VI

Yakov Ivanitch’s money was in the bank of the town and was invested in second mortgages; he only kept a little at home, Just what was wanted for necessary expenses.  Going into the kitchen he felt for the matchbox, and while the sulphur was burning with a blue light he had time to make out the figure of Matvey, which was still lying on the floor near the table, but now it was covered with a white sheet, and nothing could be seen but his boots.  A cricket was chirruping.  Aglaia and Dashutka were not in the room, they were both sitting behind the counter in the tea-room, spinning yarn in silence.  Yakov Ivanitch crossed to his own room with a little lamp in his hand, and pulled from under the bed a little box in which he kept his money.  This time there were in it four hundred and twenty one-rouble notes and silver to the amount of thirty-five roubles; the notes had an unpleasant heavy smell.  Putting the money together in his cap, Yakov Ivanitch went out into the yard and then out of the gate.  He walked, looking from side to side, but there was no sign of the waiter.

“Hi!” cried Yakov.

A dark figure stepped out from the barrier at the railway crossing and came irresolutely towards him.

“Why do you keep walking about?” said Yakov with vexation, as he recognized the waiter.  “Here you are; there is a little less than five hundred. . . .  I’ve no more in the house.”

“Very well; . . . very grateful to you,” muttered Sergey Nikanoritch, taking the money greedily and stuffing it into his pockets.  He was trembling all over, and that was perceptible in spite of the darkness.  “Don’t worry yourself, Yakov Ivanitch. . . .  What should I chatter for:  I came and went away, that’s all I’ve had to do with it.  As the saying is, I know nothing and I can tell nothing . . .”  And at once he added with a sigh “Cursed life!”

For a minute they stood in silence, without looking at each other.

“So it all came from a trifle, goodness knows how, . . .” said the waiter, trembling.  “I was sitting counting to myself when all at once a noise. . . .  I looked through the door, and just on account of Lenten oil you. . . .  Where is he now?”

“Lying there in the kitchen.”

“You ought to take him somewhere. . . .  Why put it off?”

Yakov accompanied him to the station without a word, then went home again and harnessed the horse to take Matvey to Limarovo.  He had decided to take him to the forest of Limarovo, and to leave him there on the road, and then he would tell everyone that Matvey had gone off to Vedenyapino and had not come back, and then everyone would think that he had been killed by someone on the road.  He knew there was no deceiving anyone by this, but to move, to do something, to be active, was not as agonizing as to sit still and wait.  He called Dashutka, and with her carried Matvey out.  Aglaia stayed behind to clean up the kitchen.