“Imagine!” the “tom-cat” would cry. “The answer I received was this: ‘Arrange the matter for yourself according to Paragraph 13 of the instructions.’” Now the instructions only contained twelve paragraphs, but the irony of the rejoinder never struck Nikolin, and he continued to fuss on every occasion over any sort of trifle. He seemed, too, to think that his position as commandant of the political prisoners did not give him enough scope for grumbling, but poked his nose into everything that went on in the district of Kara. Once, indeed, he did actually succeed in discovering a series of thefts from the coffers of the State. There was a certain Major Pohùlov, governor of the ordinary convicts’ prison (with whom Mr. Kennan stayed during his visit to Kara). One fine day a storehouse under his charge, supposed to contain some thousands of poods of grain for the prisoners’ use, was burnt down. Now grain stored in great heaps does not burn away, but simply gets roasted; yet on this occasion there was no trace of it to be found, the gallant major having had a little deal with the purveyor, and then, with the help of his subordinates, having arranged that the warehouse should be burnt down in the nick of time. Probably this transaction would have remained in the dark, like many others of the kind, had not our “tom-cat” taken the matter up and by his denunciations forced the Government to appoint a commission of inquiry on which he himself served. He then revealed the full range of his talents, and brought to the light of day a whole system of robbery and fraud. The “hospitable gentleman,” as Kennan described Major Pohùlov (and indeed so he was), had had more than one device for enriching himself at the State’s expense. For instance, hundreds of prisoners figured on his list who had long since either been released or had escaped, and for these “ghosts” he had regularly charged his books with clothing and food allowances, whilst he and the purveyor had fraternally shared the money between them. This man was dismissed from his office, but was never brought to justice, as he had influential friends who shielded him. * * * * * Although my comrades in the “nobles’ room” were most sympathetic companions to me, I had a great wish to be transferred to the room inhabited by my friend Stefanòvitch, and permission for this had to be asked of the “tom-cat.” He at first refused it, on the excuse that he must get the governor’s sanction; but I heard in a roundabout way that he pretended to fear lest if Stefanòvitch and I got together we might manage to escape. This was arrant nonsense, as since the gendarmes had had charge of the prison there had been no faintest possibility of escaping from it; but the “tom-cat” had to find some pretext or other for tormenting us. A few weeks later he finally gave his consent, and I became my friend’s “chum” in the “Sanhedrin room.”