At the end of February Eibenschütz received notification of the decease of the convict Leibusch Jadlowker, the supervision of whom had for certain reasons been entrusted to the Inspector.

On the evening of the same day, as if he had known, Kapturak reappeared at the inn after a long interval. He made the usual obeisance and sat down at the table at which Eibenschütz, Sameschkin, Euphemia and the new sergeant Piotrak were sitting.

Everyone played tarock, Kapturak lost. For all this, he was inordinately cheerful.

It was not clear why. Besides the usual stupid expressions and meaningless phrases which tarock players employ he uttered new, freshly invented and even more meaningless ones, such as: ‘The pig has wind!’ or: ‘I’m losing my braces’ – or even: ‘Dung is gold’ and more in a similar vein. In the middle of these expressions and as he sat there, appearing to reflect tensely which card to play next, he said, as if absentmindedly and in the tone of voice in which he had just been repeating his nonsensical phrases: ‘Herr Inspector, so things have worked out for you? Your enemy is dead?’ ‘What enemy?’ asked Eibenschütz. ‘Jadlowker!’ And at the same moment Kapturak laid a card on the table. ‘He was one of the cholera convicts,’ he continued, ‘and he caught it. He’s been rotting under the ground for months. His worms have stuffed themselves by now.’ Euphemia said: ‘It’s not true;’ she turned very pale. ‘Yes, it is true!’ said Eibenschütz, ‘I have the official report.’ Euphemia rose, without a word. She went upstairs to weep. Sameschkin was the first to lay down his cards and the only one to say: ‘I’m not playing any more!’ Even the red-haired gendarme Piotrak put his cards down; Kapturak alone went on as if he were playing against himself. Then, abruptly, he too laid down his cards as if he had made a sudden decision and said: ‘Then we mortgagees shall inherit this inn, that makes six of us.’ And he looked at the Inspector.

It had grown very quiet at the table, the good Sameschkin could hardly bear it. He got up and went to the music-box at the bar, to throw in a dreier. The music-box immediately began to spew out the Rákóczy March in a splendid blare of brass. Through the blustering noise Kapturak said to the gendarme: ‘You know, since you’ve been here our Inspector has become very strict. All the tradesmen curse him and three have already lost their licence on his account.’ ‘I do my duty,’ said Eibenschütz. And he thought of Euphemia and of the old Eibenschütz he had once been, and of his dead wife, and especially of Euphemia, yes, he thought especially of Euphemia and that he was now truly a forsaken man in a forsaken neighbourhood.