In 10 Minutes, last week's daily column, "Essays on the Criminal World of Tsarist Russia," my many years of service have led me to develop the habit of listening patiently to anyone who wishes to speak to the Chief of Police in person. Although these conversations took a long time, although I was often disturbed by triangles, I not only listened to them all, but also wrote down everything that seemed worthy of my attention. I placed these records in a special box and seized them as required. It was not so rare as the reader might think. No matter how vast, no matter how diverse the criminal world, it has its own laws, techniques, customs, skills, and if you like, traditions. The criminal elements of humanity are more or less connected with general psychology, and to combat them successfully, it is very useful to pay attention to anything bright, unusual that strikes the attention. In short, the notes and short notes I collected have served me faithfully more than once. This particularly affected Gilevich's case. It started like this. "Mr. Boss, there is a student who wants to see you by chance, but I dare to report, he was very drunk," the security guard told me at my post in Moscow, on Malia Ganchedkovsky Lane. "Okay & #33; call and #33" read the rest of our site.