He played the stock-market, he was a stock-jobber. A wealthy man who
played the market and engaged in business."
This was the first piece of news. It was followed by a second. I asked
what connection there was between Captain Tatarinov's expedition and
stock-jobbing. What had made Nikolai Antonich take a hand in it? Was
it because it was profitable?
"He would have taken a still more willing hand in it if the expedition
had been to the next world," said Vyshimirsky. "He counted on that,
counted very strongly." "I don't understand." "He was in love with the
Captain's wife. There was quite a lot of talk about that at the time. Quite
a lot. But the Captain did not suspect anything. He was a fine man, the
Captain, but simple-minded. A regular sea-dog!" '
I was dumbfounded.
"Nikolai Antonich in love with Maria Vasilievna? Even in those days?"
"Yes, yes," Vyshimirsky repeated impatiently. "There were personal
reasons. Get me-personal? Personal, person, personality. He would have
given his whole fortune to have that Captain packed off to the next
world. And pack him off he did."
But love or not love, business was business. Nikolai Antonich did not
give up his fortune, on the contrary he doubled it. He took delivery of
rotten clothing for the expedition and pocketed a bribe from the
supplier. He took delivery of spoilt chocolate that smelt of kerosene,
also in return for a bribe.
"Sabotage, deliberate sabotage," said Vyshimirsky. "It was planned as
such!"
Evidently Vyshimirsky had not always held this negative view of the
plan, considering his part in it and the fact that Nikolai Antonich had
sent him to Archangel to meet the expedition and complete its fitting
out.
This was where the power of attorney which Nikolai Antonich had
shown to Korablev first comes into the picture. Together with this
document Vyshimirsky had received money in cash and bills of
exchange.
Sniffing angrily, the old man fished several bills out of the chest of
drawers. A bill of exchange, broadly speaking, was a receipt for money
stipulating that it was to be paid back at a stated time. Only this receipt
was made out on thick state paper, which had watermarks and an
expensive, impressive look. Vyshimirsky explained to me that these bills
circulated in place of money. But they were not exactly money, because
the "drawer" might suddenly declare that he had no money to meet
them.
This left openings for all kinds of sharp practices, and Vyshimirsky
accused Nikolai Antonich of one such swindle.
He accused him of having sent him, along with the power of attorney,
bills of exchange which were no good, because the drawers were
insolvent and unable to pay, and Nikolai Antonich had known this
beforehand. Vyshimirsky did not know this and took the bills for money,
all the more as the drawers were merchants and other people who were
considered respectable in those days. He did not know this until the
schooner had set sail, leaving debts to the amount of forty-eight
thousand. Nobody, of course, would negotiate these dead bills.
201
And so Vyshimirsky had had to pay these debts out of his own pocket.
Afterwards he had had to pay them over again, because Nikolai
Antonich brought an action against him and the court ordered
Vyshimirsky to repay all the monies which had been remitted to him in
Archangel.
Of course, I have given only the gist of this story. The old man spent
two hours telling it, and kept getting up and sitting down during its
narration.
"I fought the case all the way to the Senate," he wound up grimly. "But
I lost it."
That was the end of him, because his property came under the
hammer. His house-he had a house-was sold too, and he moved into
smaller rooms. His wife died of grief, leaving him with young children
on his hands. Then, when the Revolution came, he found himself in a
single room, the one he was now obliged to live in. Or course, this was
"only temporary", because "the government would soon appreciate his
services to the people at their true worth". Meanwhile, he was obliged to
live there, and he had a grown-up daughter who knew two languages
and couldn't get married owing to the cramped space they lived in—
there was no room in it for the husband. But he would move out as soon
as he got his special pension.
"I'll move anywhere, to a Disabled Persons' Home if need be," he said
with a gesture of bitter resignation.
Obviously, this grown-up daughter of his was very keen of getting
married and wanted him to move out.
"Nikolai Ivanovich," I said to him, "may I ask you one question? You
say that he sent this power of attorney to you in Archangel. How did he
get it back again?"
Vyshimirsky stood up. His nostrils dilated and the tuft of grey hair on
his head quivered with anger.
"I threw the paper in his face," he said. "He ran out to get me some
water, but I didn't stay to drink it. I had a fainting fit in the street. Oh,
what's the use of talking!"
I heard him out with a painful feeling. There was something sordid
about this story, as sordid as everything else around me in that room, so
that all the time I felt like washing my hands. It had seemed to me that
our talk would yield further evidence proving me in the right, evidence
as new and surprising as the sudden appearance of this man himself had
been. And so it did. Nevertheless, it was annoying to think that this new
evidence was contaminated with dirt.
Then he started off again about his pension, saying that they were
bound to give him a special pension, seeing that he had an employment
record of over forty-five years. One young man had already called on
him and collected his papers. He, too, was interested in Nikolai
Antonich, by the way, but he did not call again.
"He promised to do something for me," said Vyshimirsky, "but he
never came again."
"Interested in Nikolai Antonich?"
"Yes. He was interested, to be sure he was."
"Who was it?"
Vyshimirsky spread his hands.
202
"He called several times," he said. "I have a grown-up daughter, you
know, and they sat together talking and drinking tea. Getting
acquainted, you know."
The shadow of a smile crossed his face-evidently this acquaintance
had raised certain hopes.
"Well, well," I said. "And he took some papers away, you say?"
"Yes. To help get my pension, a special pension."
"And he inquired about Nikolai Antonich?"
"Yes, he did. He even asked whether I knew anybody else. Whether
anybody else knew what this ugly customer had been up to. I put him on
to one man."
"That's interesting. Who is that young man?"
"A respectable-looking man, too," said Vyshimirsky. "He promised to
do something. He said he had to have all those papers to get me a
pension. A special pension."
I asked what his name was, but the old man could not remember.
"Something with a 'sha' in it," he said.
Then his grown-up daughter came in. I could see now why there was
such a hurry to get her married. It was going to be a problem, not
because there was "no room for a husband" but because to that lady's