urn glanced suspiciously at Psyekoff.

"Go!" he said to Nicholas. "And now permit me to put a question to you,
Mr. Psyekoff. Of course you were here last Saturday evening?"

"Yes! I had supper with Marcus Ivanovitch about ten o'clock."

"And afterward?"

"Afterward--afterward--Really, I do not remember," stammered Psyekoff.
"I had a good deal to drink at supper. I don't remember when or where I
went to sleep. Why are you all looking at me like that, as if I was the
murderer?"

"Where were you when you woke up?"

"I was in the servants' kitchen, lying behind the stove! They can all
confirm it. How I got behind the stove I don't know--"

"Do not get agitated. Did you know Aquilina?"

"There's nothing extraordinary about that--"

"She first liked you and then preferred Klausoff?"

"Yes. Ephraim, give us some more mushrooms! Do you want some more tea,
Eugraph Kuzmitch?"

A heavy, oppressive silence began and lasted fully five minutes.
Dukovski silently kept his piercing eyes fixed on Psyekoff's pale face.
The silence was finally broken by the examining magistrate:

"We must go to the house and talk with Maria Ivanovna, the sister of the
deceased. Perhaps she may be able to supply some clews."

Chubikoff and his assistant expressed their thanks for the breakfast,
and went toward the house. They found Klausoff's sister, Maria Ivanovna,
an old maid of forty-five, at prayer before the big case of family
icons. When she saw the portfolios in her guests' hands, and their
official caps, she grew pale.

"Let me begin by apologizing for disturbing, so to speak, your
devotions," began the gallant Chubikoff, bowing and scraping. "We have
come to you with a request. Of course, you have heard already. There is
a suspicion that your dear brother, in some way or other, has been
murdered. The will of God, you know. No one can escape death, neither
czar nor ploughman. Could you not help us with some clew, some
explanation--?"

"Oh, don't ask me!" said Maria Ivanovna, growing still paler, and
covering her face with her hands. "I can tell you nothing. Nothing! I
beg you! I know nothing--What can I do? Oh, no! no!--not a word about my
brother! If I die, I won't say anything!"

Maria Ivanovna began to weep, and left the room. The investigators
looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and beat a retreat.

"Confound the woman!" scolded Dukovski, going out of the house. "It is
clear she knows something, and is concealin