did you call me for? I thought.... Is that all you’ve got to talk about? Catch me!...”
He turned back to the staircase, but the steward caught him by his shirt.
“Hold hard! What a jackass it is! Can’t you answer when you’re asked civilly?”