Bodlevski had not time to nod his head in assent, when suddenly the
outer door was pushed quickly open and a tall man, well built and
fair-haired, stepped swiftly into the room. He wore a military uniform
and gold-rimmed eyeglasses.
The company turned their faces toward him in startled surprise, but no
one moved. All continued to stand in close order round the table.
"Health to you, eaglets! honorable men of Vilna! What are you up to?
What are you busy at?" cried the newcomer, swiftly approaching the
table and taking the chair that Pacomius Borisovitch had just been
knocked out of.
"What is all this?" he continued, with one hand seizing the vial of
colorless liquid and with the other the photograph of the college
assessor's widow. "So this is hydrochloric acid for erasing ink? Very
good! And this is a photo! So we are fabricating passports? Very fine!
Business is business! Hey! Witnesses!"
And the fair-haired man whistled sharply. From the outer door appeared
two faces, set on shoulders of formidable proportions.
The red-headed man silently went up to the newcomer and fiercely
seized him by the collar. At the same moment the rest seized chairs or
logs or bars to defend themselves.
The fair-haired man meanwhile, not in the least changing his
expression of cool self-confidence, quickly slipped his hands into his
pockets and pulled out a pair of small double-barreled pistols. In the
profound silence in which this scene took place they could distinctly
hear the click of the hammers as he cocked them. He raised his right
hand and pointed the muzzle at the breast of his opponent.
The red-headed man let go his collar, and glancing contemptuously at
him, with an expression of hate and wrath, silently stepped aside.
"How much must we pay?" he asked sullenly.
"Oho! that's better. You should have begun by asking that!" answered
the newcomer, settling himself comfortably on his chair and toying
with his pistols. "How much do you earn?"
"We get little enough! Just five rubles," answered the red-headed man.
"That's too little. I need a great deal more. But you are lying,
brother! You would not stir for less than twenty rubles!"
"Thanks for the compliment!" interrupted Pacomius Borisovitch.
The fair-haired man nodded to him satirically. "I need a lot more," he
repeated firmly and impressively; "and if you don't give me at least
twenty-five rubles I'll denounce you this very minute to the
police--and you see I have my witnesses ready."
"Sergei Antonitch! Mr. Kovroff! Have mercy on us! Where can we get so
much from? I tell you as in the presence of the Creator! There are ten
of us, as you see. And there are three of you. And I, Yuzitch, and
Gretcka deserve double shares!" added Pacomius Borisovitch
persuasively.
"Gretcka deserves nothing at all for catching me by the throat,"
decided Sergei Antonitch Kovroff.
"Mr. Kovroff!" began Pacomius again. "You and I are gentlemen----"
"What! What did you say?" Kovroff contemptuously interrupted him. "You
put yourself on my level? Ha! ha! ha! No, brother; I am still in the
Czar's service and wear my honor with my uniform! I, brother, have
never stained myself with theft or crime, Heaven be praised. But what
are you?"
"Hm! And the Golden Band? Who is its captain?" muttered Gretcka
angrily, half to himself.
"Who is its captain? I am--I, Lieutenant Sergei Antonitch Kovroff, of
the Chernovarski Dragoons! Do you hear? I am captain of the Golden
Band," he said proudly and haughtily, scrutinizing the company with
his confident gaze. "And you haven't yet got as far as the Golden
Band, because you are _cowards_! Chuproff," he cried to one of his
men, "go and take the mask off Finch, or the poor boy will suffocate,
and untie his arms--and give him a good crack on the head to teach him
to keep watch better."
The "mask" that Kovroff employed on such occasions was nothing but a
piece of oilcloth cut the size of a person's face, and smeared on one
side with a thick paste. Kovroff's "boys" employed this "instrument"
with wonderful dexterity; one of them generally stole up behind the
unconscious victim and skillfully slapped the mask in his face; the
victim at once became dumb and blind, and panted from lack of breath;
at the same time, if necessary, his hands were tied behind him and he
was leisurely robbed, or held, as the case might be.
The Golden Band was formed in the middle of the thirties, when the
first Nicholas had been about ten years on the throne. Its first
founders were three Polish nobles. It was never distinguished by the
number of its members, but everyone of them could honestly call
himself an accomplished knave, never stopping at anything that stood
in the way of a "job." The present head of the band was Lieutenant
Kovroff, who was a thorough-paced rascal, in the full sense of the
word. Daring, brave, self-confident, he also possessed a handsome
presence, good manners, and the worldly finish known as education.
Before the members of the Golden Band, and especially before Kovroff,
the small rascals stood in fear and trembling. He had his secret
agents everywhere, following every move of the crooks quietly but
pertinaciously. At the moment when some big job was being pulled off,
Kovroff suddenly appeared unexpectedly, with some of his "boys," and
demanded a contribution, threatening instantly to inform the police if
he did not get it--and the rogues, in order to "keep him quiet," had
to give him whatever share of their plunder he graciously deigned to
indicate. Acting with extraordinary skill and acumen in all his
undertakings he always managed so that not a shadow of suspicion could
fall on himself and so he got a double share of the plunder: robbing
the honest folk and the rogues at the same time. Kovroff escaped the
contempt of the crooks because he did things on such a big scale and
embarked with his Golden Band on the most desperate and dangerous
enterprises that the rest of roguedom did not even dare to consider.
The rogues, whatever their rank, have a great respect for daring,
skill, and force--and therefore they respected Kovroff, at the same
time fearing and detesting him.
"Who are you getting that passport for?" he asked, calmly taking the
paper from the table and slipping it into his pocket. Gretcka nodded
toward Bodlevski.
"Aha! for you, is it? Very glad to hear it!" said Kovroff, measuring
him with his eyes. "And so, gentlemen, twenty-five rubles, or
good-by--to our happy meeting in the police court!"
"Mr. Kovroff! Allow me to speak to you as a man of honor!" Pacomius
Borisovitch again interrupted. "We are only getting twenty rubles for
the job. The whole gang will pledge their words of honor to that. Do
you think we would lie to you and stain the honor of the gang for
twenty measly rubles?"
"That is business. That was well said. I love a good speech, and am
always ready to respect it," remarked Sergei Antonitch approvingly.
"Very well, then, see for yourself," went on the red-nosed Pacomius,
"see for yourself. If we give you everything, we are doing our work
and not getting a kopeck!"
"Let him pay," answered Kovroff, turning his eyes toward Bodlevski.
Bodlevski took out his gold watch, his only inheritance from his
father, and laid it down on the table before Kovroff, with the five
rubles that remained.
Kovroff again measured him with his eyes and smiled.
"You are a worthy young man!" he said. "Give me your hand! I see that
you will go far."
And he warmly pressed the engraver's hand. "But you must know for the
future," he added in a friendly but impressive way, "that I never take
anything but money when I am dealing with these fellows. Ho, you!" he
went on, turning to the company, "some one go to uncle's and get cash
for this watch; tell him to pay conscientiously at least two thirds of
what it is worth; it is a good watch. It would cost sixty rubles to
buy. And have a bottle of champagne got ready for me at the bar,
quick! And if you don't, it will be the worse for you!" he called
after the departing Yuzitch, who came back a few minutes later, and
gave Kovroff forty rubles. Kovroff counted them, and put twenty in his
pocket, returning the remainder in silence, but with a gentlemanly
smile, to Bodlevski.
"Fair exchange is no robbery," he said, giving Bodlevski the passport
of the college assessor's widow. "Now that old rascal Pacomius may get
to work."
"What is there to do?" laughed Pacomius; "the passport will do very
well. So let us have a little glass, and then a little game of cards."
"We are going to know each other better; I like your face, so I hope
we shall make friends," said Kovroff, again shaking hands with
Bodlevski. "Now let us go and have some wine. You will tell me over
our glasses what you want the passport for, and on account of your
frankness about the watch, I am well disposed to you. Lieutenant
Sergei Kovroff gives you his word of honor on that. I also can be
magnanimous," he concluded, and the new friends accompanied by the
whole gang went out to the large hall.
There began a scene of revelry that lasted till long after midnight.
Bodlevski, feeling his side pocket to see if the passport was still
there, at last left the hall, bewildered, as though under a spell. He
felt a kind of gloomy satisfaction; he was possessed by this
satisfaction, by the uncertainty of what Natasha could have thought
out, by the question how it would all turn out, and by the conviction
that his first crime had already been committed. All these feelings
lay like lead on his heart, while in his ears resounded the wild songs
of the Cave.
V