At one time, suddenly, when they were speaking of something that would
hardly have seemed to suggest it, he jumped to his feet and asked the
presiding judge:

"Will you allow me to whistle?"

"What for?" asked the judge, surprised.

"They said that I gave the signal to my comrades. I would like to show
you how. It is very interesting."

The judge consented, somewhat wonderingly. Tsiganok quickly placed
four fingers in his mouth, two fingers of each hand, rolled his eyes
fiercely-and then the dead air of the courtroom was suddenly rent by a
real, wild, murderer's whistle-at which frightened horses leap and
rear on their hind legs and human faces involuntarily blanch. The
mortal anguish of him who is to be assassinated, the wild joy of the
murderer, the dreadful warning, the call, the gloom and loneliness of
a stormy autumn night-all this rang in his piercing shriek, which was
neither human nor beastly.

The presiding officer shouted - then waved his arm at Tsiganok, and
Tsiganok obediently became silent. And, like an artist who had
triumphantly performed a difficult aria, he sat down, wiped his wet
fingers upon his coat, and surveyed those present with an air of
satisfaction.

"What a robber!" said one of the judges, rubbing his ear.