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 years 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.