Short Stories by Chekhov
persuading her that he was an angel of Satan! He used to practise
spiritualism in her presence!"
"Well, what then?"
"Don't you understand? She's an Old Believer, she murdered him through
fanaticism! She has not merely slain a wicked man, a profligate, she has
freed the world from Antichrist--and that she fancies is her merit, her
religious achievement! Ah, you don't know these old maids, these Old
Believers! You should read Dostoevsky! And what does Lyeskov say . . .
and Petchersky! It's she, it's she, I'll stake my life on it. She
smothered him! Oh, the fiendish woman! Wasn't she, perhaps, standing
before the ikons when we went in to put us off the scent? 'I'll stand up
and say my prayers,' she said to herself, 'they will think I am calm and
don't expect them.' That's the method of all novices in crime. Dear
Nikolay Yermolaitch! My dear man! Do hand this case over to me! Let me
go through with it to the end! My dear fellow! I have begun it, and I
will carry it through to the end."
Tchubikov shook his head and frowned.
"I am equal to sifting difficult cases myself," he said. "And it's your
place not to put yourself forward. Write what is dictated to you, that
is your business!"
Dyukovsky flushed crimson, walked out, and slammed the door.
"A clever fellow, the rogue," Tchubikov muttered, looking after him.
"Ve-ery clever! Only inappropriately hasty. I shall have to buy him a
cigar-case at the fair for a present."
Next morning a lad with a big head and a hare lip came from Klyauzovka.
He gave his name as the shepherd Danilko, and furnished a very
interesting piece of information.
"I had had a drop," said he. "I stayed on till midnight at my crony's.
As I was going home, being drunk, I got into the river for a bathe. I
was bathing and what do I see! Two men coming along the dam carrying
something black. 'Tyoo!' I shouted at them. They were scared, and cut
along as fast as they could go into the Makarev kitchen-gardens. Strike
me dead, if it wasn't the master they were carrying!"
Towards evening of the same day Psyekov and Nikolashka were arrested and
taken under guard to the district town. In the town they were put in the
prison tower. II
Twelve days passed.
It was morning. The examining magistrate, Nikolay Yermolaitch, was
sitting at a green table at home, looking through the papers, relating
to the "Klyauzov case"; Dyukovsky was pacing up and down the room
restlessly, like a wolf in a cage.
"You are convinced of the guilt of Nikolashka and Psyekov," he said,
nervously pulling at his youthful beard. "Why is it you refuse to be
convinced of the guilt of Marya Ivanovna? Haven't you evidence enough?"
"I don't say that I don't believe in it. I am convinced of it, but
somehow I can't believe it. . . . There is no real evidence. It's all
theoretical, as it were. . . . Fanaticism and one thing and another. . .
."
"And you must have an axe and bloodstained sheets! . . . You lawyers!
Well, I will prove it to you then! Do give up your slip-shod attitude to
the psychological aspect of the case. Your Marya Ivanovna ought to be in
Siberia! I'll prove it. If theoretical proof is not enough for you, I
have something material. . . . It will show you how right my theory is!
Only let me go about a little!"
"What are you talking about?"
"The Swedish match! Have you forgotten? I haven't forgotten it! I'll
find out who struck it in the murdered man's room! It was not struck by
Nikolashka, nor by Psyekov, neither of whom turned out to have matches
when searched, but a third person, that is Marya Ivanovna. And I will
prove it! . . . Only let me drive about the district, make some
inquiries. . . ."
"Oh, very well, sit down. . . . Let us proceed to the examination."
Dyukovsky sat down to the table, and thrust his long nose into the
papers.
"Bring in Nikolay Tetchov!" cried the examining magistrate.
Nikolashka was brought in. He was pale and thin as a chip. He was
trembling.
"Tetchov!" began Tchubikov. "In 1879 you were convicted of theft and
condemned to a term of imprisonment. In 1882 you were condemned for
theft a second time, and a second time sent to prison . . . We know all
about it. . . ."
A look of surprise came up into Nikolashka's face. The examining
magistrate's omniscience amazed him, but soon wonder was replaced by an
expression of extreme distress. He broke into sobs, and asked leave to
go to wash, and calm himself. He was led out.
"Bring in Psyekov!" said the examining magistrate.
Psyekov was led in. The young man's face had greatly changed during
those twelve days. He was thin, pale, and wasted. There was a look of
apathy in his eyes.
"Sit down, Psyekov," said Tchubikov. "I hope that to-day you will be
sensible and not persist in lying as on other occasions. All this time
you have denied your participation in the murder of Klyauzov, in spite
of the mass of evidence against you. It is senseless. Confession is some
mitigation of guilt. To-day I am talking to you for the last time. If
you don't confess to-day, to-morrow it will be too late. Come, tell us.
. . ."
"I know nothing, and I don't know your evidence," whispered Psyekov.
"That's useless! Well then, allow me to tell you how it happened. On
Saturday evening, you were sitting in Klyauzov's bedroom drinking vodka
and beer with him." (Dyukovsky riveted his eyes on Psyekov's face, and
did not remove them during the whole monologue.) "Nikolay was waiting
upon you. Between twelve and one Mark Ivanitch told you he wanted to go
to bed. He always did go to bed at that time. While he was taking off
his boots and giving you some instructions regarding the estate, Nikolay
and you at a given signal seized your intoxicated master and flung him
back upon the bed. One of you sat on his feet, the other on his head. At
that moment the lady, you know who, in a black dress, who had arranged
with you beforehand the part she would take in the crime, came in from
the passage. She picked up the pillow, and proceeded to smother him with
it. During the struggle, the light went out. The woman took a box of
Swedish matches out of her pocket and lighted the candle. Isn't that
right? I see from your face that what I say is true. Well, to proceed. .
. . Having smothered him, and being convinced that he had ceased to
breathe, Nikolay and you dragged him out of window and put him down near
the burdocks. Afraid that he might regain consciousness, you struck him
with something sharp. Then you carried him, and laid him for some time
under a lilac bush. After resting and considering a little, you carried
him . . . lifted him over the hurdle. . . . Then went along the road. .
. Then comes the dam; near the dam you were frightened by a peasant. But
what is the matter with you?"
Psyekov, white as a sheet, got up, staggering.
"I am suffocating!" he said. "Very well. . . . So be it. . . . Only I
must go. . . . Please."
Psyekov was led out.
"At last he has admitted it!" said Tchubikov, stretching at his ease.
"He has given himself away! How neatly I caught him there."
"And he didn't deny the woman in black!" said Dyukovsky, laughing. "I am
awfully worried over that Swedish match, though! I can't endure it any
longer. Good-bye! I am going!"
Dyukovsky put on his cap and went off. Tchubikov began interrogating
Akulka.
Akulka declared that she knew nothing about it. . . .
"I have lived with you and with nobody else!" she said.
At six o'clock in the evening Dyukovsky returned. He was more excited
than ever. His hands trembled so much that he could not unbutton his
overcoat. His cheeks were burning. It was evident that he had not come
back without news.
"Veni, vidi, vici!" he cried, dashing into Tchubikov's room and sinking
into an arm-chair. "I vow on my honour, I begin to believe in my own
genius. Listen, damnation take us! Listen and wonder, old friend! It's
comic and it's sad. You have three in your grasp already . . . haven't
you? I have found a fourth murderer, or rather murderess, for it is a
woman! And what a woman! I would have given ten years of my life merely
to touch her shoulders. But . . . listen. I drove to Klyauzovka and
proceeded to describe a spiral round it. On the way I visited all the
shopkeepers and innkeepers, asking for Swedish matches. Everywhere I was
told 'No.' I have been on my round up to now. Twenty times I lost hope,
and as many times regained it. I have been on the go all day long, and
only an hour ago came upon what I was looking for. A couple of miles
from here they gave me a packet of a dozen boxes of matches. One box was
missing . . . I asked at once: 'Who bought that box?' 'So-and-so. She
took a fancy to them. . . They crackle.' My dear fellow! Nikolay
Yermolaitch! What can sometimes be done by a man who has been expelled
from a seminary and studied Gaboriau is beyond all conception! From to-
day I shall began to respect myself! . . . Ough. . . . Well, let us go!"
"Go where?"
"To her, to the fourth. . . . We must make haste, or . . . I shall
explode with impatience! Do you know who she is? You will never guess.
The young wife of our old police superintendent, Yevgraf Kuzmitch, Olga
Petrovna; that's who it is! She bought that box of matches!"
"You . . . you. . . . Are you out of your mind?"
"It's very natural! In the first place she smokes, and in the second she
was head over ears in love with Klyauzov. He rejected her love for the
sake of an Akulka. Revenge. I remember now, I once came upon them behind
the screen in the kitchen. She was cursing him, while he was smoking her
cigarette and puffing the smoke into her face. But do come along; make
haste, for it is getting dark already . . . . Let us go!"
"I have not gone so completely crazy yet as to disturb a respectable,
honourable woman at night for the sake of a wretched boy!"
"Honourable, respectable. . . . You are a rag then, not an examining
magistrate! I have never ventured to abuse you, but now you force me to
it! You rag! you old fogey! Come, dear Nikolay Yermolaitch, I entreat
you!"
The examining magistrate waved his hand in refusal and spat in disgust.
"I beg you! I beg you, not for my own sake, but in the interests of
justice! I beseech you, indeed! Do me a favour, if only for once in your
life!"
Dyukovsky fell on his knees.
"Nikolay Yermolaitch, do be so good! Call me a scoundrel, a worthless
wretch if I am in error about that woman! It is such a case, you know!
It is a case! More like a novel than a case. The fame of it will be all
over Russia. They will make you examining magistrate for particularly
important cases! Do understand, you unreasonable old man!"
The examining magistrate frowned and irresolutely put out his hand
towards his hat.
"Well, the devil take you!" he said, "let us go."
It was already dark when the examining magistrate's waggonette rolled up
to the police superintendent's door.
"What brutes we are!" said Tchubikov, as he reached for the bell. "We
are disturbing people."
"Never mind, never mind, don't be frightened. We will say that one of
the springs has broken."
Tchubikov and Dyukovsky were met in the doorway by a tall, plump woman
of three and twenty, with eyebrows as black as pitch and full red lips.
It was Olga Petrovna herself.
"Ah, how very nice," she said, smiling all over her face. "You are just
in time for supper. My Yevgraf Kuzmitch is not at home. . . . He is
staying at the priest's. But we can get on without him. Sit down. Have
you come from an inquiry?"
"Yes. . . . We have broken one of our springs, you know," began
Tchubikov, going into the drawing-room and sitting down in an easy-
chair.
"Take her by surprise at once and overwhelm her," Dyukovsky whispered to
him.
"A spring .. . er . . . yes. . . . We just drove up. . . ."