im, while he was taking his boots off.
He hadn't time to take the second boot off when--"

"There you go!--and how do you know they strangled him?"

"There are marks of teeth on the pillow. The pillow itself is badly
crumpled, and thrown a couple of yards from the bed."

"Listen to his foolishness! Better come into the garden. You would be
better employed examining the garden than digging around here. I can do
that without you!"

When they reached the garden they began by examining the grass. The
grass under the window was crushed and trampled. A bushy burdock growing
under the window close to the wall was also trampled. Dukovski succeeded
in finding on it some broken twigs and a piece of cotton wool. On the
upper branches were found some fine hairs of dark blue wool.

"What colour was his last suit?" Dukovski asked Psyekoff.

"Yellow crash."

"Excellent! You see they wore blue!"

A few twigs of the burdock were cut off, and carefully wrapped in paper
by the investigators. At this point Police Captain Artsuybasheff
Svistakovski and Dr. Tyutyeff arrived. The captain bade them "Good day!"
and immediately began to satisfy his curiosity. The doctor, a tall, very
lean man, with dull eyes, a long nose, and a pointed chin, without
greeting anyone or asking about anything, sat down on a log, sighed, and
began:

"The Servians are at war again! What in heaven's name can they want now?
Austria, it's all your doing!"

The examination of the window from the outside did not supply any
conclusive data. The examination of the grass and the bushes nearest to
the window yielded a series of useful clews. For example, Dukovski
succeeded in discovering a long, dark streak, made up of spots, on the
grass, which led some distance into the centre of the garden. The streak
ended under one of the lilac bushes in a dark brown stain. Under this
same lilac bush was found a top boot, which turned out to be the fellow
of the boot already found in the bedroom.

"That is a blood stain made some time ago," said Dukovski, examining the
spot.

At the word "blood" the doctor rose, and going over lazily, looked at
the spot.

"Yes, it is blood!" he muttered.

"That shows he wasn't strangled, if there was blood," said Chubikoff,
looking sarcastically at Dukovski.

"They strangled him in the bedroom; and here, fearing he might come
round again, they struck him a blow with some sharp-pointed instrument.
The stain under the bush proves that h