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The body drew in a quick breath and stirred. Dukovski stuck his elbow into it. It raised a hand, stretched itself, and lifted its head. "Who is sneaking in here?" asked a hoarse, heavy bass. "What do you want?" Dukovski raised the candle to the face of the unknown, and cried out.
Dukovski flared up, banged the door, and disappeared. "Clever rascal!" muttered Chubikoff, glancing after him. "Awfully clever! But too much of a hothead. I must buy him a cigar case at the fair as a present." The next day, early in the morning, a young man with a big head and a pursed-up mouth, who came from Klausoff's place, was introduced to the magistrate's office.
I can't abide these dreamers! Instead of chasing matches, you had better examine the bed!" After a thorough examination of the bed, Dukovski reported: "There are no spots, either of blood or of anything else. There are likewise no new torn places. On the pillow there are signs of teeth. The quilt is stained with something which looks like beer and smells like beer.
When they reached the garden they began by examining the grass. The grass under the window was crushed and trampled. A bushy burdock growing under the window close to the wall was also trampled. Dukovski succeeded in finding on it some broken twigs and a piece of cotton wool. On the upper branches were found some fine hairs of dark blue wool. "What color was his last suit?"
In the evening Chubikoff and his deputy, lit on their road by the pale moon, wended their way homeward. They sat in their carriage and thought over the results of the day. Both were tired and kept silent. Chubikoff was always unwilling to talk while traveling, and the talkative Dukovski remained silent, to fall in with the elder man's humor.
But let me get out of it," muttered Chubikoff, rising and going to the window. "Yes, a spring," began Dukovski, going close to Olga Petrovna and wrinkling his long nose. "We did not drive over here to take supper with you or to see Kuzma Petrovitch. We came here to ask you, respected madam, where Marcus Ivanovitch is, whom you murdered!" "What?
"I don't know, your worship," he said. "I was drunk and don't remember." "An alibi!" whispered Dukovski, smiling, and rubbing his hands. "So-o! And why is there blood under the master's window?" Nicholas jerked his head up and considered. "Hurry up!" said the Captain of Police. "Right away! That blood doesn't amount to anything, your worship! I was cutting a chicken's throat.
The examination of the grass and the bushes nearest to the window yielded a series of useful clews. For example, Dukovski succeeded in discovering a long, dark streak, made up of spots, on the grass, which led some distance into the center of the garden. The streak ended under one of the lilac bushes in a dark brown stain.
She carried me off and locked me up, and well, I am living here, in the deserted bath house, like a hermit. I am fed. Next week I think I'll try to get out. I'm tired of it here!" "Incomprehensible!" said Dukovski. "What is incomprehensible about it?" "Incomprehensible! For Heaven's sake, how did your boot get into the garden?" "What boot?"
"Eureka, Nicholas Yermolaïyevitch! 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.
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