“Who is this?”
“A very inquisitive person who somehow has got an idea that we have many interesting things to tell him about Trirodov,” said Elisaveta with a smile.
Ostrov raised his hat and said:
“I’ve had the honour to see you on the float.”
“Well, what of it?” asked Piotr sharply.
“Well—er, I have the honour to remind you,” said Ostrov with exaggerated politeness.
“What are you doing here?” asked Piotr.
“I’ve had the pleasure of meeting these charming young ladies,” Ostrov began to explain.
Piotr interrupted him sharply:
“And now you let the young ladies alone and go away from here.”
“Why shouldn’t I have turned to these young ladies with a polite question and an interesting tale?” asked Ostrov.
Piotr, without replying, turned to the sisters:
“You little girls are ready to enter into conversation with every vagrant.”
An expression of bitterness crept into Ostrov’s face. Possibly this was only a game, but it was certainly well played. It made Piotr feel uncomfortable.
“A vagrant? And what is a vagrant?” asked Ostrov.
“What is a vagrant?” repeated Piotr in confusion. “What a question!”
“Well, sir, you have permitted yourself to use the word, and I’m rather interested to know in what sense you’ve used it in its application to me.”
Piotr, annoyed at being disconcerted by the stranger’s question, said sharply:
“A vagrant is one who roams about without shelter and without money and obtrudes upon others instead of attending to his own business.”
“Thank you for the definition,” said Ostrov with a bow. “It is true that I have but little money and that I’m compelled to roam about—such is the nature of my profession.”
“What is your profession?” asked Piotr.
Ostrov bowed with dignity and said:
“I’m an actor!”
“I doubt it,” said Piotr once more sharply, “you look more like a detective.”
“You are mistaken,” said Ostrov in a flustered way.
Piotr turned away from him.
“Let us go home at once,” he said to the sisters.
X
It was growing dark. Ostrov was approaching Trirodov’s gates. His face betrayed agitation. It was even more clear now than by daylight that life had used him hardly. He felt painfully timid in going to Trirodov, in whom he evidently had certain hopes. Before Ostrov could make up his mind to ring the bell at the gates he walked the entire length of the stone wall that surrounded Trirodov’s house and garden and examined it attentively, without learning anything. Only the entire length of the tall wall was before his eyes.
It was already quite dark when Ostrov stopped at last at the main gate. The half-effaced figures and old heraldic emblems held his attention for a moment only. He had already taken hold of the brass bell-handle and paused cautiously, as if it were his habit to reconsider at the last moment; he gave a sudden shiver. A clear, childish voice behind his back uttered quietly:
“Not here.”
Ostrov looked on both sides timidly, half stealthily, bending his head low and letting it sink between his shoulders. Quite close by a pale, blue-eyed boy dressed in white was standing and eyeing him with intent scrutiny.
“They won’t hear you here. Everyone has left,” he said.
“Where is one to ring?” Ostrov asked harshly.
The boy pointed his finger to the left; it was a slow, graceful gesture.
“Ring at the small gate there.”
He ran off so quickly and quietly it seemed as if he had not been there. Ostrov went in the direction indicated. He came to a high, narrow gate. A white electric bell-button shone in a round wooden recess. Ostrov rang and listened. He could hear somewhere the rapid shivering tones of a tiny bell. Ostrov waited. The door did not open. Ostrov rang once more. It was quiet behind the door.
“I wonder how long there’s to wait?” he grumbled, then gave a shout: “Hey, you in there!”
A faint, muffled sound vibrated in the damp air, as if someone had tittered lightly. Ostrov caught hold of the brass handle of the gate. The gate opened towards him easily and without a sound. Ostrov looked round cautiously as he entered, and purposely left the gate open.
He found himself in a small court on either side of which was a low wall. The gate swung to behind him with a metallic click. Had he himself pulled it to rather quickly? He could not recall now. He walked forward about ten paces, when he came upon a wall twice as high as the side walls. It had a massive oak door; an electric bell-button shone very white on one side. Ostrov rang once more. The bell-button was very cold, almost icy, to the touch. A sensation of chill passed down his whole body.
A round window, like a dim, motionless, observing eye, was visible high above the door.
Ostrov could not say whether he waited there a long or a short time. He experienced a strange feeling of having become congealed and of having lost all sense of time. Whole days seemed to pass before him like a single minute. Rays of bright light fell on his face and disappeared. Ostrov thought that someone flashed this light on his face by means of a lantern from the window over the door—a light so intense that his eyes felt uncomfortable. He turned his face aside in vexation. He did not wish to be recognized before he entered. That was why he came in the dark of the evening.
But evidently he had been recognized. This door swung open as soundlessly as the first. He entered a short, dark corridor in the thick wall; then another court. No one was there. The door closed noiselessly behind him.
“How many courts are there in this devilish hole?” growled Ostrov.
A narrow path paved with stone stretched before him. It was lit up by a lamp from a distance, the reflection of which was directed straight towards Ostrov, so that he could see only the smooth grey slabs of stone under his feet. It was
