Then a love note from some serving girl, with demands for money and threats, and the scraps of the feuilleton already familiar to you, sir.
The general decided he was innocent.
To obtain full information, we woke him up; we had a hard time jostling him; he was barely able to understand what it was all about; a gaping mouth, a drunken look, an absurd and innocent, even stupid, expression—it wasn't he, sir!"
"Well, I'm so glad!" the prince sighed joyfully. "I was so afraid for him!"
"Afraid?
Does that mean you have reasons to be?" Lebedev narrowed his eyes.
"Oh, no, I just said it," the prince checked himself. "It was stupid of me to say I was afraid.
Kindly don't tell anyone, Lebedev . . ."
"Prince, Prince!
Your words are in my heart . . . deep in my heart!
A grave, sir! . . ." Lebedev said rapturously, pressing his hat to his heart.
"All right, all right! ... So it's Ferdyshchenko?
That is, I mean to say, you suspect Ferdyshchenko?"
"Who else?" Lebedev said quietly, looking intently at the prince.
"Well, yes, naturally . . . who else . . . that is, once again, what evidence is there?"
"There is evidence, sir.
First of all, his disappearance at seven o'clock or even before seven o'clock in the morning."
"I know, Kolya told me he came and said he was going to spend the rest of the night at ... I forget whose place, some friend's."
"Vilkin, sir.
So Nikolai Ardalionovich told you already?"
"He didn't say anything about the theft."
"He doesn't know, for I have so far kept the matter a secret.
And so, he goes to Vilkin; you might think, what's so puzzling about a drunk man going to see another drunk man just like himself, even though it's the wee hours of the morning and without any reason at all, sir?
But it's here that the trail begins: on his way out, he leaves the address . . . Now follow the question, Prince: why did he leave the address? . . .
Why does he purposely go to Nikolai Ardalionovich, making a detour, sir, and tell him, 'I'm going to spend the rest of the night at Vilkin's'?
And who is interested in his leaving and going precisely to Vilkin's?
Why announce it?
No, there's a subtlety here, a thievish subtlety!
It means: 'Look here, I'm not concealing my tracks, what kind of thief am I after that?
Would a thief announce where he's going?'
An excessive concern about diverting suspicion and, so to speak, wiping away his tracks in the sand . . . Do you understand me, my much-esteemed Prince?"
"I understand, I understand very well, but is that enough?"
"A second piece of evidence, sir: the trail turned out to be false, and the address he gave was inexact.
An hour later, that is, at eight o'clock, I was already knocking on Vilkin's door; he lives here, on Fifth Street, sir, I'm even acquainted with him.
There wasn't any Ferdyshchenko there.
Though I did get out of the maid—she's completely deaf, sir—that an hour earlier someone had actually knocked, and even rather hard, so that he broke the bell.
But the maid didn't open the door, not wishing to waken Mr. Vilkin, and maybe not wanting to get out of bed herself.
It happens, sir."
"And that is all your evidence?
It's not much."
"But, Prince, who else should I suspect, just think?" Lebedev concluded sweetly, and something sly showed in his smile.
"Why don't you look around the rooms once more and in all the drawers!" the prince said worriedly, after some thought.
"I did, sir!" Lebedev sighed still more sweetly.
"Hm! . . . and why, why did you have to change that frock coat!" the prince exclaimed, pounding the table in vexation.
"A question from an old comedy, sir.
But, my most good-natured Prince!
You take my misfortune too much to heart!
I don't deserve it.
That is, by myself I don't deserve it; but you also suffer for the criminal . . . for the worthless Mr. Ferdyshchenko?"
"Well, yes, yes, you've really got me worried," the prince interrupted him absentmindedly and with displeasure.