“I’ve come to you, as you see. You evidently have lots of money, and I have little. Comment is needless, as the newspapers would say.” “So that’s it! And suppose I refuse?” asked Trirodov. Ostrov whistled sharply and looked insolently at Trirodov. “Well, old chap,” he said rudely, “I don’t count on your permitting yourself such a stupid mistake.” “Why not?” “Why not?” repeated Ostrov after him. “I think the facts must be as clear to you as to me, if not more so--and there’s nothing to be gained by the world getting wind of them.” “I owe you nothing,” said Trirodov quietly. “I don’t understand why I should give you money. You’d only spend it recklessly--squander it most likely.” “And do you spend it any more sensibly?” asked Ostrov with a malicious smile. “If not more sensibly, at least with more reckoning,” retorted Trirodov. “In any case, I’m prepared to help you. Only I may as well tell you that I have little spare cash and that even if I had it I’d not give you much.” Ostrov gave a short, abrupt laugh and said with decision: “A little is of no use to me. I need a lot of money. But perhaps you’ll not think it much.” “How much do you want?” asked Trirodov abruptly. “Twenty thousand roubles,” replied Ostrov, making a determined effort to brazen it out. “I’ll not give you so much,” said Trirodov, “and I couldn’t even if I wished to.” Ostrov drew nearer to Trirodov and whispered: “I’ll inform against you.” “What then?” asked Trirodov, untouched by the threat. “It will be bad for you. It’s a capital crime, as you know, my dear chap, and of a no mean order,” said Ostrov in a menacing tone. “Yours, my good fellow,” said Trirodov in his usual calm voice. “I’ll manage to wriggle out of it somehow, but will see that you get your due,” said Ostrov with a laugh. “You’re making a sad mistake if you think that I have anything to fear,” observed Trirodov, with a shrug of his shoulders. Ostrov seemed to grow more insolent every minute. He whistled and said banteringly: “Tell me now, if you please! Didn’t you kill him?” “I? No, I didn’t kill him,” answered Trirodov. “Who then?” asked Ostrov in his derisive voice. “He’s alive,” said Trirodov. “Fiddlesticks!” exclaimed Ostrov. And he burst out into a loud, insolent, hoarse laugh, though he seemed panic-stricken at the same time. He asked: “What of those little prisms which you’ve manufactured? I’ve heard that even now they are lying on the table in your study.” “That’s true,” said Trirodov dryly. “And I’m told that your present is not absolutely clean either,” observed Ostrov. “Yes?” asked Trirodov derisively. “Yes-s,” continued Ostrov jeeringly. “The first business in your colony is conspiracy, the second corruption, the third cruelty.” Trirodov gave a stern frown and asked scornfully: “You’ve had enough time to gather a bouquet of slanders.”