“‘Poisoned! Which way poisoned?’
“‘Why, there’s poison enough in those pills to kill a man! A man! They would kill a horse! What did you want with them?’
“‘I take them,’ said I; ‘my stomach’s out of order.’
“‘But they’re poison!’
“‘Not a bit of it! The Lord forbid! I’ve got into the way of it, little by little, and they do me nothing but good.’
“‘H’m! And who made them?’
“‘The apothecary, my friend.’
“‘Tell me all about it.’
“So I told him all I knew. I said—
“‘He promised to bring me the pills at Patrìkyev’s tavern, and he never came; and I don’t know where he went.’