oked in the prayer-room and Aglaia fell
upon him with abuse and was rude to the police inspector; and
afterwards when Yakov and Aglaia were led out to the yard, the
peasants crowded at the gates and said, "They are taking the Godlies!"
and it seemed that they were all glad.

At the inquiry the policeman stated positively that Yakov and Aglaia
had killed Matvey in order not to share with him, and that Matvey
had money of his own, and that if it was not found at the search
evidently Yakov and Aglaia had got hold of it. And Dashutka was
questioned. She said that Uncle Matvey and Aunt Aglaia quarrelled
and almost fought every day over money, and that Uncle Matvey was
rich, so much so that he had given someone--"his Darling"--nine
hundred roubles.

Dashutka was left alone in the tavern. No one came now to drink tea
or vodka, and she divided her time between cleaning up the rooms,
drinking mead and eating rolls; but a few days later they questioned
the signalman at the railway crossing, and he said that late on
Monday evening he had seen Yakov and Dashutka driving from Limarovo.
Dashutka, too, was arrested, taken to the town and put in prison.
It soon became known, from what Aglaia said, that Sergey Nikanoritch
had been present at the murder. A search was made in his room, and
money was found in an unusual place, in his snowboots under the
stove, and the money was all in small change, three hundred one-rouble
notes. He swore he had made this money himself, and that he hadn't
been in the tavern for a year, but witnesses testified that he was
poor and had been in great want of money of late, and that he used
to go every day to the tavern to borrow from Matvey; and the policeman
described how on the day of the murder he had himself gone twice
to the tavern with the waiter to help him to borrow. It was recalled
at this juncture that on Monday evening Sergey Nikanoritch had not
been there to meet the passenger train, but had gone off somewhere.
And he, too, was arrested and taken to the town.

The trial took place eleven months later.

Yakov Ivanitch looked much older and much thinner, and spoke in a
low voice like a sick man. He felt weak, pitiful, lower in stature
that anyone else, and it seemed as though his soul, too, like his
body, had grown older and wasted, from the pangs of his conscience
and from the dreams and imaginings which never left him all the
while he was in prison. When it came out that he did not go to
chu