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Updated: June 1, 2025
"Eureka, Nicholas Yermolaiyevitch! The only thing I can't understand is, how it did not occur to me sooner! Do you know who the third person was?" "Oh, for goodness sake, shut up! There is supper! Sit down to your evening meal!" The magistrate and Dukovski sat down to supper.
Psyekoff is shy, timid, an all-round coward. And Nicholas would not know how to smother with a pillow. His sort use an ax or a club. Some third person did the smothering; but who was it?" Dukovski crammed his hat down over his eyes and pondered. He remained silent until the carriage rolled up to the magistrate's door. "Eureka!" he said, entering the little house and throwing off his overcoat.
It was not Nicholas that struck it; it was not Psyekoff, for neither of them had any matches when they were examined; it was the third person, Maria Ivanovna. I will prove it to you. Just give me permission to go through the district to find out." "That's enough! Sit down. Let us go on with the examination." Dukovski sat down at a little table, and plunged his long nose in a bundle of papers.
And you," said Chubikoff, turning to Dukovski and shaking his fist, "I won't forget this in a thousand years!" "But the safety match? How could I know?" "Choke yourself with your safety match! Get out of my way! Don't make me mad, or the devil only knows what I'll do to you! Don't let me see a trace of you!" Dukovski sighed, took his hat, and went out.
Dukovski asked Psyekoff. "Yellow crash." "Excellent! You see they wore blue!" A few twigs of the burdock were cut off, and carefully wrapped in paper by the investigators. At this point Police Captain Artsuybasheff Svistakovski and Dr. Tyutyeff arrived. The captain bade them "Good day!" and immediately began to satisfy his curiosity.
It was not Nicholas that struck it; it was not Psyekoff, for neither of them had any matches when they were examined; it was the third person, Maria Ivanovna. I will prove it to you. Just give me permission to go through the district to find out." "That's enough! Sit down. Let us go on with the examination." Dukovski sat down at a little table, and plunged his long nose in a bundle of papers.
Do what I ask you to, just this once!" Dukovski went down on his knees. "Nicholas Yermolaïyevitch! Be kind! Call me a blackguard, a ne'er-do-weel, if I am mistaken about this woman. You see what an affair it is. What a case it is. A romance! A woman murdering her own husband for love! The fame of it will go all over Russia. They will make you investigator in all important cases.
And you," said Chubikoff, turning to Dukovski and shaking his fist, "I won't forget this in a thousand years!" "But the safety match? How could I know?" "Choke yourself with your safety match! Get out of my way! Don't make me mad, or the devil only knows what I'll do to you! Don't let me see a trace of you!" Dukovski sighed, took his hat, and went out.
But where are you off to, Chubikoff? Where are you going?" The examining magistrate swore, and left the bath house. Dukovski followed him, crestfallen. They silently took their seats in the carriage and drove off. The road never seemed to them so long and disagreeable as it did that time. Both remained silent. Chubikoff trembled with rage all the way.
He was accompanied to the scene of the murder by his inveterate companion, fellow worker, and secretary, Dukovski, a tall young fellow of twenty-six. "Is it possible, gentlemen?" cried Chubikoff, entering Psyekoff's room, and quickly shaking hands with everyone. "Is it possible? Marcus Ivanovitch? Murdered? No! It is impossible! Im-poss-i-ble!" "Go in there!" sighed the inspector.
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