All the rooms were overrun with these strangers. It began to smell of bad tobacco, sweat, and vodka. Many of them drank to keep their courage up: they were afraid of a possible armed resistance.
A gendarme placed his Colonel’s voluminous portfolio on the grand piano in the drawing-room. The Colonel, stepping forward to the middle of the room, so that the light of the centre cluster of lamps fell almost directly upon his bald forehead and upon his bushy, sandy-haired moustache, pronounced in an official tone:
“Where’s the master of this house?”
He made a determined effort to give the impression that he did not know Doctor Svetilovitch or the others. Actually he knew nearly all of them personally. Doctor Svetilovitch walked up to him.
“I am the master of this house. I am Doctor Svetilovitch,” he said in a no less official tone.
The Colonel in the blue uniform then announced:
“M. Svetilovitch, it is my duty to make a search of your house.”
Doctor Svetilovitch asked:
“Under whose authority are you doing this? And where is your warrant for carrying out the search?”
The Colonel of the gendarmerie turned towards the piano and rummaged in his portfolio, but produced nothing. He said:
“I assure you I have an order. If you have any doubts you can call up on the telephone.”
Then the Colonel turned to the Inspector of the police and said:
“Please collect them all in one room.”
All, except Doctor Svetilovitch, were compelled to go into the dining-room, which now became crowded and uncomfortable. Armed constables were placed at both doors—the one entering the hall and the other the dining-room—as well as in all the corners. Their faces were dull, and their guns seemed unnecessary and absurd in these peaceful surroundings—but then the guests felt even more uncomfortable.
A detective looked out from time to time from the drawing-room door. He looked searchingly into the faces. The look he had on his disagreeable face with its white eyebrows and eyelashes gave the impression that he was sniffing the air.
In the drawing-room the Colonel of the gendarmerie was saying to Doctor Svetilovitch:
“And now, M. Svetilovitch, will you be so good as to tell me with what object you have arranged this gathering?”
Doctor Svetilovitch replied with an ironic smile:
“With the object of dancing and dining, nothing more. You can see for yourself that we are all peaceable folk.”
“Very well,” said the Colonel in an authoritative, rude tone. “Are the names and families of all gathered here with the object you state known to you?”
Doctor Svetilovitch shrugged his shoulders in astonishment and replied:
“Of course they are known to me! Why shouldn’t I know my own guests? I believe you know many of them yourself.”
“Be so good,” requested the Colonel, “as to give me the names of all your guests.”
He produced a sheet of paper from his portfolio and placed it on the piano. The Colonel wrote the names down as Doctor Svetilovitch gave them. When the doctor stopped short the Colonel asked laconically:
“All?”
“Doctor Svetilovitch answered as briefly:
“All.”
“Show us into your study,” said the Colonel.
They went into the study and rummaged among everything there. They turned over all the books and disarranged the writing-table. They looked through the letters. The Colonel demanded:
“Open the bookcases, the bureau drawers.”
Doctor Svetilovitch answered: “The keys, as you see, are in their places in the locks.”
He put his hands into his pockets and stood by the window.
“Will you be good enough to open them?” said the Colonel.
“I can’t do this,” replied Doctor Svetilovitch. “I do not consider it obligatory to help you in your searches.”
Pride filled his Cadet’s soul. He felt that he was behaving correctly and valiantly. What was the consequence? The uninvited guests opened everything themselves and rummaged where they pleased. A constable put aside all those books which looked suspicious. Several of these books had been published in Russia quite openly and sold no less openly. They took several books wholly innocent in their contents, simply because they thought they detected a rebellious note in their titles.
The Colonel of the gendarmerie announced:
“We will take the correspondence and the manuscripts with us.”
Doctor Svetilovitch said in vexation:
“I assure you there’s nothing criminal there. The manuscripts are very necessary to my work.”
“We’ll have a look at them,” said the Colonel dryly. “Don’t be concerned about them, they will be kept in safety.”
Then they rummaged the other rooms. They searched the beds to see if there were any concealed firearms.
When he returned into the study the Colonel of the gendarmerie said to Doctor Svetilovitch:
“Well, try and see if you can find the papers of the strike committee.”
“I have no such papers,” replied Doctor Svetilovitch.
“S-so! Now,” said the Colonel very significantly, “tell us frankly where you keep the weapons concealed.”
“What weapons?” asked Doctor Svetilovitch in astonishment.
The Colonel replied with an ironic smile:
“Any sort that you may have about—revolvers, bombs, or machine-guns.”
“I haven’t any kind of weapons,” said Doctor Svetilovitch with an amused laugh. “I haven’t even a gun for hunting. What kind of weapon can I possibly have?”
“We’ll have a look!” said the Colonel in a meaningful voice.
They turned the whole house upside down. Of course they found no weapons of any kind.
While all this was going on Trirodov was reading in the dining-room his own verses and some which were not his. The constables listened in a dull way. They did not understand anything, but waited patiently to see if any rebellious words were mentioned, but their waiting remained unrewarded.
The Inspector of the police then entered the dining-room. Everyone looked guardedly at him. He said solemnly, as if he were announcing the beginning of an important and useful work:
“Gentlemen, now we must subject all those present to a personal examination. One at a time, please. Suppose we begin with you,” said he, turning to the engineer.
The face of the Inspector of the police expressed a consciousness of his personal dignity. His movements were
