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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.
Dukovski poured himself out a glass of vodka, rose, drew himself up, and said, with sparkling eyes: "Well, learn that the third person, who acted in concert with that scoundrel Psyekoff, and did the smothering, was a woman! Yes-s! I mean the murdered man's sister, Maria Ivanovna!" Chubikoff choked over his vodka, and fixed his eyes on Dukovski. "You aren't what's-its-name?
In the red nose, disheveled, unkempt hair, the pitch-black mustaches, one of which was jauntily twisted and pointed insolently toward the ceiling, he recognized the gallant cavalryman Klausoff. "You Marcus Ivanovitch? Is it possible?" The examining magistrate glanced sharply up at him, and stood spellbound. "Yes, it is I. That's you, Dukovski? What the devil do you want here?
"Get your candle and matches ready," whispered the examining magistrate to his deputy. Olga Petrovna unfastened the padlock, and let her guests into the bath house. Dukovski struck a match and lit up the anteroom. In the middle of the anteroom stood a table. On the table, beside a sturdy little samovar, stood a soup tureen with cold cabbage soup and a plate with the remnants of some sauce.
The magistrate Nicholas Yermolaïyevitch was sitting in his office before a green table, turning over the papers of the "Klausoff case"; Dukovski was striding restlessly up and down, like a wolf in a cage. "You are convinced of the guilt of Nicholas and Psyekoff," he said, nervously plucking at his young beard. "Why will you not believe in the guilt of Maria Ivanovna?
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.
"An alibi," sneered Dukovski; "and what an asinine alibi!" "Did you know Aquilina?" "Yes, your worship, I know her." "And the master cut you out with her?" "Not at all. He cut me out Mr. Psyekoff there, Ivan Mikhailovitch; and the master cut Ivan Mikhailovitch out. That is how it was." Psyekoff grew confused and began to scratch his left eye.
A heavy, oppressive silence began and lasted fully five minutes. Dukovski silently kept his piercing eyes fixed on Psyekoff's pale face. The silence was finally broken by the examining magistrate: "We must go to the house and talk with Maria Ivanovna, the sister of the deceased. Perhaps she may be able to supply some clews."
The investigators looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and beat a retreat. "Confound the woman!" scolded Dukovski, going out of the house. "It is clear she knows something, and is concealing it! And the chambermaid has a queer expression too! Wait, you wretches! We'll ferret it all out!"
Olga Petrovna walked in advance of them. Chubikoff and Dukovski strode behind her through the long grass, as the odor of wild hemp and dishwater splashing under their feet reached them. The courtyard was wide. Soon the dishwater ceased, and they felt freshly broken earth under their feet.
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