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The magistrate Nicholas Yermolaiyevitch 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?
It was she, and nobody else, even if you cut me open. She smothered him! O treacherous woman! wasn't that the reason why she was kneeling before the icons, when we came in, just to take our attention away? 'Let me kneel down and pray, she said to herself, 'and they will think I am tranquil and did not expect them! That is the plan of all novices in crime, Nicholas Yermolaiyevitch, old pal!
Immediately: 'Who bought the other box? 'Such-a-one! She was pleased with them! Old man! Nicholas Yermolaiyevitch! See what a fellow who was expelled from the seminary and who has read Gaboriau can do! From to-day on I begin to respect myself! Oof! Well, come!" "Come where?" "To her, to number four! We must hurry, otherwise otherwise I'll burst with impatience! Do you know who she is?
"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.
Nicholas Yermolaïyevitch Chubikoff for that was the magistrate's name was a tall, fleshy old man of sixty, who had been wrestling with the duties of his office for a quarter of a century. Everybody in the district knew him as an honest man, wise, energetic, and in love with his work.
Do what I ask you to, just this once!" Dukovski went down on his knees. "Nicholas Yermolaiyevitch! Be kind! Call me a blackguard, a ne'er-do-weel, if I am mistaken about this woman. You see what an affair it is. What a case it is. A romance! A woman murdering her own husband for love! The fame of it will go all over Russia. They will make you investigator in all important cases.
It was she, and nobody else, even if you cut me open. She smothered him! O treacherous woman! wasn't that the reason why she was kneeling before the icons, when we came in, just to take our attention away? 'Let me kneel down and pray, she said to herself, 'and they will think I am tranquil and did not expect them! That is the plan of all novices in crime, Nicholas Yermolaïyevitch, old pal!
Do what I ask you to, just this once!" Dukovski went down on his knees. "Nicholas Yermolaïyevitch! Be kind! Call me a blackguard, a ne'er-do-weel, if I am mistaken about this woman. You see what an affair it is. What a case it is. A romance! A woman murdering her own husband for love! The fame of it will go all over Russia. They will make you investigator in all important cases.
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?
Immediately: 'Who bought the other box? 'Such-a-one! She was pleased with them! Old man! Nicholas Yermolaïyevitch! See what a fellow who was expelled from the seminary and who has read Gaboriau can do! From to-day on I begin to respect myself! Oof! Well, come!" "Come where?" "To her, to number four! We must hurry, otherwise otherwise I'll burst with impatience! Do you know who she is?
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