. . What can I do? Oh, no, no . . .
not a word . . . of my brother! I would rather die than speak!"

Marya Ivanovna burst into tears and went away into another room.
The officials looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and
beat a retreat.

"A devil of a woman!" said Dyukovsky, swearing as they went out of
the big house. "Apparently she knows something and is concealing
it. And there is something peculiar in the maid-servant's expression
too. . . . You wait a bit, you devils! We will get to the bottom
of it all!"

In the evening, Tchubikov and his assistant were driving home by
the light of a pale-faced moon; they sat in their waggonette, summing
up in their minds the incidents of the day. Both were exhausted and
sat silent. Tchubikov never liked talking on the road. In spite of
his talkativeness, Dyukovsky held his tongue in deference to the
old man. Towards the end of the journey, however, the young man
could endure the silence no longer, and began:

"That Nikolashka has had a hand in the business," he said, "_non
dubitandum est_. One can see from his mug too what sort of a chap
he is. . . . His alibi gives him away hand and foot. There is no
doubt either that he was not the instigator of the crime. He was
only the stupid hired tool. Do you agree? The discreet Psyekov plays
a not unimportant part in the affair too. His blue trousers, his
embarrassment, his lying on the stove from fright after the murder,
his alibi, and Akulka."

"Keep it up, you're in your glory! According to you, if a man knows
Akulka he is the murderer. Ah, you hot-head! You ought to be sucking
your bottle instead of investigating cases! You used to be running
after Akulka too, does that mean that you had a hand in this
business?"

"Akulka was a cook in your house for a month, too, but . . . I don't
say anything. On that Saturday night I was playing cards with you,
I saw you, or I should be after you too. The woman is not the point,
my good sir. The point is the nasty, disgusting, mean feeling. . . .
The discreet young man did not like to be cut out, do you see.
Vanity, do you see. . . . He longed to be revenged. Then . . . His
thick lips are a strong indication of sensuality. Do you remember
how he smacked his lips when he compared Akulka to Nana? That he
is burning with passion, the scoundrel, is beyond doubt! And so you
have wounded vanity and unsatisfied passion. That's enough to lead
to murder. Two of them are in our hands, but