“Do you remember where that clerk lived?”
“Yes, by a cemetery.”
“There it is!” said Andrey Ivanovich maliciously, pointing ahead in the darkness.
“What of it?”
“Just this.... The old woman, you heard, is alone.... And he went right there.... He walked around the yard and looked. You’ll see for yourself.... That’s the sort of a fellow you wanted to drop an old companion for.... If he’d crossed the bridge without a board creaking, we’d have gone straight along the road.... I turned aside.... Let’s go ahead quietly.”
Behind us some one coughed plaintively. Andrey Ivanovich looked around and said:
“Come with us, novice.... What can we do with you? You love your comrade.”
We crossed the bridge, followed the road and came to the cemetery. On the hill a little light shone through the trees. I saw the whitish walls of a small house, perched on the edge of a hill, and behind it was the dark outline of a bell-tower. Below on the right it was easier to imagine than to see the little stream.
“There he is,” said Andrey Ivanovich. “Do you see him?”