climbing up with a cheerful look, only turning round to light the way for the police-officer. The officer was followed by Egór Miháylovitch. When they had disappeared above, Doútlof, with one foot on the bottom step, sighed and stopped. Two or three minutes passed. The footsteps in the garret were no longer heard; evidently they had reached the body.
“Daddy, they want you,” Efím called through the opening.
Doútlof began going up. The light of the lantern showed only the upper part of the bodies of the police-officer and of Egór Miháylovitch beyond the rafters. Beyond them again someone else was standing, with his back turned towards them.
This was Polikéy.
Doútlof climbed over a rafter and stopped, crossing himself.
“Turn him round, lads!” said the police-officer.
No one stirred.
“Efím, you’re a young lad! …” said Egór Miháylovitch.
The young lad stepped across a rafter, turned Polikéy round, and stood beside him, looking with a most cheerful face now at Polikéy, now at the official, as a showman exhibiting an Albino or Julia Pastrána looks at the audience, ready to do anything they may wish.
“Turn him round again.”
Polikéy was turned round, his arms slightly swinging, and his feet dragging on the ground.
“Catch hold, and take him down.”