something in her that does suggest
Nana . . . fascinating . . ."

"I have seen her . . . I know . . ." said the examining magistrate,
blowing his nose in a red handkerchief.

Dyukovsky blushed and dropped his eyes. The police superintendent
drummed on his saucer with his fingers. The police captain coughed
and rummaged in his portfolio for something. On the doctor alone
the mention of Akulka and Nana appeared to produce no impression.
Tchubikov ordered Nikolashka to be fetched. Nikolashka, a lanky
young man with a long pock-marked nose and a hollow chest, wearing
a reefer jacket that had been his master's, came into Psyekov's
room and bowed down to the ground before Tchubikov. His face looked
sleepy and showed traces of tears. He was drunk and could hardly
stand up.

"Where is your master?" Tchubikov asked him.

"He's murdered, your honour."

As he said this Nikolashka blinked and began to cry.

"We know that he is murdered. But where is he now? Where is his
body?"

"They say it was dragged out of window and buried in the garden."

"H'm . . . the results of the investigation are already known in
the kitchen then. . . . That's bad. My good fellow, where were you
on the night when your master was killed? On Saturday, that is?"

Nikolashka raised his head, craned his neck, and pondered.

"I can't say, your honour," he said. "I was drunk and I don't
remember."

"An alibi!" whispered Dyukovsky, grinning and rubbing his hands.

"Ah! And why is it there's blood under your master's window!"

Nikolashka flung up his head and pondered.

"Think a little quicker," said the police captain.

"In a minute. That blood's from a trifling matter, your honour. I
killed a hen; I cut her throat very simply in the usual way, and
she fluttered out of my hands and took and ran off. . . .That's
what the blood's from."

Yefrem testified that Nikolashka really did kill a hen every evening
and killed it in all sorts of places, and no one had seen the
half-killed hen running about the garden, though of course it could
not be positively denied that it had done so.

"An alibi," laughed Dyukovsky, "and what an idiotic alibi."

"Have you had relations with Akulka?"

"Yes, I have sinned."

"And your master carried her off from you?"

"No, not at all. It was this gentleman here, Mr. Psyekov, Ivan
Mihalitch, who enticed her from me, and the master took her from
Ivan Mihalitch. That's how it was."

Psyekov looked confused and b