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Updated: May 18, 2025
Tchubikov and his assistant thanked Psyekov for the lunch, then went off to the big house. They found Klyauzov's sister, a maiden lady of five and forty, on her knees before a high family shrine of ikons. When she saw portfolios and caps adorned with cockades in her visitors' hands, she turned pale.
The news of the event had flown round the neighbourhood with the rapidity of lightning, and, thanks to its being a holiday, the people were flocking to the lodge from all the neighbouring villages. There was a regular hubbub of talk. Pale and tearful faces were to be seen here and there. The door into Klyauzov's bedroom was found to be locked. The key was in the lock on the inside.
His hands trembled and there was a look of horror in his eyes. "To whom have I the honour of speaking?" the superintendent asked him. "Psyekov, Klyauzov's steward. Agricultural and engineering expert." The police superintendent, on reaching the spot with Psyekov and the necessary witnesses, found the position as follows. Masses of people were crowding about the lodge in which Klyauzov lived.
Well then, allow me to tell you how it happened. On Saturday evening, you were sitting in Klyauzov's bedroom drinking vodka and beer with him." Between twelve and one Mark Ivanitch told you he wanted to go to bed. He always did go to bed at that time.
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