The Safety Match

ÒWhom have I the honor of addressing?Ó asked the inspector.

ÒPsyekoff, Lieutenant KlausoffÕs agent; agriculturist and mechanician!Ó

The inspector and his deputy, on visiting the scene of the occurrence in company with Psyekoff, found the following: Near the wing in which Klausoff had lived was gathered a dense crowd. The news of the murder had sped swift as lightning through the neighborhood, and the peasantry, thanks to the fact that the day was a holiday, had hurried together from all the neighboring villages. There was much commotion and talk. Here and there, pale, tear-stained faces were seen. The door of KlausoffÕs bedroom was found locked. The key was inside.

ÒIt is quite clear that the scoundrels got in by the window!Ó said Psyekoff as they examined the door.

They went to the garden, into which the bedroom window opened. The window looked dark and ominous. It was covered by a faded green curtain. One corner of the curtain was slightly turned up, which made it possible to look into the bedroom.

ÒDid any of you look into the window?Ó asked the inspector.

ÒCertainly not, your worship!Ó answered Ephraim, the gardener, a little gray-haired old man, who looked like a retired sergeant. ÒWhoÕs going to look in, if all their bones are shaking?Ó

ÒAh, Marcus Ivanovitch, Marcus Ivanovitch!Ó sighed the inspector, looking at the window, ÒI told you you would come to a bad end! I told the dear man, but he wouldnÕt listen! Dissipation doesnÕt bring any good!Ó

ÒThanks to Ephraim,Ó said Psyekoff; Òbut for him, we would never have guessed. He was the first to guess that something was wrong. He comes to me this morning, and says: ÔWhy is the master so long getting up? He hasnÕt left his bedroom for a whole week!Õ The moment he said that, it was just as if some one had hit me with an ax. The thought flashed through my mind, ÔWe havenÕt had a sight of him since last Saturday, and to-day is SundayÕ! Seven whole daysÑnot a doubt of it!Ó

ÒAy, poor fellow!Ó again sighed the inspector. ÒHe was a clever fellow, finely educated, and kind-hearted at that! And in society, nobody could touch him! But he was a waster, God rest his soul! I was prepared for anything since he refused to live with Olga Petrovna. Poor thing, a good wife, but a sharp tongue! Stephen!Ó the inspector called to one of his deputies, Ògo over to my house this minute, and send Andrew to the captain to lodge an information with him! Tell him that Marcus Ivanovitch has been murdered. And run over to the orderly; why should he sit there, kicking his heels? Let him come here! And go as fast as you can to the examining magistrate, Nicholas Yermolaiyevitch. Tell him to come over here! Wait; IÕll write him a note!Ó

The inspector posted sentinels around the wing, wrote a letter to the examining magistrate, and then went over to the directorÕs for a glass of tea. Ten minutes later he was sitting on a stool, carefully nibbling a lump of sugar, and swallowing the scalding tea.

ÒThere you are!Ó he was saying to Psyekoff; Òthere you are! A noble by birth! a rich manÑa favorite of the gods, you may say, as Pushkin has it, and what did he come to? He drank and dissipated andÑthere you areÑheÕs murdered.Ó

After a couple of hours the examining magistrate drove up. Nicholas Yermolaiyevitch ChubikoffÑfor that was the magistrateÕs nameÑwas a tall, fleshy old man of sixty, who had been wrestling with the duties of his office for a quarter of a century. Everybody in the district knew him as an honest man, wise, energetic, and in love with his work. He was accompanied to the scene of the murder by his inveterate companion, fellow worker, and secretary, Dukovski, a tall young fellow of twenty-six.