Ephraim declared that Nicholas did kill a chicken every evening, and always in some new place, but that nobody ever heard of a half-killed chicken running about the garden, though of course it wasn't impossible. "An alibi," sneered Dukovski; "and what an asinine alibi!" "Did you know Aquilina?" "Yes, your worship, I know her." "And the master cut you out with her?" "Not at all. _He_ cut me out--Mr. Psyekoff there, Ivan Mikhailovitch; and the master cut Ivan Mikhailovitch out. That is how it was." Psyekoff grew confused and began to scratch his left eye. Dukovski looked at him attentively, noted his confusion, and started. He noticed that the director had dark blue trousers, which he had not observed before. The trousers reminded him of the dark blue threads found on the burdock. Chubikoff in his turn glanced suspiciously at Psyekoff. "Go!" he said to Nicholas. "And now permit me to put a question to you, Mr. Psyekoff. Of course you were here last Saturday evening?" "Yes! I had supper with Marcus Ivanovitch about ten o'clock." "And afterwards?" "Afterwards--afterwards--Really, I do not remember," stammered Psyekoff. "I had a good deal to drink at supper. I don't remember when or where I went to sleep. Why are you all looking at me like that, as if I was the murderer?" "Where were you when you woke up?" "I was in the servants' kitchen, lying behind the stove! They can all confirm it. How I got behind the stove I don't know----" "Do not get agitated. Did you know Aquilina?" "There's nothing extraordinary about that----" "She first liked you and then preferred Klausoff?" "Yes. Ephraim, give us some more mushrooms! Do you want some more tea, Eugraph Kuzmitch?" A heavy, oppressive silence began and lasted fully five minutes. Dukoyski silently kept his piercing eyes fixed on Psyekoff's pale face. The silence was finally broken by the examining magistrate: "We must go to the house and talk with Maria Ivanovna, the sister of the deceased. Perhaps she may be able to supply some clews." Chubikoff and his assistant expressed their thanks for the breakfast, and went toward the house. They found Klausoff's sister, Maria Ivanovna, an old maid of forty-five, at prayer before the big case of family icons. When she saw the portfolios in her guests' hands, and their official caps, she grew pale. "Let me begin by apologizing for disturbing, so to speak, your devotions," began the gallant Chubikoff, bowing and scraping. "We have come to you with a request. Of course, you have heard already. There is a suspicion that your dear brother, in some way or other, has been murdered. The will of God, you know. No one can escape death, neither czar nor plowman. Could you not help us with some clew, some explanation----?"