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!”