“They will be back. The authorities. A policeman will come to take statements from us all,” said Anna Alexandrovna hurriedly.
Marfa Denisovna at last looked up at Anna Alexandrovna, though with eyes that were barely visible. “I have always taken good care of this family. You need not be afraid on my account.”
“I’m not afraid.”
Marfa Denisovna continued playing in silence. At last she said, “I took care of things before, didn’t I? And I will take care of things again. God’s will be done.”
The Testimony of a Prince
"Of course, you must have expected it,” said Chief Superintendent Nikodim Fomich.
“I expected nothing of the sort,” answered Porfiry.
“Porfiry Petrovich.” Nikodim Fomich spread the fingers of both hands out on his desk as if he were taking precautions against its levitating. He pressed down firmly once and then sat back. “The prokuror has decided-”
“The prokuror is an arrogant fool.”
“In his opinion, the case is closed. The dwarf was murdered by the yardkeeper. The yardkeeper committed suicide. Your own investigations have uncovered several independent testimonies alluding to a violent argument between the men. Lieutenant Salytov has now interviewed all the residents of the house. A number of them have testified to the fact that the yardkeeper was heard to threaten the life of the dwarf.”
“But the medical evidence-”
“In the prokuror’s opinion, the medical evidence is flawed. ‘Suspect,’ I believe, was the word he used.”
“Dr. Pervoyedov said that he had never seen a clearer case of poisoning by prussic acid.”
“Those were the words he used?”
“Something like that,” answered Porfiry uncertainly.
“The prokuror is not impressed by Dr. Pervoyedov.”
“But that’s outrageous.”
“Another doctor, a doctor appointed by the prokuror, is of the opinion that the prussic acid traces were due to a contamination. Dr. Pervoyedov has been very overworked at the hospital. It is unlikely that the prokuror will allow you to call on his services again. He feels that Dr. Pervoyedov should be fined for incompetence, due to the contamination that has occurred. The facts of the case, as the prokuror understands them, are not consistent with poisoning by prussic acid.”
“No, no, no, no, no! That’s insane!” protested Porfiry.
“Be careful, Porfiry Petrovich. This is not like you.”
“But you must see the illogicality of the statement you just made.”
“Porfiry. This is Russia. We are governed not by logic but by authority. You know that as well as I. In fact, your friend Dr. Pervoyedov is getting off lightly. The prokuror was at first of the opinion that he had falsified the results deliberately to further his career. I managed to persuade him that that was not the case.”
Porfiry slumped in his seat. He could not speak for some time. At last he murmured, “What do I do now?”
“You must let it drop.”
“But the dead men? What of the dead men?” He saw in his mind an image of Goryanchikov and Borya transformed into masonry figures bearing the upper stories of an imaginary building. But unlike the real atlantes and caryatids of St. Petersburg, they writhed and groaned under the strain.
“They are dead. In the opinion of the prokuror, they should not be allowed to disrupt the smooth running of the judicial system.”
“Why didn’t he tell me this himself? I report to him, not to you.”
“Shall I tell you what I believe? I believe he is afraid of you. You’re cleverer than he, you see, Porfiry. All he has is his ambition and his power. You have more. You have cleverness and compassion.”
The compliments depressed Porfiry. “I’m surprised to hear you say I have compassion. Dr. Pervoyedov would not agree with that, I think.”
“But if you didn’t, you wouldn’t care who killed these men.”
“It’s not compassion that makes me care who killed them. I don’t have compassion for the dead. It’s no use to them. What are they going to do with my compassion?”
“I know what drives you, Porfiry. I know for whom you have compassion.”
“If so, you know more than I do.”
“The perpetrators. The poor, miserable sinners.”
Porfiry clasped his hands together and placed the knuckles of his thumbs against his lips. The gesture was prompted by agitation, but it looked a little like he was praying. “You’re thinking of that boy.” There was a note of denial in his voice. He would not look at Nikodim Fomich.
“Not just of him. It is for their souls, for the souls of them all, that you do it.”
“You’re talking nonsense. Why should I care about anyone’s soul but mine? I might have said such things in the past. But it was just a ruse. A technique. To get the confession. The confession is everything.”
“That’s my point!”
“But not for the reason you think. They can all go to hell for all I care. I can have no compassion for a cold-blooded murderer.”
“But you can, Porfiry. And you do. And that is what separates you from our esteemed prokuror.”
The tension flashed in Porfiry’s eyes. His expression oscillated between wounded and angry. “You’re wrong. You’re wrong about everything. It’s for the glory that I do it. I am as ambitious as the prokuror.” Still he would not look at Nikodim Fomich, as if he were afraid he would find confirmation in the other man’s gaze.
The clerk Zamyotov was waiting for Porfiry at the door of his chambers. Porfiry was in no mood to confront Zamyotov’s sly insubordination. However, he sensed something unwonted in the other man’s expression. Zamyotov seemed distracted, almost rattled, and this caused him to abandon any pretense. The angry impatience with which he greeted Porfiry was openly impertinent.
“Porfiry Petrovich! Where on earth have you been? How am I expected to fulfill my duties if you do not inform me of your whereabouts and movements? This gentleman-”
Porfiry frowned at a slightly built young man seated on one of the chairs reserved for witnesses and suspects waiting to see the investigating magistrate. The fellow’s eyes locked onto Porfiry’s desperately and beseechingly. His tie was fastened in a large looping bow. An overcoat trimmed with silver fox was draped over his shoulders. Beneath it he wore a mustard-colored suit and emerald waistcoat. A beaverskin top hat perched on his lap, kid gloves folded neatly on top of it. His hair lay in tight curls around his collar. He was clean shaven; in fact, Porfiry suspected his cheeks had not yet felt the razor. In the angle of his head and the needful intensity of his gaze, Porfiry saw some connection with Zamyotov’s flustered mood.
“-a personage of indisputable rank and influence.”
The young man smiled appealingly as Zamyotov spoke.
“Indeed,” said Porfiry drily. “It is not like you to be impressed by rank and influence, Alexander Grigorevich.”
Zamyotov pursed his lips as he weighed up his response. “I don’t know quite what you are implying. I know only that he will not go away until he has seen an investigating magistrate. It concerns a matter requiring the utmost sensitivity. Having acquainted myself somewhat with the essentials of the case, I felt that you, Porfiry Petrovich, would be the person best-”
“Please, Alexander Grigorevich, your flattery is making me anxious.”
Porfiry smiled as he caught the look of confusion on the clerk’s face. He felt him close on his heels as he entered his chambers.
“But what am I to tell him?” demanded Zamyotov.