ovski 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.

VIII

SOME SCOTLAND YARD STORIES[F]

SIR ROBERT ANDERSON

When I took charge of the Criminal Investigation Department I was no
novice in matters relating to criminals and crime. In addition to
experience gained at the Bar and on the Prison Commission,
secret-service work had kept me in close touch with "Scotland Yard" for
twenty years, and during all that time I had the confidence, not only of
the chiefs, but of the principal officers of the detective force. I thus
entered on my duties with very exceptional advantages.

I was not a little surprised, therefore, to find occasion to suspect
that one of my principal subordinates was trying to impose on me as
though I were an ignoramus. For when any important crime of a certain
kind occurred, and I set myself to investigate it _a la_ Sherlock
Holmes, he used to listen to me in the way that so many people listen to
sermons in church; and when I was done he would stolidly announce that
the crime was the work of A, B, C, or D, naming some of his stock
heroes. Though a keen and shrewd police officer, the man was
unimaginative, and I thus accounted for the fact that his list was
always brief, and that the same names came up repeatedly. It was "Old
Carr," or "Wirth," or "Sausage," or "Shrimps," or "Quiet Joe," or