“‘I say so,’ said Trafim. ‘The bomb you sold us yesterday went off of its own accord. It was worth nothing at all. May the soul of thy mother be annoyed, you yellow-eyed Arcadia!’” “What is an Arcadia?” I asked. “An Arcadia is the same as a Cholera,” he answered. “‘You say I am a yellow-eyed Arcadia,’ he continued, ‘and you are a yellow-eyed Arcadia yourself. You say I cannot make bombs! Look at this!’ and he produced a bomb from a drawer, and banged it down on the counter. The bomb went off, the shop was wrecked, the assistant of the Apothecary was killed; Trafim was blown through the window and wounded; but the Apothecary, who came off with a scratch, smiled triumphantly amidst the wreckage, and said, ‘Who says I do not know how to make bombs? Yellow-eyed Arcadia, indeed!’ “Now a large crowd had gathered outside, attracted by the noise; a policeman came, and every one said something must be done. ‘Send for the Chief of the Police,’ they cried. But the policeman began to cry and said he was a family man; and at last Peter Alexandrovitch, merchant, went and fetched the Chief of Police. The Chief of Police said he could not act without orders, and went to the Prefect. The Prefect telephoned for orders to the Governor, who telephoned back that the Apothecary’s house must be searched, and any bombs and weapons found there must be taken instantly to the Police Station. The Chief of Police came back with the news, and told the policeman to search the Apothecary’s house, for only the shop had been damaged. But the policeman said, ‘For the sake of Heaven, have mercy on a family man.’ The Chief of Police appealed to the crowd for a patriotic volunteer, but the crowd began at once to melt away. “‘It is not our business,’ at last he said, ‘it is the Electrotechnician’s business; send for the Electrotechnician.’ No sooner said than done. People rushed to fetch the Electrotechnician. He soon arrived, and was told what to do. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘These bombs are Melinite; give me five hundred roubles, and I will bring them out.’ The police said, ‘We have no such sum.’ Nevertheless, in an hour’s time the money was found, and by evening a basketful of bombs was carefully carried by the terrified policemen to the Police Station. Here the bombs were left, and yesterday the Governor drove to the Police Station with an engineer, who examined the bombs; he found that all the explosive had been taken out, and that they were filled with cotton wool.” “Who did that?” I asked. “Why, the Electrotechnician, of course,” said the innkeeper. “Do you not know he is the Honorary Vice-President of Amorphists?” “And was he arrested?” I asked. “Heaven be with him, no,” said the innkeeper. “He was thanked by the Governor in person.” SHERLOCK HOLMES IN RUSSIA THE STORY OF A SKAT SCORING BOOK (With apologies to Sir A. Conan Doyle)