“She probably knows something, but she won’t tell us about it! Oh, have you noticed it? The maid had a very strange expression on her face, as if she knew something too. Just wait, you fools! We will discover everything!”
In the evening, Rusty and his assistant were going home along the pale moonlit road. They sat in the carriage and thought over the results achieved during the day. They were both tired and silent. Rusty did not like to talk on the way, as a rule, and the talkative Dukovsky kept silence to please the old man. At the end of the road, however, the assistant detective could not bear the silence, and broke it.
“Nicholas is involved in the case,” he said, “and this fact cannot be disputed. Just look at his face! I also have no doubt that, however, he is not the organizer of the crime. He is a stupid tool, and he was hired to kill. Do you follow me? The humble Post plays a role in this case as well: the blue pants, the embarrassment, lying on the bed, scared after the murder, no alibi, and then there’s Annie.”
“You can talk as much as you want; this is all just an empty chatter. So, you think that the killer must be among those who knew Annie? This conclusion is too hasty. You are too young for your job. You are a sucker. You should be sucking milk, and not investigating crimes. You were also among those who tried to flirt with Annie—does that mean anything? Annie—she lived at your house as your cook for a month, but I’m not leaping to any conclusions. On Saturday night, I played cards with you. I saw you on that night, with my own eyes; otherwise I would have suspected you as well.”
“The problem is not just this woman, it’s all the mean, nasty feelings that we have. A humble young man is angry about his disappointment in love. His ego suffers. He wants revenge. Next point. His thick lips indicate his strong sensitivity. Remember how he smacked his lips, when he spoke about Annie? I have no doubt that this scoundrel is dying from hidden passion. We can see here his hurt pride and unsatisfied lust. This is reason enough to commit murder. We have two persons on our hands. Who is the third one? Nicholas and Post held him. But who actually strangled him? Post is a humble man who is afraid of everything. And people like Nicholas simply do not know how to strangle with a pillow. If they kill, they kill with an axe. There must be someone else, the third person who strangled him, but who is it?”
Dukovsky moved his hat over his eyes and became lost in his thoughts. He kept silence until the moment the carriage arrived at the detective’s house.
“I have it now!” he cried out, as they came into the house and he took off his coat. “I’ve got it. I am surprised that it never struck me before! Do you know who the third person was?’
“Stop it, please! Here, supper is ready. Take a seat at the table, and let’s eat!”
The detective and Dukovsky sat down to have supper. Dukovsky poured a shot of vodka for himself, stood up, stretched himself and said, with his eyes shining,
“You must know the name of the third person who acted with the scoundrel Post. You should know that this was a woman! I am talking about the landlord’s sister, Maria Ivanovna.”
Rusty coughed, as he drank his vodka, and started at Dukovsky,
“Are you mad? How is your head? You don’t have a headache, do you?”
“I’m fine, just fine. All right, maybe I am going too far, maybe I have gone mad, but how can you explain her embarrassment when she saw us come in? How can you explain her unwillingness to testify? Let’s admit that this is not the most important thing. All right. But then, remember about their relationship. She hated her brother! She has strict morals, and he is a very dissipated man. Here is where the hatred abides! People say that he convinced her that he was Satan’s angel. And he even practiced Spiritualism in her presence.”
“And so what?”
“Don’t you understand? She killed him because she was a fanatic! She didn’t just kill a bad and dissipated man, but she also relieved the world of a bad man. And she thinks that this was her merit, her virtuous and heroic deed. Oh, you simply don’t know these old spinsters, these fanatics! Read Dostoevsky! Read Leskov! It was her, I am certain that it was her, and you call kill me if I am wrong. His sister strangled him. Oh, nasty woman! She attempted to deceive us. She thought, ‘Let me stay here and pray, and they will think that I am only a quiet, pious woman, and they won’t have any interest in me.’ This is the way all amateur criminals behave! My dear friend, Nikolai Ermolaeveich! Give this case to me! Let me personally complete the investigation and close the case. Dear sir! I have started it, and I want to finish it.”
The detective shook his head and frowned.
“I know for myself how to deal with complicated cases like this one!” he said. “And it is none of your business to interfere, unless I have asked you for your opinion. You should write down what I dictate to you—this is the duty for which you are paid. That is all.”
Dukovsky snorted and left the room, closing the door with a bang behind him.
“A clever young man, yes he is,” said Rusty looking toward the door. “However, he is too hot and unbalanced sometimes. I should buy him a gift at the next fair, a cigarette case or something.”
On the next day, a young man from the local village was brought to the detective. He had a big head and a harelip, and identified himself as the local shepherd Daniel. He gave a very interesting testimony.
“I was drunk a few days ago,” he said. “I visited my girlfriend and stayed there until midnight. On the way home, I was drunk and decided to take a swim in the pond. While I was swimming, I saw two men bring something heavy, wrapped in a black sack. I watched them climb onto the dam.
“Hey you, what’s up?” I called out to them. They got scared and ran away from me as fast as they could, in the direction of the Makarevo’s garden. I am pretty sure that the sack contained the landlord’s body.”
On the same day, in the late afternoon, both Mr. Post and Nicholas were arrested and brought under police guard to town. There, they were put in the local county jail.
PART TWO
Twelve days passed.
In the morning, the detective, Nikolai Ermolaevich, was sitting at his desk in the office shuffling through the case file. Dukovsky, as impatiently as a wolf in a cage, was pacing the room from one corner to another.
“If you are positive that Nicholas and Post are guilty,” he said, nervously fingering his small beard, “then why can’t you be sure that Maria Ivanovna is guilty as well? Don’t you have enough evidence?”
“I didn’t say that I am not convinced in this. I am convinced, but I still cannot believe the obvious. We don’t have enough material evidence, only philosophy—nothing more than the woman’s fanaticism.”
“Do you need an axe and blood-stained sheets? You lawyers! I will have to prove it to you! You should never discount human psychology. Maria Ivanovna will end up in Siberian prisons, I will prove it to you. And if you don’t think that philosophy is enough, I have something material. You will tell me yourself that my philosophy is right. I just need to go and make a few trips.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I am talking about the Swedish match. You forgot, but I have not forgotten it! I know who burned the match in the murdered man’s room. It was neither Nicholas nor Post—they both had no matches on them when we searched them. It was the third person, that is, Maria Ivanovna, and I will prove it to you. Let me just trace the match along the county, and make some inquiries.”
“All right, all right, but for now, you’d better have a seat at your desk. We will be starting the interrogations soon.”
Dukovsky sat at his desk, and buried his nose in the papers.
“Let Nicholas Tetekov be brought in for interrogation,” said the detective.
Nicholas was brought in by a guard. He was pale and very thin, almost skeletal. He was trembling.
“Mr. Tetekov,” Tchuhikov started. “Five years ago, in the town of M., you were placed under probation by the judge of the first district for stealing, and you received a prison sentence. Three year
s ago, you were convicted of theft for the second time, and imprisoned.”
They saw the expression of surprise clearly displayed on Nicholas’s face. He was amazed that the detectives knew everything about him. But soon his amazement changed into uncontrollable grief. He started crying, and was asked to go wash his face and calm down. He was taken away.
“Bring Mr. Post in,” ordered the detective. They brought Post. The young man had changed a lot during the last few days.
He had lost a lot of weight, and his skin had become pale and papery. Apathy and depression were obvious in his eyes.
“Take a seat, Post,” said Rusty.
“I hope that this time you will be more considerate and won’t lie to us, as you have on previous occasions. For days, you have denied your participation in the murder of Mr. Banks, in spite of the numerous pieces of material evidence which speak against you. This is not logical. If you make a full deposition, your sentence will be reduced. I am requesting your cooperation for the last time. If you don’t accept your guilt by tomorrow, it will be too late. So, start telling us the truth.”
“I don’t know anything. I don’t know any of your material evidence,” said Post.
“You are wrong. Let me tell you how the events developed during the night of the crime. On Saturday night, you sat in Banks’ bedroom, drinking vodka and beer with him.”
At this moment, Dukovsky cast a piercing glance at Post, and did not avert it during the whole monologue.
“Nicholas served you. At some point after midnight, Mark Ivanovich told you that he wanted to go to bed. He always went to sleep at one o’clock. When he was taking off his boots, and giving you orders for the morrow, you and Nicholas, at a particular special sign, jumped at your drunk master, caught him by his hands, and pressed him against the bed. One of you sat on his legs; the other one sat on his head. At that moment, a woman whom you know very well, in a dark-colored dress, came from the entrance hall. You had agreed with her earlier about her participation in this criminal case. She snatched a pillow, and started strangling the poor man with it. During the fight, the candle went down. The woman took out a box of Swedish matches, and lit the candle. It is so? I see from your face that I am telling the truth. Listen further. When you had strangled him, and made certain that he was no longer breathing, you and Nicholas pushed him through the window, and put him under the thistle bush. You were afraid that he might come back to life, so you hit him with something sharp. Then you dragged him to the lilac tree. You were thinking about how to dispose of the body. You dragged him further, across the fence and along the road. Then, you brought him to the dam at the pond. There, you were scared by a peasant. What happened to you?”
Post’s face had lost all its color. He looked like a corpse. He stood up and swayed, almost fell, losing his balance.
“I can’t breathe. All right, all right. Let it be as you want, but let me breathe. Please.” The guard removed Post from the room.
“Finally, he has accepted his guilt,” said Rusty, making a sweet yawn. “He finally gave himself up. I did it in a very clever manner. I gave him all these facts.”
“He did not even deny the woman in black,” inserted Dukovsky. “But I can’t forget about this Swedish match. I can’t stand it any more. Good-bye. I have to go.”
Dukovsky put on his hat and left.
Rusty started interrogating Annie. She said that she did not know anything.
“I only slept with you, and no one else,” she said.
At six o’clock that evening, Dukovsky came back. He was more excited than he had ever been. His fingers were trembling to such an extent that he was not able to undo his coat. His cheeks were burning. It was clear that he brought very important news. “We are done with the case,” he said, arriving in the Rusty’s office and dropping into the armchair.
“I can swear on my word of honor that I am a genius.”
“Listen, you damned devil! Listen to me carefully, and you will he surprised, my dear friend. It is both funny and sad. We already have three people involved in this case, and I have found the fourth person; to be exact, the fourth woman, because she is a woman. And what a woman! I would have given away ten years of my life, just to touch her shoulders, she is so beautiful. But listen. I went to Banks’s estate and started making circles around it. I went to all the country stores, drug stores, pubs, and restaurants, asking for Swedish matches everywhere. Everyone said no. I searched all day, until night came. I lost hope at least twenty times, and twenty times I had it again, entering the next place. So, I spent the whole day like this, and finally, about an hour ago, I found what I was looking for. The place is not far from here, maybe three miles or so. They gave me a package with ten boxes of matches, one box was missing. So I asked the owner who had bought the box. He told me about this woman, and named her. He said, ‘She liked them, so she burned them one after another.’ My dear friend, Nikolai Ermolaevich. Look at me, and you will see what kind of a man a school dropout can become! You won’t believe it! Today, I have found my self-respect. Well, well, let’s go now!”
“Where are we going?”
“We have to go to the fourth member of the gang. We have to hurry. Otherwise, I will burn with impatience. Do you know who she is? You’ll never guess, never! She is the young wife of our doctor, the old man. Her name is Olga Petrovna, that’s who she is. She bought this box of matches.”
“My friend, you are completely crazy.”
“Listen to me. First of all, she smokes. Secondly, she was completely, madly in love with Banks. He rejected her love for this peasant woman, Annie. It was her revenge. Now I remember that once I saw them hiding behind the kitchen curtain. She swore that she loved him, and he took a drag from her cigarette and blew the smoke in her face. But it is getting dark, my friend, let’s go faster.”
“Have I become so foolish that I would allow an idiot like you to bother a noble and honest woman in the middle of the night?”
“Do you think that she is noble and honest? Then you are a spineless wimp and not a detective! I have never scolded you before, but now I have to speak my mind. You are a coward with no willpower! My dear, Nikolai Ermolaevich.”
The detective motioned him away and spat on the floor.
“Please, let’s go! I am not asking this for my own benefit, but in the interest of the law. I am begging you. Please, do me this favor, just once in your life! Look, I can kneel in front of you! Dear Nikolai Ermolaevich, please be so kind, please. You can call me stupid, if I am wrong about this woman. But this is such an outstanding case. You will be famous all over the country. They will make you a special investigator for the most important cases. You must believe me, old man.”
The old detective frowned, and slowly and reluctantly moved his hand to his hat.
“Damn it! I will have to go with you,” he said.
It was dark when the detective’s carriage arrived at the entrance of the doctor’s house.
“We are swine,” said Rusty, ringing the doorbell. “We should not be troubling people at this time.”
“This is nothing. Don’t be afraid. Tell her that your carriage is broken.”
A tall, plump woman, about twenty-three years old, opened the door for Rusty and Dukovsky. She was a lush brunette, with shining hair and full red lips. It was Olga Petrovna herself.
“Oh, this is so pleasant,” she said. “You have come just in time for dinner. My husband is away on business. But we can have dinner without him. Have a seat, please. Did you come from your investigation?”
“Yes, you see, my carriage has broken next to your house,” said Rusty, entering the living room and taking a seat in an armchair.
“Tell her at once. Scare her!” Dukovsky hissed. “Scare her! Do it now!”
“The carriage, yes. We just decided to drop in.”
“Scare her at once!” Dukovsky whispered again. “Otherwise, if you procrastinate, she will guess that we know.”
“Leave me alone,” Rusty murmured,
standing up and going to the window, “I can’t do it! You started this, so you will have to finish it.”
“Yes, the carriage,” said Dukovsky, coming to the woman and wrinkling his long nose. “But we haven’t come to have dinner, or see your husband. We came here to ask you, dear lady, where is Mark Ivanovich, whom you killed?”
“What? Which Mark Ivanovich?” mumbled the woman, blushing all over. “I don’t remember anything.”
“I am asking you in the name of the law. Where is Mr. Banks? We know everything.”
“From whom?” asked the woman, unable to stand Dukovsky’s piercing glance.
“You must show us where he is.”
“But how did you find me? Who told you?”
“We know everything. I insist, in the name of the law!”
The detective, encouraged by the woman’s embarrassment, came to her and said,
“Lead us to his body, and then we will leave. Otherwise, we will have to take legal measures.”
“Why do you want him?”
“Why? Are you asking us questions, dear lady? We should be asking you the questions. You are trembling, and you are embarrassed. Yes, he was murdered, and he was killed by you. You are one of the participants, and the other gang members have given your name to us.”
The doctor’s wife became pale.
“Let’s go,” she said in a quiet voice, clasping her hands.
“I hid him in the bathhouse at the end of our property. But please, I implore you, don’t say anything to my husband. He won’t be able to stand this news.”
The woman took a big key from the nail on the wall, and brought her guests through the back entrance, first to the kitchen and then to the backyard. It was dark outside. A light rain was drizzling. The woman went forward. Rusty and Dukovsky followed her, stepping through the tall grass, smelling the damp scent of the wild weeds and some food scraps which crunched under their feet. It was a big backyard. Soon the garbage ended, and their feet felt the freshly ploughed soil. They saw the figures of the tall trees in the dark, behind the trees they saw a small house with a slanted chimney.