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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.
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.
It's all on account of Akulka, on account of a woman. . . . He had a soldier's wife. . . . The master took a fancy to her and got intimate with her, and he . . . was angered by it, to be sure. He's lolling about in the kitchen now, drunk. He's crying . . . making out he is grieving over the master . . . ." "And anyone might be angry over Akulka, certainly," said Psyekov.
I haven't forgotten it! I'll find out who struck it in the murdered man's room! It was not struck by Nikolashka, nor by Psyekov, neither of whom turned out to have matches when searched, but a third person, that is Marya Ivanovna. And I will prove it! . . . Only let me drive about the district, make some inquiries. . . ." "Oh, very well, sit down. . . . Let us proceed to the examination."
"Bring in Psyekov!" said the examining magistrate. Psyekov was led in. The young man's face had greatly changed during those twelve days. He was thin, pale, and wasted. There was a look of apathy in his eyes. "Sit down, Psyekov," said Tchubikov. "I hope that to-day you will be sensible and not persist in lying as on other occasions.
"I told you that you would come to a bad end! I told you, poor dear you wouldn't listen! Dissipation leads to no good!" "It's thanks to Yefrem," said Psyekov. "We should never have guessed it but for him. It was he who first thought that something was wrong. He came to me this morning and said: 'Why is it our master hasn't waked up for so long? He hasn't been out of his bedroom for a whole week!
"Evidently the criminals made their way in by the window" Psyekov observed, as they examined the door. They went into the garden into which the bedroom window looked. The window had a gloomy, ominous air. It was covered by a faded green curtain. One corner of the curtain was slightly turned back, which made it possible to peep into the bedroom.
After resting and considering a little, you carried him . . . lifted him over the hurdle. . . . Then went along the road. . . Then comes the dam; near the dam you were frightened by a peasant. But what is the matter with you?" Psyekov, white as a sheet, got up, staggering. "I am suffocating!" he said. "Very well. . . . So be it. . . . Only I must go. . . . Please." Psyekov was led out.
"There it is! . . ." he said to Psyekov, "there it is! . . . a gentleman, and a well-to-do one, too . . . a favourite of the gods, one may say, to use Pushkin's expression, and what has he made of it? Nothing! He gave himself up to drinking and debauchery, and . . . here now . . . he has been murdered!" Two hours later the examining magistrate drove up.
You had better eat your lunch!" "To my thinking, your honour," said Yefrem, the gardener, as he set the samovar on the table, "this vile deed was the work of no other than Nikolashka." "Quite possible," said Psyekov. "Who's this Nikolashka?" "The master's valet, your honour," answered Yefrem. "Who else should it be if not he? He's a ruffian, your honour! A drunkard, and such a dissipated fellow!
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