The circumspect creak of boots was audible behind the president's back. It was the assistant prosecutor going up to the table to take some papers. "Mihail Vladimirovitch," said the assistant prosecutor, bending down to the president's ear, "amazingly slovenly the way that Koreisky conducted the investigation. The prisoner's brother was not examined, the village elder was not examined, there's no making anything out of his description of the hut. . . ." "It can't be helped, it can't be helped," said the president, sinking back in his chair. "He's a wreck . . . dropping to bits!" "By the way," whispered the assistant prosecutor, "look at the audience, in the front row, the third from the right . . . a face like an actor's . . . that's the local Croesus. He has a fortune of something like fifty thousand." "Really? You wouldn't guess it from his appearance. . . . Well, dear boy, shouldn't we have a break?" "We will finish the case for the prosecution, and then. . . ." "As you think best. . . . Well?" the president raised his eyes to the doctor. "So you consider that death was instantaneous?" "Yes, in consequence of the extent of the injury to the brain substance. . . ." When the doctor had finished, the president gazed into the space between the prosecutor and the counsel for the defence and suggested: "Have you any questions to ask?" The assistant prosecutor shook his head negatively, without lifting his eyes from "Cain"; the counsel for the defence unexpectedly stirred and, clearing his throat, asked: "Tell me, doctor, can you from the dimensions of the wound form any theory as to . . . as to the mental condition of the criminal? That is, I mean, does the extent of the injury justify the supposition that the accused was suffering from temporary aberration?" The president raised his drowsy indifferent eyes to the counsel for the defence. The assistant prosecutor tore himself from "Cain," and looked at the president. They merely looked, but there was no smile, no surprise, no perplexity--their faces expressed nothing. "Perhaps," the doctor hesitated, "if one considers the force with which . . . er--er--er . . . the criminal strikes the blow. . . . However, excuse me, I don't quite understand your question. . . ." The counsel for the defence did not get an answer to his question, and indeed he did not feel the necessity of one. It was clear even to himself that that question had strayed into his mind and found utterance simply through the effect of the stillness, the boredom, the whirring ventilator wheels. When they had got rid of the doctor the court rose to examine the "material evidences." The first thing examined was the full-skirted coat, upon the sleeve of which there was a dark brownish stain of blood. Harlamov on being questioned as to the origin of the stain stated: "Three days before my old woman's death Penkov bled his horse. I was there; I was helping to be sure, and . . . and got smeared with it. . . ."