The police inspector struck a light, and began to smoke his pipe. He lived two versts away; and he had just been engaged in receiving from the captain of police[30] a sharp dressing for drunkenness, and was, consequently, still suffering from an attack of ill humor. The overseer asked Dutlof why he was there. Dutlof told him in a straightforward way about the finding of the money, and what the bárinya had done. Dutlof said that he was going to ask the overseer's permission. The overseer, to Dutlof's horror, asked for the envelope, and looked at it. The police inspector also took the envelope, and asked, in a few dry words, about the particulars. "Now, good-by to my money," thought Dutlof, and began already to excuse himself. But the police inspector gave him the money. "That's luck for the rascal!" he said. "Comes in good time," said the overseer. "He's just taken his nephew to camp. Now he can buy him off." "Ah!" said the police inspector, and started on. "Are you going to get Ilyushka a substitute?" inquired the overseer. "How get him a substitute? Is there money enough? And, besides, it's too late." "You know best," said the overseer, and both followed the police inspector. They went into the wing, at the entry of which the ill-smelling guards were waiting with a lantern. Dutlof followed them. The guards had a guilty look, which was to be attributed only to the odor arising from them, because they had been doing nothing wrong. All were silent. "Where?" asked the police inspector. "Here," whispered the overseer. "Yefímka," he added, "you're a fine young man, go ahead with the lantern." Yefímka straightened his forelock; it seemed as if he had lost all his fear. Going up two or three steps, he kept turning round, with a glad countenance, and throwing the light on the police inspector's way. Behind the inspector followed the overseer. When they were out of sight, Dutlof, resting one foot on the step, sighed and stopped. In the course of two minutes, the sound of the steps ceased; evidently they were approaching the body. "Uncle! you're wanted," cried Yefímka, in the skylight. Dutlof went up. The police inspector and the overseer could be seen in the light of the lantern, but the beam partly hid them from sight. Near them stood some one with back toward them. It was Polikéï. Dutlof went beyond the beam, and, crossing himself, halted. "Turn him round, boys," commanded the coroner. No one stirred. "Yefímka, you're a fine young man," said the overseer. The "fine young man" walked up to the beam, and turning Ilyitch's body round stood by him, looking with the same pleased expression, now at Ilyitch, now at the officer, just as a showman exhibiting an albino, or some monstrosity,[31] looks now at the public, now at the object of his exhibition, and is ready to fulfil all the desires of his spectators. "Turn him round again." The body turned around once more, waved its hands slightly, and the leg made a circle on the sanded floor.