The policeman’s whistle echoed shrilly across the courtyard. At the door of the doss-house its inhabitants stood in a group, yawning and scratching.

“So you do not wish to be introduced? That is rather rude of you!” laughed Aristid Fomich.

Petunikoff took his purse from his pocket, fumbled in it, took out two five-kopeck pieces, put them at the feet of the dead man, and crossed himself.

“God have mercy…for the burial of the sinful dust.…”

“What!” yelled the Captain, “you give this for the burial? Take this money away, I say, you scoundrel! How dare you give your stolen kopecks for the burial of an honest man? I will tear you limb from limb!”

“Your Honor!” cried the terrified merchant to the Inspector, seizing him by the elbow. The Doctor and the Coroner rushed outside. The Inspector shouted:

“Sidoroff, come here!”

The “creatures that once were men” stood at the door in a close wall, looking and listening with an interest which lit up their sad countenances.

Kuvalda, shaking his fist at Petunikoff’s head, roared and rolled his bloodshot eyes like a wild beast.

“Scoundrel and thief! Take back your money! Dirty worm! Take it back, I say…or else I shall cram it down your throat.… Take it your five-kopeck pieces!”

Petunikoff stretched out a trembling hand for his mite and, with the other protecting himself from Kuvalda’s fist, said:

“You are my witnesses, Sir Inspector, and all you good people!”

“We are not good people, merchant!” said the trembling voice of Bag of Bones.

The Inspector whistled impatiently, blowing out his cheeks like a balloon; his other hand was stretched protectingly over Petunikoff, who was crouching in front of him as if trying to hide inside his belly.

“You dirty toad! Shall I force you to kiss the dead man’s feet? How would you like that?” And catching Petunikoff by the neck, Kuvalda hurled him against the door as if he had been a mere kitten.

The “creatures that once were men” sprang aside quickly to give the merchant enough space to fall. And down he fell at their feet, crying in wild terror:

“Murder! Help! Murder!”

Martyanoff slowly raised his foot, aiming it at the merchant’s head. Bag of Bones spat in his face with a voluptuous grin. The merchant rolled himself into a ball and helped himself with hands and feet into the court-yard, rousing general laughter. But by this time two policemen had arrived, and pointing to Kuvalda, the Inspector cried:

“Arrest him and bind him, hand and foot!”

“Tie him up,” implored Petunikoff.

“You dare not!…I will not run away…I will go on my own,” said Kuvalda, freeing himself from the policemen who had rushed up to him.