that nasty Frank’s. And you would have let the boy stay and take it all.”
Her husband understood this hint, and stepped close to the table in order to assist his wife in her investigation, and also to see with his own eyes how much his father’s savings might amount to.
They had just not opened the drawer when they heard steps—many steps—on the staircase. They listened, the little key remained in their hands just tapping against the table. At that moment entered the living room of the pension house—the Mayor, and after him almost all the neighbours.
Frank also had taken this opportunity to insinuate himself into his grandfather’s apartment, knelt again beside the corpse, and only called out “Oh! grandfather! oh! grandfather!”
The Mayor saluted, “Neighbour Loyka, may God console you. Look here; just read through what is written on this paper, and then give that key into my hands.”
At these words the peasant woman grew pale, and almost trembled. “You see here, neighbours, a key in my hand. I should like to know who dares to say that key is mine.”
“Certainly you dare not say so, my good gossip,” said the Mayor sleekly. “Just wait until your husband has read through what I have given him.”
When hospodar Loyka had read his father’s last will and testament to the end, he went to his wife,
