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Updated: June 1, 2025
"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.
"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.
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!"
But it doesn't matter! Let's have a drink!" Klausoff lit the lamp and poured out three glasses of vodka. "That is I don't understand you," said the examining magistrate, running his hands over him. "Is this you or not you!" "Oh, shut up! You want to preach me a sermon? Don't trouble yourself! Young Dukovski, empty your glass! Friends, let us bring this What are you looking at? Drink!"
"There is nothing special to be found on the floor," said Dukovski. "No stains or scratches. The only thing I found was a struck safety match. Here it is! So far as I remember, Marcus Ivanovitch did not smoke. And he always used sulphur matches, never safety matches. Perhaps this safety match may serve as a clew!" "Oh, do shut up!" cried the magistrate deprecatingly. "You go on about your match!
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?
But it doesn't matter! Let's have a drink!" Klausoff lit the lamp and poured out three glasses of vodka. "That is I don't understand you," said the examining magistrate, running his hands over him. "Is this you or not you!" "Oh, shut up! You want to preach me a sermon? Don't trouble yourself! Young Dukovski, empty your glass! Friends, let us bring this What are you looking at? Drink!"
Dukovski looked at him attentively, noted his confusion, and started. He noticed that the director had dark blue trousers, which he had not observed before. The trousers reminded him of the dark blue threads found on the burdock. Chubikoff in his turn glanced suspiciously at Psyekoff. "Go!" he said to Nicholas. "And now permit me to put a question to you, Mr. Psyekoff.
Dukovski took the candle in his hand and climbed up to the top tier of the sweating frame. There he saw a long human body lying motionless on a large feather bed. A slight snore came from the body. "You are making fun of us, devil take it!" cried Dukovski. "That is not the murdered man! Some live fool is lying here. Here, whoever you are, the devil take you!"
"He has betrayed himself! And didn't I get round him cleverly! Regularly caught him flapping " "And he doesn't deny the woman in the black dress!" exulted Dukovski. "But all the same, that safety match is tormenting me frightfully. I can't stand it any longer. Good-by! I am off!" Dukovski put on his cap and drove off. Chubikoff began to examine Aquilina.
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