A fortnight passed.
It was morning. 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? Are there not proofs enough for you?"
"I don't say I am not convinced. I am convinced, but somehow I don't
believe it! There are no real proofs, but just a kind of
philosophizing--fanaticism, this and that----"
"You can't do without an ax and bloodstained sheets. Those jurists!
Very well, I'll prove it to you! You will stop sneering at the
psychological side of the affair! To Siberia with your Maria Ivanovna!
I will prove it! If philosophy is not enough for you, I have something
substantial for you. It will show you how correct my philosophy is.
Just give me permission----"
"What are you going on about?"
"About the safety match! Have you forgotten it? I haven't! I am going
to find out who struck it in the murdered man's room. It was not
Nicholas that struck it; it was not Psyekoff, for neither of them had
any matches when they were examined; it was the third person, Maria
Ivanovna. I will prove it to you. Just give me permission to go
through the district to find out."
"That's enough! Sit down. Let us go on with the examination."
Dukovski sat down at a little table, and plunged his long nose in a
bundle of papers.
"Bring in Nicholas Tetekhoff!" cried the examining magistrate.
They brought Nicholas in. Nicholas was pale and thin as a rail. He was
trembling.
"Tetekhoff!" began Chubikoff. "In 1879 you were tried in the Court of
the First Division, convicted of theft, and sentenced to imprisonment.
In 1882 you were tried a second time for theft, and were again
imprisoned. We know all----"
Astonishment was depicted on Nicholas's face. The examining
magistrate's omniscience startled him. But soon his expression of
astonishment changed to extreme indignation. He began to cry and
requested permission to go and wash his face and quiet down. They led
him away.
"Bring in Psyekoff!" ordered the examining magistrate.
They brought in Psyekoff. The young man had changed greatly during the
last few days. He had grown thin and pale, and looked haggard. His
eyes had an apathetic expression.
"Sit down, Psyekoff," said Chubikoff. "I hope that to-day you are
going to be reasonable, and will not tell lies, as you did before. All
these days you have denied that you had anything to do with the murder
of Klausoff, in spite of all the proofs that testify against you. That
is foolish. Confession will lighten your guilt. This is the last time
I am going to talk to you. If you do not confess to-day, to-morrow it
will be too late. Come, tell me all----"
"I know nothing about it. I know nothing about your proofs," answered
Psyekoff, almost inaudibly.
"It's no use! Well, let me relate to you how the matter took place. On
Saturday evening you were sitting in Klausoff's sleeping room, and
drinking vodka and beer with him." (Dukovski fixed his eyes on
Psyekoff's face, and kept them there all through the examination.)
"Nicholas was waiting on you. At one o'clock, Marcus Ivanovitch
announced his intention of going to bed. He always went to bed at one
o'clock. When he was taking off his boots, and was giving you
directions about details of management, you and Nicholas, at a given
signal, seized your drunken master and threw him on the bed. One of
you sat on his legs, the other on his head. Then a third person came
in from the passage--a woman in a black dress, whom you know well, and
who had previously arranged with you as to her share in your criminal
deed. She seized a pillow and began to smother him. While the struggle
was going on the candle went out. The woman took a box of safety
matches from her pocket, and lit the candle. Was it not so? I see by
your face that I am speaking the truth. But to go on. After you had
smothered him, and saw that he had ceased breathing, you and Nicholas
pulled him out through the window and laid him down near the burdock.
Fearing that he might come round again, you struck him with something
sharp. Then you carried him away, and laid him down under a lilac bush
for a short time. After resting awhile and considering, you carried
him across the fence. Then you entered the road. After that comes the
dam. Near the dam, a peasant frightened you. Well, what is the matter
with you?"
"I am suffocating!" replied Psyekoff. "Very well--have it so. Only let
me go out, please!"
They led Psyekoff away.
"At last! He has confessed!" cried Chubikoff, stretching himself
luxuriously. "He has betrayed himself! And didn't I get round him
cleverly! Regularly caught him napping----"
"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. Aquilina declared that she knew nothing whatever about it.
At six that evening Dukovski returned. He was more agitated than he
had ever been before. His hands trembled so that he could not even
unbutton his greatcoat. His cheeks glowed. It was clear that he did
not come empty handed.
"_Veni, vidi, vici!_" he cried, rushing into Chubikoff's room, and
falling into an armchair. "I swear to you on my honor, I begin to
believe that I am a genius! Listen, devil take us all! It is funny,
and it is sad. We have caught three already--isn't that so? Well, I
have found the fourth, and a woman at that. You will never believe who
it is! But listen. I went to Klausoff's village, and began to make a
spiral round it. I visited all the little shops, public houses, dram
shops on the road, everywhere asking for safety matches. Everywhere
they said they hadn't any. I made a wide round. Twenty times I lost
faith, and twenty times I got it back again. I knocked about the whole
day, and only an hour ago I got on the track. Three versts from here.
They gave me a packet of ten boxes. One box was missing. 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? You'll never guess!
Olga Petrovna, Marcus Ivanovitch's wife--his own wife--that's who it
is! She is the person who bought the matchbox!"
"You--you--you are out of your mind!"
"It's quite simple! To begin with, she smokes. Secondly, she was head
and ears in love with Klausoff, even after he refused to live in the
same house with her, because she was always scolding his head off.
Why, they say she used to beat him because she loved him so much. And
then he positively refused to stay in the same house. Love turned
sour. 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.' But come along! Quick,
or it will be dark. Come!"
"I am not yet sufficiently crazy to go and disturb a respectable
honorable woman in the middle of the night for a crazy boy!"
"Respectable, honorable! Do honorable women murder their husbands?
After that you are a rag, and not an examining magistrate! I never
ventured to call you names before, but now you compel me to. Rag!
Dressing-gown!--Dear Nicholas Yermolaïyevitch, do come, I beg of
you----!"
The magistrate made a deprecating motion with his hand.
"I beg of you! I ask, not for myself, but in the interests of justice.
I beg you! I implore you! 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. Understand, O foolish
old man!"
The magistrate frowned, and undecidedly stretched his hand toward his
cap.
"Oh, the devil take you!" he said. "Let us go!"
It was dark when the magistrate's carriage rolled up to the porch of
the old country house in which Olga Petrovna had taken refuge with her
brother.
"What pigs we are," said Chubikoff, taking hold of the bell, "to
disturb a poor woman like this!"
"It's all right! It's all right! Don't get frightened! We can say that
we have broken a spring."
Chubikoff and Dukovski were met at the threshold by a tall buxom woman
of three and twenty, with pitch-black brows and juicy red lips. It was
Olga Petrovna herself, apparently not the least distressed by the
recent tragedy.
"Oh, what a pleasant surprise!" she said, smiling broadly. "You are
just in time for supper. Kuzma Petrovitch is not at home. He is
visiting the priest, and has stayed late. But we'll get on without
him! Be seated. You have come from the examination?"
"Yes. We broke a spring, you know," began Chubikoff, entering the
sitting room and sinking into an armchair.
"Take her unawares--at once!" whispered Dukovski; "take her unawares!"
"A spring--hum--yes--so we came in."
"Take her unawares, I tell you! She will guess what the matter is if
you drag things out like that."
"Well, do it yourself as you want. But let me get out of it," muttered
Chubikoff, rising and going to the window.
"Yes, a spring," began Dukovski, going close to Olga Petrovna and
wrinkling his long nose. "We did not drive over here--to take supper
with you or--to see Kuzma Petrovitch. We came here to ask you,
respected madam, where Marcus Ivanovitch is, whom you murdered!"
"What? Marcus Ivanovitch murdered?" stammered Olga Petrovna, and her
broad face suddenly and instantaneously flushed bright scarlet. "I
don't--understand!"
"I ask you in the name of the law! Where is Klausoff? We know all!"
"Who told you?" Olga Petrovna asked in a low voice, unable to endure
Dukovski's glance.
"Be so good as to show us where he is!"
"But how did you find out? Who told you?"
"We know all! I demand it in the name of the law!"
The examining magistrate, emboldened by her confusion, came forward
and said:
"Show us, and we will go away. Otherwise, we----"
"What do you want with him?"
"Madam, what is the use of these questions? We ask you to show us! You
tremble, you are agitated. Yes, he has been murdered, and, if you must
have it, murdered by you! Your accomplices have betrayed you!"
Olga Petrovna grew pale.
"Come!" she said in a low voice, wringing her hands. "I have
him--hid--in the bath house! Only for heaven's sake, do not tell Kuzma
Petrovitch. I beg and implore you! He will never forgive me!"
Olga Petrovna took down a big key from the wall, and led her guests
through the kitchen and passage to the courtyard. The courtyard was in
darkness. Fine rain was falling. 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. In the darkness
appeared the shadowy outlines of trees, and among the trees a little
house with a crooked chimney.
"That is the bath house," said Olga Petrovna. "But I implore you, do
not tell my brother! If you do, I'll never hear the end of it!"
Going up to the bath house, Chubikoff and Dukovski saw a huge padlock
on the door.
"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.
"Forward!"
They went into the next room, where the bath was. There was a table
there also. On the table was a dish with some ham, a bottle of vodka,
plates, knives, forks.
"But where is it--where is the murdered man?" asked the examining
magistrate.
"On the top tier," whispered Olga Petrovna, still pale and trembling.
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!"
The body drew in a quick breath and stirred. Dukovski stuck his elbow
into it. It raised a hand, stretched itself, and lifted its head.
"Who is sneaking in here?" asked a hoarse, heavy bass. "What do you
want?"
Dukovski raised the candle to the face of the unknown, and cried out.
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?
And who's that other mug down there? Great snakes! It is the examining
magistrate! What fate has brought him here?"
Klausoff rushed down and threw his arms round Chubikoff in a cordial
embrace. Olga Petrovna slipped through the door.
"How did you come here? Let's have a drink, devil take it!
Tra-ta-ti-to-tum--let us drink! But who brought you here? How did you
find out that I was 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!"
"All the same, I do not understand!" said the examining magistrate,
mechanically drinking off the vodka. "What are you here for?"
"Why shouldn't I be here, if I am all right here?"
Klausoff drained his glass and took a bite of ham.
"I am in captivity here, as you see. In solitude, in a cavern, like a
ghost or a bogey. Drink! She carried me off and locked me up,
and--well, I am living here, in the deserted bath house, like a
hermit. I am fed. Next week I think I'll try to get out. I'm tired of
it here!"
"Incomprehensible!" said Dukovski.
"What is incomprehensible about it?"
"Incomprehensible! For Heaven's sake, how did your boot get into the
garden?"
"What boot?"
"We found one boot in the sleeping room and the other in the garden."
"And what do you want to know that for? It's none of your business!
Why don't you drink, devil take you? If you wakened me, then drink
with me! It is an interesting tale, brother, that of the boot! I
didn't want to go with Olga. I don't like to be bossed. She came under
the window and began to abuse me. She always was a termagant. You know
what women are like, all of them. I was a bit drunk, so I took a boot
and heaved it at her. Ha-ha-ha! Teach her not to scold another time!
But it didn't! Not a bit of it! She climbed in at the window, lit the
lamp, and began to hammer poor tipsy me. She thrashed me, dragged me
over here, and locked me in. She feeds me now--on love, vodka, and
ham! But where are you off to, Chubikoff? Where are you going?"
The examining magistrate swore, and left the bath house. Dukovski
followed him, crestfallen. They silently took their seats in the
carriage and drove off. The road never seemed to them so long and
disagreeable as it did that time. Both remained silent. Chubikoff
trembled with rage all the way. Dukovski hid his nose in the collar of
his overcoat, as if he was afraid that the darkness and the drizzling
rain might read the shame in his face.
When they reached home, the examining magistrate found Dr. Tyutyeff
awaiting him. The doctor was sitting at the table, and, sighing
deeply, was turning over the pages of the _Neva_.
"Such goings-on there are in the world!" he said, meeting the
examining magistrate with a sad smile, "Austria is at it again! And
Gladstone also to some extent----"
Chubikoff threw his cap under the table, and shook himself.
"Devils' skeletons! Don't plague me! A thousand times I have told you
not to bother me with your politics! This is no question of politics!
And you," said Chubikoff, turning to Dukovski and shaking his fist, "I
won't forget this in a thousand years!"
"But the safety match? How could I know?"
"Choke yourself with your safety match! Get out of my way! Don't make
me mad, or the devil only knows what I'll do to you! Don't let me see
a trace of you!"
Dukovski sighed, took his hat, and went out.
"I'll go and get drunk," he decided, going through the door, and
gloomily wending his way to the public house.